Beavers
We took our kids to church when they were young. I used to joke that I wanted to give them something ”normal” to rebel against when the rebel years ensued, but I actually did believe that.
My wife Charlotte is an Anglican from generations of Anglicans, one of whom---Reverend Clarendon Lamb Worrell---was the “Lord Bishop of Nova Scotia, Metropolitan of Canada, Primate of All Canada and Archbishop of Bermuda” and was responsible for building the Anglican Cathedral in Halifax in the early 20th century. A hundred years later we thought it was fitting that our daughter was married in that cathedral and so we gave the diocese office the engraved, sterling silver, ceremonial trowel Bishop Worrell had used to lay the cornerstone of the cathedral.
Anyway, our kids went to the Anglican church in Corner Brook, Newfoundland and became fully-fledged Anglicans in due course.
When our son Cary was almost five I got a phone call from an acquaintance at our church who was looking for someone to help as a Beaver leader for the Beaver group that met in the church basement once a week.
Beavers are the youngest members of Scouts Canada. A child---boy or girl---can join at age five and move up to Cub Scouts or Girl Guides when they are eight. Actually---officially---Beavers “swim up”.
I was reluctant to get involved as a leader in any kind of organization, particularly if I had to wear some kind of uniform or funny hat, or to declare in a solemn pledge, involving my life, or my son’s life, to some other entity---to defend and die for them, in this case the Queen of England, and I carried on for a while with a cavalier attitude about the whole thing. Our daughter Maggie had already tried to fit into a “girls only” scouting group called Sparks a couple of years earlier but got bummed out since they basically had badly-written children’s stories read to them and played with dolls every meeting, so she quit. We didn’t realize that the volunteer leaders of all the scouting groups set the stage for activities, so if you had the right leaders you had some happy, busy kids. If the leaders weren’t so creative or enthusiastic, well, that made for a different experience.
Then Cary and I got invited to a Beaver meeting.
At that meeting we played games, made a craft, and learned about the Newfoundland pine marten, an endangered species only found in Newfoundland. One of the leaders suggested that one or more pine martens just might be sighted when the Beavers visited Barachois Provincial Park for an upcoming field trip in a week’s time. There was a considerable stand of old growth pine trees at Barachois Park and the martens liked to live in that type of forest.
Cary clearly had a great time at the Beaver meeting. I had fun, too. As we were getting ready to leave, and I was kneeling down helping get his winter boots on, he grabbed me---both arms around my neck---and said, “Promise we can be Beavers together, Dad.” And that was it. I couldn’t say “no” to that. I didn’t want to say “no” to that.
And so we became Beavers together, for three years. There were two other mothers who were the key leaders and were really the experts at running the group, and then there was me, and another dad to round out the leadership.
In those three years we took lots of field trips, we learned more about nature and nature conservancy, the environment, the history of Newfoundland and of our region. We had guests come to speak to us---cops, fire fighters, clowns, musicians, fishermen, an aboriginal leader, the mayor. We marched in parades, sold apples door to door to raise money for kids’ charities, and visited the old folks’ home at Christmas to sing carols and eat cookies with them.
Every year we attended a four-day “themed” camping event held at Killdevil campground in Gros Morne World Heritage Site. One year it was a sports camp and we held a mini Olympics. Another involved a space camp and we made space suits and built rockets. We had barbecues and took hikes through the woods, beside lakes and rivers, and along the seashore where we collected sand dollars and sea shells.
One year we planted trees. We planted them at Killdevil campground and we sold them around town for others to plant---tiny saplings not more than three or four inches high in paper containers. I thought they’d all die. We got seven for our yard and Cary and I, and his sister and mother, planted them one afternoon. It didn’t take long to put them in the ground. There were five spruce, a Scotch pine and a larch.
When the time came for Cary to move up (swim up) to Cub Scouts I was asked to carry on as a leader. But I had gotten to know the Newfoundland leaders pretty well and it was clear the next stage of scouting in Newfoundland included guys who hunted, trapped, fished, could build houses and camp in the woods in the winter and survive, and I was simply not in their league. Cary’s interests waned as well and he began focusing more on sports so we left the scouting movement. But together we had had so much fun and made really good memories as Beavers.
Cary’s all grown up now and has left home. He’s studying law at Ohio State. Maggie’s married and working on a PhD in economics at Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario.
And the trees we planted are as high as our house.
