Bug Spray

This morning while getting ready for work, I sprayed some straightening product into my hair that Megan left for me, thinking I'd like. As the spray misted around me, I thought of Callaway Gardens, the camp I taught at for two summers. There was something about the smell of the product, a mixture of flowers and aerosol. It was familiar, comforting, and instantly brought me back.

I think it was the weather this morning that kept me nostalgic; the humidity, sun, and moisture hitting my skin as I ran to the car--late as always. Georgia was always hot in the middle of the summer. Wearing our light blue polo shirts and khaki shorts was awful, as we'd sweat through them before the day ended. As I drove, I thought of Mike taking me to work in his mustard colored Volkswagen, driving at speeds that shouldn't be thought of in Pine Mountain. We'd swerve through the small roadways surrounded by large trees and green foliage, only slowing down to show our IDs at the main gate. After clocking in, which worked about 25% of the time, we'd walk to the tent and get ready to start the day.

I was there for two summers, when I was 20 and 21, and each year couldn't have been more different. My first year, as a rookie, I'd shy away from setting up the nets, in fear of doing it wrong. As an old timer the next year, I took on whatever was free, secure in my abilities.

We'd check the board for our assignments and then greet our somehow excited at 8 a.m. campers. My favorites were the nine and ten year olds. They were old enough to hold a conversation, yet young enough to still be naive. They also got to play capture the flag.

Walking deep into the woods behind the tent, we'd split up the thirty or so kids and create two teams. Paying careful attention to the same rules they heard the year before and the year before, the kids danced with anticipation, waiting patiently to be let free. The long trench was the boundary, forcing them to climb down and then out of it to cross and steal the other team's flag. Naturally, guards were immediately appointed. The same kids who dozed off and giggled incessantly during arts and crafts were now determined, focused, and serious.

As counselors, the four of us would watch from the sidelines, making sure there was no cheating and no injuries. Being pushed out of the way several times, we clung to the furthest side, not wanting to disturb the hunt. When the kids got out of hand, or the teams were uneven, we'd play as well, dividing ourselves between the two sides. Sometimes skidding our knees on the trenches in the forest, we'd run with them, finding all possible routes to the flag. Never wanting to steal the glory, we'd help them, encourage them, and take hits for them. Or, we'd target the rival counselor, watch them, and attack. The game was for kids, sure, but we were allowed to have fun as well.

Being deep in the forest had it's drawbacks. Inevitably, someone always got stung by a bee and the game was cut short. Sighing and complaining, the kids would follow us up the hill back to the tent for water, shade, and rest.

To avoid getting stung ourselves, we'd lather on bug spray every day before work. Having a supply in the dressing room, every few hours we'd reapply it, along with sun screen, regardless of the fact that nothing every seemed to work, as we'd still get stung and burnt throughout the weeks. My friend Traci was known for her bug spray because rather than having the familiar acidic smell, her's smelled like flowers and aerosol. It smelled like hair spray, not bug spray. We called it the Victoria's Secret brand, always envious that she didn't smell like a camping tent like the rest of us.

As the summer rolled on, each week was the same, allowing them all to flow into one repetitive memory. Every Friday we'd take the nine and ten year olds out to the forest. We'd break them into teams and cheer them on from the sidelines. Sometimes we'd participate, sometimes we'd watch. But every Friday one kid would still get stung by a bee. And every Friday the familiar scent of flowers and aerosol would gently fill the air.