:: coast trip / quarterly meeting ::
Camp Cleawox is a favorite of the Girl Scout subculture, and it was our privilege, as Quakers from around the Willamette Valley and beyond, to converge there.
I came late on Saturday, having enjoyed Terry's talk Friday night, a long-anticipated event in our little ISEPP world, partially overlapping with said Quakers, through Doug Strain et al. Carl Thatcher knows some of the story.
I've cast Girl Scouts big time in my science fiction, which trends towards the "Tarzania" variety, or, in more urban settings, highlights nomadic chic, with gizmos. Sometimes we ride in bizmos. Couldn't resist.
The camp was good at re-grounding me in the realities, in this case of what forest life is like, when you're in close quarters yet clumped, with paths in between. Are they meeting in the other hamlets? Is there a party tonight?
The Lodge supposedly has a schedule, but a lot of stuff is ad hoc. Some girls feel sadly left out. They think the popular girls are maybe running things. At camp, we test out theories, and begin a life long process of constructing a model of reality. Camp David is no different.
I pitched my tent amidst those already adjacent the lodge. I was uncertain about temperature, having forgotten to bring blankets. A Friend lent me one, but I'd heard some warnings about how cold it was the night before (when I was still in Portland).
As it turned out, May 4, 5 were really warm at the Oregon coast, with locals exclaiming about the heat. We didn't get to a temperature drop until Nye Beach in Newport, a steamer clams stop for me. The mom and daughter (passengers) phoned ahead for Chinese food. The mom was on a pilgrimage to revisit Sylvia Hotel, which in her day let beach front rooms for only $60 a month.
The girl scouts do Girl Scout Math, which doesn't fit the stereotype of just noodling with a pencil. There's algebra involved, and some calculus, but also using forces, maintaining equipment, hauling supplies and inventory from point A to point B. Scouting in other words. Navigating, organizing, not leaving it all to the Boys. Designing, building... I've used Food Not Bombs as a role model, when it comes to cooperating, urban planning, counting calories, making friends.
Larry and I dipped into Florence for coffee, from where Tara and I got in touch about her return. The night before, another Friend and I were at an amazing restaurant in Old Town, the one with the bar and the cakes and the giant chalkboard menu, crab encrusted halibut etc. We got the last table. Lucky devils.
I did manage to join in a Meeting for Worship. The testimony against torture was strong, somewhat despairing that we were stuck here for so long, a problem child, error prone beyond wise. Could Universe afford us? Are we too needy to survive? Perennial questions.
