We met when I was 7. You were a down sleeping bag that was stitched with love. I was a Brownie in Girl Scouts with a beanie on my head and flashers on my knee socks.
You came with me on my first week away from home when I went to Camp Davidson in Southern California. At night, when I became homesick, you hid my tears, so no one would see me cry.
The next year when we went to Camp Davidson, I was strong enough to string my bow at archery, brave enough to light a match and wise enough to know that when I was color guard I needed to hook the stars on top when I raised the American flag.
Home sicknesses was a twinge instead of an ache, but if tears came, I pulled your drawstrings tight and you cocooned me in comfort.
When I became a Junior we went to Camp Winacka. I rode horses, paddled canoes and slept on a cot underneath the stars. You kept me warm when I looked up at the sky, searching for the Big Dipper.
In high school, I was a counselor in training at Camp Scherman. At home, I checked each corner of my room for spiders, but at Camp Scherman I was fearless. The CITs stayed in an old building that was infested with bats. I’d lay a sheet over you every morning to protect you from guano.
When I was in college I became Camp Scherman’s nature director. I taught girls how to dissect owl pellets and what plants were safe to eat along the trails. You gave me shelter every night when I would collapse, exhausted but happy, in my bunk.
Two years ago, we went to Camp River Ranch in Carnation so I could complete my Girl Scout leader outdoor education training. We slept in an Adirondack for the first time and woke up to the scent of rain on firs. We discovered that we spoke Girl Scouts with a Californian accent. We knew verses from “On My Honor” that nobody had heard of but learned new words to “Baby Shark.”
This October, we were excited to take our troop of fourth-grade girls to Camp Lyle McLeod in Belfair. We’d stay in open-air shelters without heat. But when I took you out of the closet, I saw the truth. You were old now, and your fill was gone. It’s like your feathers floated away with time.
My husband told me to bring a different bag and handed me a fancy one from REI. He said some cruel things about you that I’m sorry you had to hear. You’re not too heavy and yet too thin. You’re not too old to be useful. Don’t believe that for one second. I think your 1970s technology is just fine.
Oh mummy bag, my sweet mummy bag, you’ve been the best buddy a Girl Scout could have. But if there’s one thing you taught me, it’s the importance of a good night’s sleep. I’m sorry that it’s time to sing “Taps” on our adventures together. Rest in peace, dear friend, and enjoy that beautiful Girl Scout camp in the sky.
Jennifer Bardsley publishes books under her own name and the pseudonym Louise Cypress. Find her online on Instagram @the_ya_gal, on Twitter @jennbardsley or on Facebook as The YA Gal.
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