CQ fire after a very rainy day

It was the third night of camp and they wanted more than anything to build a CQ fire. But everything was wet, from an afternoon of torrential storms and a damp drizzly evening. It wasn't raining now, at 11:30, but was there any dry wood? Did anyone have a flashlight handy? And of course they were exhausted from a very long although super-successful day. There was the moment when the severe thunder-and-lightning storm hit; the network of radio- and intercom-connected directors somehow induced everyone, in 40 places, to stay indoors and not to move from one place to another. That meant, to take one instance, that Forest, Pac and Mac Boys were in the main room of Margetts Lodge together. What to do there? Instant activity. Plenty of energy on this third day of the session, but somehow it got used and also contained while outside it stormed. But then the CITs were supposed to begin their long out-trip. Word came back: they had made it out in time and were on their way to their first overnight which would, thankfully, be in a lean-to. Okay, but Pac and Windsong had their two-nighter planned. They were put on hold for now. At 4:30 we managed a hilarious hour-long game of Geronimo indoors for Forest. What is it about 10-year-old boys who prefer to slide along the floor and not make it to an empty seat? The staff, instead of being annoyed, fell off their own chairs in laughter. Tom from Liverpool exhausted himself running inside the circle as his colleagues Alan and Dave and Sam bandied about each other's names. Tom, not a big smiler but obviously a sweet man, smiled broadly when he finally got out of that jam. Dusk came and more iffy weather, but Sacky and Hemlock, who'd had perhaps a semi-challenging day, a few possible "mean girls" who needed to start accepting others soon, one possibly homesick kid, some needless running around in the rain, maybe a dose of impatience, came together indoors for Challenge Night, in the new theatre, and found their unified spirit, cheering each other, giving a standing ovation to one girl who didn't want to sing a song competitively but was willing to do so when no one else on her team would. She fake-sang a silly song but did it bravely, and then stopped--whereupon silence, and then a standing ovation for the cool girl who might not normally, in real life at home, ever submit herself to potential ridicule, being so uncool as to sacrifice her cool for her new friends. Thus the new friends were more friends now than they had been so far. The whole thing has a circular, building, self-pride-making effect. Back out into the cold dark rainy night. Next thing you know it's 11:30 and there's no dry wood. Ah, but some dry logs were stowed, wisely, under the lodge. Scott Lodge, named for Charles R. Scott, Wawayanda's first director. Maybe that has something to do with the outdoorsy foresight. Retrieve those logs, pull off some slivers of kindling, find some paper memos and a bit of cardboard, search for and find the lighter, and now out to the sopping wet fire-ring. Yes it had been a long day and the better part of valor, which is discretion, would be to go to sleep and hope the next day brought sun, and the next night, not this one, a CQ fire and a session of good old-fashioned talk around the fire among colleagues. No, now. Real valor was in that sitting 'round. One holds the light, one scrounges for "little stuff" notwithstanding its wetness, one lights the lighter. Tiny little stuff and two huge but dry logs. That's it. Once the fire is seen by others, the others start showing up. It's midnight. Is this the only CQ fire going? But it's barely going. Alan, with his huge lung capacity, shows up from Forest, attracted to the firelight. He blows and blows and the two dry logs burst into flames. We find another log, damp but not sopped, and it gets put alongside the others, to warm and dry, and eventually on top. Four or five more show up. Quiet talk of the day. This kid had trouble getting to sleep but is soundly sleeping now. This one had a much better day than yesterday; he's going to make it, we think. That one keeps asking pointless questions but we answer them all as patiently as possible. And lots of silence. Then several meandering quiet conversations at once. We are warmed by the fire although all the scrounging around in the wet old charred wood and smoke having been blown over our clothes has made everything we're wearing smell that campfire smell, which will be with us tomorrow. One counselor had had his first shower in several days but now he too smelled like campfire. He had his burger patties out, and skillet at the ready, but at 12:45 AM, with 1 AM curfew coming soon, the burgers would have to wait until tomorrow night. Tomorrow night. Maybe the fire would start easier. But if it didn't, there would still be this talk, this family of unlike people gathered around like a family at the end of a family's day, telling of the little things that add up to an almost cosmic whole. We wandered backed to our various beds, dampness in the rooms, and looked at watches and clocks. The month had turned. July 1.