Ironies keep life interesting, and that in itself is an irony. It is not as if life is boring even on the most mundane days. As I reflect, I do not think I have ever had a complete day that I can say was boring.

One irony that I have experienced in my life is that you are never too tired, retired, refried or old for anything. Let me share a recent irony.

You would think that at the age of 65, and after 12 years of service, and getting over 40 boys to the rank of Eagle, that Boy Scouting would be a thing of memories for me. Logic would dictate that due to the strenuous activities required in Scouting, such as canoeing, climbing, swimming, hiking or just getting up off the ground from a night’s sleep, that the position of Scout Master would fall to some virile, younger man who has achieved the rank of Eagle and is capable of doing all the above. No, that is not the case. The powers that be passed over three men with these qualifications, and chose me, a half crippled, diabetic, old man to lead our church’s troop. Irony abounds, and regardless of age, the Lord, the Fates, a bullfrog croaking on the pond, or whatever rules your life, has a sense of humor.

As I pleaded, “Why me Lord?” I got the clear answer, “Read Exodus 20:18.”

As I did so, it made no sense to me until I realized that something I have long expected to be true, in fact is. An 11th commandment fell off the tablet as Moses was climbing down the mountain. If it were still there, you would find Exodus 20:18 reading, “Thou shall not be fat, dumb and happy.” No, when you think it is over and you have done your part, and you can relax and let the next generation take care of things, there will be a challenge. Mine is that there is to be a never-ending stream of boys who need the skills I can teach.

So it was that our troop went on our first campout this past weekend, and a memorable one it was. One thing I knew before going was that I cannot do the things I used to do when it comes to Scouting, and in the wisdom of my advancing years, I have learned of necessity to delegate. I have asked the younger men who met the qualifications I outlined above to be Assistant Scout Masters. No one escapes justice, and to their credit, and my undying gratitude, they stepped up to the mark. We went with 18 boys and six adults, a very good group for a first effort.

The weather was excellent with the overnight temperatures in the low 40s, and the daytime in the high 60s. Although cold by Alabama standards, there is an irony here. There were no bugs, always a plus for any outdoor activity.

It had been almost 30 years since I had taken a troop of boys into the woods. That last campout in Alaska had been in 40-degree-below-zero cold. This one, by comparison was springtime warm, but my blood has thinned since leaving the North Country, and it seemed cold to me.

I don’t do well sleeping on the ground any more. I am not sure I slept at all. I am going to have to work on this or we are going to have a lot of campouts in my backyard where I get the boys bedded down and go in the house with instructions to knock if you need me.

The troop worked well as a unit to prepare meals and clean up. They learned flag etiquette, rope work, and the use of camp tools such as an ax, a saw, and the ever-useful pocketknife. After the morning’s instruction, came an hour for football, another preparing and eating lunch, then we embarked on a three-hour hike/service project.

We camped at Fort Blakeley north of Spanish Fort where the last full engagement battle of the Civil War was fought. There are miles of still existing breastworks as well as areas of interest in the old Blakeley Township. Along the many trails and at Washington Square in the town site we cleared downed limbs from the trails and the park. It was good work to keep energetic young men occupied.

The boys seemed most fascinated by the “Hanging Tree” in Washington Square. When they asked me what it was for, I could not resist. I answered, “To hang Boy Scouts who were not instantly and willfully obedient to their Scout Master.” I had forgotten how gullible 12-year-olds could be.

The thing that pleased me the most, and has never changed in all my years of Scouting, is how boys respond to knowing the limits and the discipline that keeps them safely within those limits. I think we all find comfort in that.

That is one of life’s most endearing and enduring ironies. The more laws and rules we subject ourselves to, the freer and happier we are. What better place to have this principal learned or reinforced than in the woods? Freedom comes not from being able to do what we want when we want to do it, but in doing what you can for the benefit of others in a safe environment.

Ah, these sneaky little ironies, will they ever cease? No, and aren’t we glad of it. I find that ironic.

David Wilson Atwood may be contacted at david@starchasers.us.