The Tradition of Girls' Camp, or Why YW Leaders Turn Grey

Ah, the bliss of girls' camp. ;) I suppose I'm pondering this subject because next week our ward will be participating in the annual stake girls' camp adventure. I've lost count of how many years I've attended girls' camp. It began when I was the ripe age of 12. I was a naive Beehive who sponged for things like the ever popular snipe hunt. I won't reveal how long I sat under a tree waiting for the infamous snipes to make an appearance that night, but long enough to gain an appreciation for this fine endeavor.

Girls' camp was a magical time. Leaders let their hair down---literally. Some of them looked quite interesting by the time camp was over. Actually we all did. It was part of the fun. Along the way, we girls learned the importance of tying knots, not getting lost during hikes, cooking over a fire, how to live without makeup or curling irons, and how to light a fire without matches. Always there were fun crafts, hilarious skits, and spiritual boosts like testimony meetings around a campfire.

I only caught myself on fire once during my years as a girl camper. It happened during my fourth year of camp. There we were, diligently learning to light a fire using only flint and steel. I had a slight handicap---I had broken a finger the week before during a softball tournament. (I had caught the fly ball that won the game---just with the wrong hand. The one without a glove. Story of my life, but I digress.) My broken finger was wrapped with gauze and taped to a small splint. It proved to be a nuisance during that entire camping adventure. But on the day that we were building fires, it really made things exciting fun.

I was thrilled when I saw smoke---after I had scraped the flint and steel together for what had seemed like hours. All of a sudden I heard one of our leaders scream, "She's on fire!" I was immediately thrown into a nearby creek---as my leader landed on top of me. Not one of my finer moments. ;) In the process of lighting a fire, I had caught the gauze on fire. Good times. On the bright side, I was given full credit for lighting a fire.

The years passed and along the way I found myself called to serve in the YW. This time I would be attending girls' camp as an adult. It was awesome, despite entertaining moments like the day some rambunctious girls smeared Icy Hot on the toilet paper. The girls' camp director later commented that camp that year had left her with a warm feeling. (She was the only one who was affected by that prank. She warned the rest of us as she ran screaming toward a creek.)

Then there was the time when a "Koala Bear" invaded our camp. The girls ran screaming down the hillside, flattening their leaders in the process. All we heard was "BEAR!!!" "IT'S A BEAR!" Then one girl screamed out: "IT'S A KOALA BEAR!" Highly unlikely in Idaho, but worth a look. When I took a flashlight up to investigate, I found that a raccoon had crawled inside of their tent and he or she was enjoying a handful of crackers from a box that had been left open in the tent. We still tease this young lady about the time she found a Koala Bear at girls' camp. =)


After serving in YW for nearly 5 years and attending girls' camp almost every summer, I was released from YW and found myself shanghaiied into Primary right off the bat. That next spring I was called to be the girls' camp director. Our bishop at the time wrote my name in magic marker on the ward calling roster, stressing that this was a permanent thing. I didn't mind. I'll admit, we had a lot of fun. I love working with the youth and each year we made a lot of fun memories. I think we were all disappointed when I was eventually called to serve in the stake R.S., and had to be released from the joy of girls' camp.


About a year and a half ago (2 weeks after being released from my stake position) I was called to serve as the YW president for our ward. More girls' camp adventures. =) Last summer, our stake had the opportunity to attend the Heber Valley Girls' Camp facility in Utah. It was a wonderful week. By far one of the most spiritual girls' camp adventures I've ever experienced. If any of you ever get the chance to attend camp in this location, go for it. It's very much worth the expense and adventure getting there.

Here's my take on why the tradition of girls' camp is important. Girls' Camp provides a setting where the YW and their leaders can get to know each other a little better. It's a chance to show the YW what you're made of, and vice versa. The YW learn important survival skills that they may or may not need in the years to come. I can honestly state that as a YW leader, I have used everything I ever learned during my youthful girls' camp days. I've also used these skills as the mother of all sons who loved to camp, hike, and fish.

The best part of camp I think, is the night some dread, the night when girls and leaders are given a chance to share what's in their hearts around a warm campfire. There's a special feeling in a forest setting, not found anywhere else.


