Anthony Cresswell looks at his writing as a bit of a hodge podge, the result of a 40-year academic career.
Previous highlights include articles on analytical chemistry, educational politics, technology, and not at all least, his thoughts on educational topics in both Thailand and Indonesia. We are lucky that Anthony decided to branch out a bit, or rather, look inward at long last.
Indeed, Anthony welcomed the opportunity to write something personal, and didn’t hesitate to submit a summer camp memory -- a story he says he never even shared with his children.
Sentry at the Swamp
By Anthony Cresswell
Somewhere in the southern Wisconsin woods, there’s a swamp bordering a small lake. That’s where I spent most of the last night of my only summer camp experience, alone, sitting on a rock.
That was my sentry post, to watch for an enemy approaching our position by the narrow footpath through the swamp. My duty was to warn my cabin mates up the hill behind me of any imminent attack by boys from other cabins. The clear night and full moon let me see across the swamp to the woods on the opposite side. If I stayed alert, I’d have time to sound the alarm and retreat without becoming a casualty.
A casualty, in this case, meant returning in disgrace to camp in the morning in my underwear. That’s what was at stake in this end-of-session Pants War. Imagine a ruthless overnight battle of cabin against cabin, each housing 8-10 pre-teen boys, to separate any other cabin’s occupant from his pants. The cabin with the most captured trousers, shorts, jeans, whatever, would be the winner.
The teams were free until sunrise to hide, roam, and attack anywhere in the camp’s woods, lake, and fields. I know it’s hard to imagine that kind of Lord of the Flies anarchy today, but there it was.
My team needed a sentry at the swamp because we chose a defensive strategy. We set out after sunset toward the swamp, not to find the boys from the other cabins, but a spot easy to defend. It was a warm, southern Wisconsin night, so it was easy to follow the trail guided by the full moon. Our trail led through some woods and down a slope to a narrow footpath through the center of the swamp. We followed the footpath across and up the hill on the other side. At the top we found level ground, a good place to hide and defend. It looked safe, with only a single avenue of attack, or so we thought.
A good defense required a sentry at the swamp edge to warn of any sneak attack. For reasons lost in time, I volunteered. Maybe it was to repair my image, tarnished by several poor performances in our daily swimming competitions. Maybe I saw visions of an heroic defense of my team, of being carried back to camp on their shoulders. Hard to say.
Fate would have it another way. We thought our hilltop was well hidden, only one avenue of attack. Wrong. Another path from the cabins led to the back side of the hill. After I’d sat for hours calmly watching the cattails, another cabin came up the back way and struck. I heard the yelling right away, but hesitated.
Was this just a diversionary attack? Should I abandon my post without orders? Well, nothing was coming my way, so I ran up to join the battle.
By the time I got up the hill, the attackers were repulsed. They made off with only one prize, wrestled off one cabin mate. He was a small, chubby guy, as I recall, who lay thrashing around on the ground, whining about his loss. Worse yet, he was thrashing in a patch of poison ivy, sans trousers. We heard about that the next day after the rash bloomed.
The rest of the night passed quietly, but with a guard at the other path up the hill.
Though not heroic, my lonely vigil resulted in two valuable life lessons. First, that it could be peaceful, even pleasant, being alone in the dark, in spite of being unprotected from snakes or swamp creatures, or even the odd vampires or werewolves that might emerge under a full moon.
My first ripples of fear slowly faded and I could enjoy the cool night air and moonlight. The second lesson was to beware careless assumptions about safety and risk. Always check the back way in!