By Jenny Bardlsey
Word to the wise, if you throw dried lemon balm onto a campfire it smells like an entirely different type of weed — but it won’t help first-graders drift off to sleep. I learned this tip when my Brownie troop camped in my back yard.
A few days prior, the girls walked over a path of rose petals and lemon balm as they officially bridged from Daisies to Brownies.
Twenty years ago, I was a Brownie who crossed over a bridge. I still remember Mrs. Weddle handing me my rainbow badge. Now I was the leader carefully tending a group of girls. Someday one of them might become a Girl Scout leader too. Heck, one of my Brownies might become president. When Juliette Gordon Low founded the Girl Scouts in 1912, women didn’t have the right to vote. In 2016 we have a Girl Scout running toward the White House.
But at present, my Brownies were giggling their heads off in a tent they raised themselves.
The moms and I gathered around the dying campfire and wished the girls would fall asleep. It was 10:30 p.m. after all, and we were tired. My co-leader suggested I toss the dried rose petals and lemon balm into the fire to see if it would smell like potpourri.
As it turns out, “pot”-pourri is right.
(Side note: If you’ve ever been camping with Scouts you know that at some point something will be thrown into the fire. It’s just a given.)
“What’s that smell?” I fanned the air in front of my face. To me, the odor reminded me of a couch one my friends had back in college that he called the Living Bong.
“It smells like a concert,” said another mom, pulling her chair away from the pit.
Smoke billowed up into the air, spreading pungent fumes across the grass and over the fence to the neighbors.
At this point, all of the moms were giggling too. “Jenny, what are you growing in your back yard?” my co-leader asked. Before I could answer, the girls’ tent erupted in shrieks.
“I’m glowing!” one of the girls cried.
“Eeek!” said a little voice. “Her glow stick broke!”
I rushed over to the tent and zipped open the door. There in the darkness a sleeping bag glowed like an enormous, luminous caterpillar. The alien girl handled it quite well. But her friend next to her was in hysterics, because one ear of her stuffed animal was glowing.
“Everyone close your eyes,” I ordered. The glow-stick girl took off her contaminated clothes and raced out of the tent so she could shower off in the house. Twenty minutes later she was snuggled in a brand new sleeping bag, and I resumed my place by the campfire.
“Lemon balm,” my co-leader whispered, just to crack me up. I laughed and looked into the flames.
This is a night I’ll remember my entire life. Thanks for the memories, Juliette Gordon Low.
Jennifer Bardsley is an Edmonds mom of two, and author of the book “Genesis Girl.” Find her online on Instagram @the_ya_gal, Twitter @jennbardsley or at teachingmybabytoread.com.
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