SCYTHE STORIES

The Cabin Where It Almost Ended

“Nothing good ever happens in the woods” — Norm Macdonald

by author

Once upon a summertime in the 1960s, the radio said something like:

“We can expect thunderstorms later in the… local murderer escaped from… a bean supper will be held this evening at Christ Church on Maple Street. Bring beans.”

This particular radio lived at Camp Fair Haven, the summer camp in Maine where my dad spent his youth.

At Fair Haven, Dad transformed from a kid into a god:

• mustache
• motorcycle
• basketball shorts so short
• today, those shorts are lingerie

But before that, Dad was a kid at camp, doing what kids did there: swim, ride horses, shoot arrows, paddle canoes, drink RC Cola, play basketball, tetherball, whateverball, all the balls.

And they’d hike up into the woods to stand on a big hill behind the camp, the “lookout,” which offered a view of the lake. They’d have campfires up there, roast hotdogs and marshmallows, and tell ghost stories, classics:

• Three-Fingered Willy