Boom-di-ada

I was a Girl Scout as a girl.  Our troop loved to camp.  I loved to camp with our troop.  I don’t remember the food being good, in particular, but I loved using my mess kit.  As fellow girl scouter Karen and I recently reminisced, the sterilization process of dumping the mess kit in the mesh bag into boiling water and then tying it to the clothesline with a small stick  was as astounding to me as the revolutionary touch tone phone.  By the way, we didn’t have one of those until I was in my 20’s.
Last week I attended our church girl’s camp as an adult leader.  Our little group cooked all our own breakfasts and one dinner while we were there.  We didn’t use mess kits but instead opted for the ease of disposable paper products.  Without the distraction of the dish sterilization marveling, I paid more attention to the food we ate.  We cooked toast on a griddle over the camp stove.  It burned a bit.  We tried to spread the butter on the cooked toast, but it sat in a hard, cold lump.  It wasn’t even stored in the coolers, it was just that cold from the elements.  (I’m a whiner.)  I tried toasting a bagel one morning over the fire pit and it tasted like that smell you get on your clothes when you sit around a campfire.  Another morning, the French toast was cooked too well (read burned again.)  Instant hot chocolate was the highlight of our culinary feasts, especially when combined with the marshmallows from the s’mores menu or whipped cream in a can. 
Now, do I sound like I am complaining?  Forgive me for that (especially you, EM.)  I’m just trying to paint an accurate picture.  When I thought about our camp food,  I discovered a phenomenon that has left me almost dumbfounded.  We all devoured the food like, well, wild animals.  And we loved it!  It brings to mind the saying that ‘Everything tastes better when you’re camping.’  Why?  We weren’t underfed and, thus, continuously hungry.  But our judgment was compromised somehow.  Seriously, would you eat burned toast at home?  Being out in nature, being very cold at night, working together to fix a meal over primitive heat sources all must change the neuron flow through our brains.  Either that, or the Swiss Miss cocoa mix was laced with a mind altering substance.
I have no recipes to share, although EM’s Dutch oven peach cobbler and camp stove grilled orange chicken were more than blog worthy. 
So I instead want to leave you with the lyrics of an old camp song from Girl Scouts.  (I had to look them up on the internet and found several conflicting versions, but this seems closest.)  It’s a fun one to sing and brings back warm, fuzzy feelings from my childhood.  I wonder, though, if the song is also a primal expression of the acute delirium one experiences while camping.  I’m just saying.

I like the mountains
I love the rolling hills
I like the flowers
I love the daffodils

I like the fireside
When all the lights are low
boom di ada, boom di ada, boom di ada, boom
boom di ada, boom di ada, boom di ada, boom     
(repeat and sing in a round)               

(I can’t take credit for this nice photo.  It’s from an informational website about Ensign Ranch, where we camped.)