Turner State Park (6.2)

It starts at 5 am. Stumbling drowsily through the early morning fog we pile the tents, sleeping bags, camper stoves, backpacks, and coolers at the foot of the U-Haul. Then we watch as Ms. Knot arranges and rearranges the luggage, filling the air with “gosh-darnit”s and “lord”s, until it all fits. Even in Texas, it’s chilly at this hour and the fog clings to us, Girl Scout Troop 1045, like a refreshing blanket. We pile in the car and one by one we fall asleep to the sound of the adults talking from the front seat. When I wake up we’re in Oklahoma, a state that will always be a sad stretch of trailer parks, fireworks shops, and adult video stores to me. When we finally reach Turner State park we unpack our gear into the flimsy screen shelters near the lake. At night, through those screen walls, you can hear the roar of the 77 foot waterfall, the croaks of the bullfrogs, and the sharp cracking of breaking branches underneath the sole of a lone camper walking towards the outhouses. The days are whirlwinds of breathless activity. We climb into the small cave behind the waterfall and watch the sheets of water tumble down in front of us. We run down the rocky trails as fast as we can even though Ms. Knot told us not to. We make pots out of the gritty clay from the river banks. We, Julianne, Emily, and I, find a secret cove and argue about whether or not to tell Katie Lee. We scream with fear and delight when someone finally manages to catch a cricket. And at night we make hobo packets, foil wrapped chicken buried under the coals of a hot fire, and apple peach dump cake. Afterward, tucked into the soft cocoon of my sleeping bag I have the best sleep of my life.