I'm looking forward to this year's camp. In an ironic twist, one of the girls (pictured above) that went with us years ago to Camp "Koala Bear", is now serving as the secretary in my YW presidency. She will be going to camp with the girls this year and she is so excited. She is seeing for herself that life is a circle. I have no doubt that she will have the time of her life as the baton is passed to another generation of girls' camp leaders. I will have to share one bit of wisdom with her before she heads up---always take along your own supply of toilet paper. This alleviates a lot of potential problems. =)

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Loved New Orleans

What comes to mind when you think about New Orleans? The Saints football team? Mardi Gras? Wild parties on Bourbon Street? Hurricane Katrina?

I watched, horrified when Hurricane Katrina wreaked havoc during the latter part of August 2005. Lives were lost, homes were destroyed, and the world seemed turned upside down as we all wondered what we could do to help. Images of those stranded at the Saints Superdome haunted me for a long time.

After what I saw Hurricane Katrina do to New Orleans via televised news stories, I wondered why anyone would ever want to live in this location. A little over a year later, I was given an opportunity to find that out for myself. During a business trip, I fell in love with New Orleans, and when my husband and I were given a chance to live there permanently, we seriously considered the offer.

My husband embarked on a business trip to New Orleans in October of 2006. He works for Monsanto and one of their plants is located outside of New Orleans. He had been asked to help with a special project for his company, and he had invited me to tag along with him. It was explained that we would be staying for about two weeks and I was delighted. I love to travel and this was a place I had never seen in person. I did wonder if there would be anything to see after all of the damage Katrina had inflicted. I was also bit uneasy about spending time in the Big Easy, after hearing about the rising crime statistics. Both of those fears proved to be unfounded.

I can state without hesitation that this was one of my favorite trips of all time. I loved the food: luscious fresh seafood; Cajun and Creole delights; as well as culinary treats like pralines, Muffalettas, and German sausage.

I loved learning the story of this Louisianna port town. Because of its access to the Mississippi River, New Orleans was settled by a myriad of cultures and it is a city with a rich historical background. It will be next to impossible to list everything I loved about New Orleans in one blog, so I will do so in a series of blogs. Today, I just want to whet your appetite. =) The one thing we were told to do repeatedly while we were there was to spread the word that New Orleans still exists, and is still tourist friendly. And there is a plethora of things to do in this location. Everything from sampling the wonderful food I mentioned above, to touring southern mansion houses from the Civil War era (none of these were damaged by "Katrina.") There are numerous bayous to explore, alligators to observe, and historical graveyards to wander. Rhythmic jazz to enjoy, and the French Quarter to savor.

As for the crime concern, we were never in any danger during our entire trip. True, we didn't venture anywhere alone, and we stayed in brightly lit areas at night, but I felt safe during most of our stay there. (We did have one scary adventure that I will probably share eventually.) Despite that one moment, I would visit again in a heart beat.

From time to time, I will share some of the adventures we experienced, as well as pictures that I took of the area. The picture I've included with this blog is of a jazz band playing in colorful Jackson Square in the heart of the French Quarter of New Orleans. To me, it captures what this city is all about, joi de vivre, or joy of life. The people who remain in New Orleans have taken this creed to heart. They are determined to rebuild, to survive, and to enjoy each day as it comes. We would go far by following their courageous example.

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One More Salute to the Pioneers

Since this post will be featured on Thursday, July 24th at www.yourldsneighborhood.com, I decided to do one more tribute to the courageous pioneers. =) I figure it's a timely thing. One could call this pioneer culture week. ;)

During the trip to Nauvoo that our family made in 1997, I wrote the following poem. It's a comparison between their time and ours:

Along the Mormon Trail

Air conditioning
Padded seats
Snacks for pleasure
Riding in comfort
Along the Mormon Trail . . .

“Are we there yet?”
“How much further?”
“When’s lunch?”
“Is there a rest stop soon?”
Along the Mormon Trail . . .

Driving on paved roads
Stopping whenever desired
Sleeping at nights
In rooms with soft beds
Along the Mormon Trail . . .

Historical sites beckon
Clutching cameras
We record worn ruts
Where ancestors toiled
Along the Mormon Trail . . .

In quiet reflection
I see another time
An era of
Weariness, sacrifice, & pain
Along the Mormon Trail . . .

Rough wooden boards
Thin, worn clothes
Boots and shoes with holes
Dust, heat, hunger & cold
Along the Mormon Trail . . .