© Kent Jones 2016
We took our kids to church when they were young. I used to joke that I wanted to give them something ”normal” to rebel against when the rebel years ensued, but I actually did believe that.
My wife Charlotte is an Anglican from generations of Anglicans, one of whom---Reverend Clarendon Lamb Worrell---was the “Lord Bishop of Nova Scotia, Metropolitan of Canada, Primate of All Canada and Archbishop of Bermuda” and was responsible for building the Anglican Cathedral in Halifax in the early 20th century. A hundred years later we thought it was fitting that our daughter was married in that cathedral and so we gave the diocese office the engraved, sterling silver, ceremonial trowel Bishop Worrell had used to lay the cornerstone of the cathedral.
Anyway, our kids went to the Anglican church in Corner Brook, Newfoundland and became fully-fledged Anglicans in due course.
When our son Cary was almost five I got a phone call from an acquaintance at our church who was looking for someone to help as a Beaver leader for the Beaver group that met in the church basement once a week.
Beavers are the youngest members of Scouts Canada. A child---boy or girl---can join at age five and move up to Cub Scouts or Girl Guides when they are eight. Actually---officially---Beavers “swim up”.
I was reluctant to get involved as a leader in any kind of organization, particularly if I had to wear some kind of uniform or funny hat, or to declare in a solemn pledge, involving my life, or my son’s life, to some other entity---to defend and die for them, in this case the Queen of England, and I carried on for a while with a cavalier attitude about the whole thing. Our daughter Maggie had already tried to fit into a “girls only” scouting group called Sparks a couple of years earlier but got bummed out since they basically had badly-written children’s stories read to them and played with dolls every meeting, so she quit. We didn’t realize that the volunteer leaders of all the scouting groups set the stage for activities, so if you had the right leaders you had some happy, busy kids. If the leaders weren’t so creative or enthusiastic, well, that made for a different experience.
Then Cary and I got invited to a Beaver meeting.
At that meeting we played games, made a craft, and learned about the Newfoundland pine marten, an endangered species only found in Newfoundland. One of the leaders suggested that one or more pine martens just might be sighted when the Beavers visited Barachois Provincial Park for an upcoming field trip in a week’s time. There was a considerable stand of old growth pine trees at Barachois Park and the martens liked to live in that type of forest.
Cary clearly had a great time at the Beaver meeting. I had fun, too. As we were getting ready to leave, and I was kneeling down helping get his winter boots on, he grabbed me---both arms around my neck---and said, “Promise we can be Beavers together, Dad.” And that was it. I couldn’t say “no” to that. I didn’t want to say “no” to that.
And so we became Beavers together, for three years. There were two other mothers who were the key leaders and were really the experts at running the group, and then there was me, and another dad to round out the leadership.
In those three years we took lots of field trips, we learned more about nature and nature conservancy, the environment, the history of Newfoundland and of our region. We had guests come to speak to us---cops, fire fighters, clowns, musicians, fishermen, an aboriginal leader, the mayor. We marched in parades, sold apples door to door to raise money for kids’ charities, and visited the old folks’ home at Christmas to sing carols and eat cookies with them.
Every year we attended a four-day “themed” camping event held at Killdevil campground in Gros Morne World Heritage Site. One year it was a sports camp and we held a mini Olympics. Another involved a space camp and we made space suits and built rockets. We had barbecues and took hikes through the woods, beside lakes and rivers, and along the seashore where we collected sand dollars and sea shells.
One year we planted trees. We planted them at Killdevil campground and we sold them around town for others to plant---tiny saplings not more than three or four inches high in paper containers. I thought they’d all die. We got seven for our yard and Cary and I, and his sister and mother, planted them one afternoon. It didn’t take long to put them in the ground. There were five spruce, a Scotch pine and a larch.
When the time came for Cary to move up (swim up) to Cub Scouts I was asked to carry on as a leader. But I had gotten to know the Newfoundland leaders pretty well and it was clear the next stage of scouting in Newfoundland included guys who hunted, trapped, fished, could build houses and camp in the woods in the winter and survive, and I was simply not in their league. Cary’s interests waned as well and he began focusing more on sports so we left the scouting movement. But together we had had so much fun and made really good memories as Beavers.
Cary’s all grown up now and has left home. He’s studying law at Ohio State. Maggie’s married and working on a PhD in economics at Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario.
And the trees we planted are as high as our house.
© Kent Jones 2016