Wandering through the past, part 1

NOTE: I have been extremely delinquent. I do sincerely apologize. I have all sorts of ideas, but I've made no effort to sit down and put them together.

On the return home from Atlanta following the Falcons' loss to Green Bay in the playoffs back in January, I decided to take a brief detour. I went in search of Camp Sequoyah, the summer camp I used to attend as a Boy Scout, located near the base of Mt. Cheaha in northern Alabama. I had attempted this on a previous trip but turned around after a while, thinking I wasn't remembering the directions correctly. This time, with the wonder of Google, I had the directions (and I had been right the first time).

Finally arriving at the location, I noticed the gate was open. I slowly drove up the winding, gravel drive, eager to see how much things had changed and, perhaps more importantly, if anything had remained the same. About half way up the drive, I passed a woman walking with her dog back toward the main road. I waved as I drove slowly by. I arrived at what had been the large parking lot - only to find no other vehicles and no one around.

After a moment or two, I decided I should head back out, fearful that someone might lock the gate - and I would be locked in. Nearing the entrance, I saw the woman standing by the road. A white pick-up truck came through the gate toward me. When it pulled closer, the older gentleman driving rolled down his window; I did the same.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

I explained that I had attended summer camp here almost 25 years ago. I told him where I was from and what my troop number was. He smiled and started asking questions about people I knew and leaders from our council (much to my relief, he did not tell me to get the hell off the property or, even worse, pick up a gun off the truck seat).

A few minutes later, the woman walked back toward us (this time, without the dog). He introduced his wife (no wonder I had been met leaving) and told her about my long-ago trips.

After talking for a few minutes, I offered to leave so he could lock up. He told me to go back, wander around and take my time. I graciously took him up on the offer, turned the car around and headed back. Here are some pictures and "stories."

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This was the first noticeable change. Years ago, this was a wide-open parking lot. This was where parents parked their vans, station wagons and cars to unload their sons and perhaps other Scouts on a hot, humid Sunday afternoon, leaving them in the "wilderness" for a week.

Now, it's a dining hall. I had heard about this but never seen it. It is a bit disappointing, actually. Years ago, you did all of your own cooking in your patrol campsite. You went to the commissary each day and picked up that day's lunch and dinner, as well as the following day's breakfast. You rotated cooking and cleaning assignments; you kept your fingers crossed that the cooks were decent; you hoped even more that the cleaning crew washed the dishes thoroughly (if you can't guess why, I'll explain later).

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This was also new, although it probably wouldn't have been so bad to have had this years ago.

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This was just as I remembered. This was one of the many shelters were merit badge classes were taught during the week. I distinctly remember taking basketry classes here (yes, don't laugh. It is/was a merit badge). I paused for a moment and smiled, happy to see something that had not changed.

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I wandered the trail down to the council ring. It was much closer than I remembered it being years ago. I was quite surprised to see this "entryway." It really doesn't make much sense, considering you can go 20 feet to either side and walk right in.

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Having walked through the "entryway," the council ring was just as I remembered (minus the snow, which is impossible in Alabama in June and July). I stood there, enjoying the quiet. I remembered the tall bonfires down at the edge of the water. I remembered the solemn anxiety of the Order Of The Arrow induction ceremonies each year. I was glad to see this was still a part of the camp experience.

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Wandering back toward the main part of the camp, this building also exists as it did 25-plus years ago, although its function is now different. The large garage doors opened up to the commissary. You had what basically amounted to large plastic garbage cans with shoulder straps that you carried your groceries back to the campsite in. They provided ice for your coolers and pretty much anything you needed.

Now, thanks to the dining hall, the commissary is the expanded "trading post," where you can buy soft drinks, ice cream, patches and other nonsense. I wondered what today's Scouts visiting Camp Sequoyah would think if they had to pick up food here and cook for themselves.


To be continued ...