Muscles straining
As hills challenged
Those already carrying burdens
Yet smiles persisted
Along the Mormon Trail . . .

Songs were sung---spirits soared
Compassion was freely rendered
When heavy hearts mourned
A deserted grave
Along the Mormon Trail . . .

Gratitude for perseverance
Empathy for grieving hearts
Past dedication inspires
A determination to follow a similar path
Along the Mormon Trail.

Cheri J. Crane June 5, 1997

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Great New LDS Online Social Network

Hi all,

Today I made a discovery. Some of us may have accounts with MySpace or Facebook. Now there's an LDS version of this sort of thing. It's called LDSWA and it's for LDS women. If you're interested, take a look and see what you think LDSWA



View my page on Our Ladies Room

Shots of the Mormon Trail

This week I decided to stick with the pioneer theme of things and share a poem I wrote after seeing a portion of the Mormon Trail for the first time in 1994, shortly before my first book, "Kate's Turn," was published. Eager to explore the Mormon Trail for myself, we made a family trip out of the occasion and drove up to an area in Wyoming known as Martin's Cove. This is the site where so many pioneers lost their lives after a handcart company became stranded during a severe storm.

In that same area, you can see Independence Rock, a rock formation where the pioneers carved their names in the granite face. Nearby you can also see Devil's Gate, a perpendicular cleft between two mountainous cliffs. It was there that I received the inspiration to write the following poem. After I share it, I'll include a few pictures that were taken during our 1997 trip to Nauvoo---we followed the Mormon Trail as closely as we could upon our return. During that trip, we traveled with 2 other families---close friends and relatives. It was a wonderful experience. I'll place captions under these pictures to make it easier for you to understand what you're seeing. First, the poem (Incidentally, the picture above is of Devil's Gate.):

Thoughts at Devil’s Gate

As I stand where you once stood, a shiver runs down my spine,
And with it, the sensation of stepping back in time.
The wind moves freely through the grassy plain, sagebrush stands a dismal grey—
Clouds hurry forward, darkening the heated day.
The barren hills echo still, the sounds of sacrifice and pain,
Rutted trails bear witness of the courageous spirit that did sustain.

With wonder, I gaze at the challenges, remembering the trials that were endured,
And experience feelings that can’t be shared or translated into written word.
Would I have passed the tests you triumphed—could I have stood the Refiner’s Fire,
That purified your sainted heart—leaving a legacy to inspire?

Turning now from the past I know my tests are of a different time,
Somehow, knowing you persevered gives me hope in facing mine.
Pioneer blood flows through these veins—that courage is in my heart,
The journey that I make in life, will someday play a part
In the lives of those who follow; may these paths unite us into one,
Those who went on before, and those who are to come.

Cheri J. Crane
1994


All that was left of the original Nauvoo Temple in 1997. You can see most of the foundation, and we were told that this circular area was where the original baptismal font was located.

The memorials to Emma Hale Smith, Joseph Smith Jr., and Hyrum Smith--Nauvoo 1997.

Memorial to all those buried in the Winter Quarters area. (June 1997)

A trail marker along the Oregon\Mormon Trail. The two trails link for a time. Incidentally, this area (Ash Hollow, Nebraska) is where my 2nd-great-grandmother, Keturah Lunn, gave birth to her son, Orson Broadbent in 1852. (Yep, that's my family posing by the Oregon Trail monument.)



This is a modern wagon train we ran into on our trip near Fort Laramie, Wyoming. It was a 1997 sesquicentennial commemorative journey made to honor the Mormon Pioneers who traveled this same route in 1847.



This is a picture of the wagon ruts in Wyoming that are still visible.

And here we have a portion of Independence Rock. I'm one of the two people climbing it in this picture. From a distance, this looks like a giant turtle. You can still see some of the pioneer names that were carved into the granite.


This is a shot of the Martin's Cove area. As you can see, my family is pulling one of the handcarts that are available at the visitor's center. This gives you a chance to see what some of the pioneers endured on their journey. Very much worth the time to experience. (June 1997)

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Pioneer Heritage

Since it's July and at some point during the month, (usually around the 24th) our thoughts center on our pioneer heritage, I felt it would be fitting to touch on this item today and share a bit of pioneer culture.

