A personal essay by Anson Call
A lame week at an Indiana scout reservation allowed us to experiment with newfound idealogical freedoms and the beginnings of growing up.
Every night, we’d quietly lift our hard, nylon mattresses off of our creaky, rusty cots and out of our dirty, canvas tents down the trail a half-mile to the beach's easy swells.
We laid on the sand, carefree, (Kolten, the two White brothers, and I) listening to the lake while Kolten showed us where the stars were. We'd done constellation requirements before for merit badges, but when Kolten pointed them out, we faced them for the first time.