I really like what President Uchtdorf said recently about the pioneers: "I have no ancestors among the 19th century pioneers. However, since the first days of my Church membership, I have felt a close kinship to those early pioneers who crossed the plains. They are my spiritual ancestry, as they are for each and every member of the Church, regardless of nationality, language, or culture. They established not only a safe place in the West but also a spiritual foundation for the building of the kingdom of God in all the nations of the world." (July 2008 Ensign, pg. 5)

He added in a further paragraph: " . . . we are all pioneers in our own sphere and circumstance." I wholeheartedly agree. It is my belief that we are all converts to the gospel, and that we have numerous opportunities to blaze a trail for those who will follow in our footsteps.

I have been blessed by the courageous example of pioneer ancestors. I thought today I would tell you a little bit about some of these people who have been an influence in my life.

My 4th-great-grandfather on my father's side of the family was a stalwart individual named David Foote. (The picture above shows David Foote to the left, and his son, Warren Foote to the right.) In 1833 after hearing the Gospel preached near his home in Greenwood, New York, David chose to be baptized into the LDS Church. His conversion made a huge impact on his son, Warren, who began studying the Book of Mormon. These two men were the first members of their family to embrace the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Their family wasn't terribly amused over this decision.

In a journal entry that Warren wrote on May 20, 1938 he shares:

"Oh, that my mother, and brothers, and sisters could see as I see, and understand the scriptures as I do, that we might not be separated, but journey together in this probation. For I most assuredly believe the Book of Mormon to be authentic, and that Joseph Smith is a prophet of God . . . But we must all act upon our own agency. They choose to reject the gospel . . . but I choose to go with my father to Missouri where God has commanded His people to gather together to serve Him."

My 3rd-great-uncle Warren kept such wonderful journals, the originals are kept in the archives of the Church as historical references. After proving our relationship to this man, my brother was able to access these journals. He spent a great deal of time hand-copying the entries. Then we discovered that someone else had done this for us---it was all online in a BYU historical file. ;) We still appreciated Tom's dedication.

We each have a copy of Uncle Warren's journal. It is a family treasure. He has recorded significant events that occurred in the history of our church. Among those entries is the record of what transpired during the carnage at Haun's Mill. Warren's future wife survived that ordeal---Aunt Sidnie was only ten years old at the time. Warren recorded that several of those who died were later buried in Sidnie's brother's well.

The entry that has possibly touched our hearts the most is the one that was recorded on June 28, 1844:

"Elihu Allen and I were working in the harvest field cutting his wheat when about 3:00 p.m. my wife came out and told us that word had just come that Joseph Smith and his brother, Hyrum, were shot in Carthage Jail yesterday afternoon . . . it so affected us that we dropped the cradle and rake and went home. We found that the word had come so straight that we could no longer doubt the truth of it. We all felt as though the powers of darkness had overcome, and that the Lord had forsaken His people. Our Prophet and Patriarch were gone. Who now is to lead the Saints . . . Yet after all the anguish of our hearts, and deep mourning of our souls, a spirit seemed to whisper, 'All is well. Zion shall yet arise and spread abroad upon the earth, and the kingdoms of this world shall become the Kingdom of our God."

On my mother's side of the family, we are descended from a wonderful man named Thomas Grover. My 4th-great-grandfather served faithfully as one of the body guards to the Prophet Joseph Smith. Steadfast and true to whatever he was asked to do, Thomas was severely tried when his wife, Caroline Whiting, died, leaving him with six young daughters to raise on his own. Thomas' duties were such that his daughters were farmed out for a time among several residents of Nauvoo. My third great-grandmother, Mary Elizabeth Grover, lived with Emma and Joseph until his martyrdom.

Mary was about eleven years old when this happened. She recorded the following about this sad event:

"The evening that the Prophet and Hyrum were brought home from Carthage, after they had been martyred, I will never forget. Everybody stood along the street holding hands, and bowed their heads in solemn reverence as the bodies were escorted through the street. Everyone's heart was so filled with sorrow, it seemed as if the world would come to an end. My father, Thomas Grover, helped wash and prepare them for burial. Their caskets were set on chairs side by side in the hall of the Prophet's home. Hundreds viewed their remains . . ."



In 1846, Thomas Grover and his family were driven from Nauvoo. Loading what they could inside a wagon, they crossed the Mississippi River on a flatboat. Half-way across, a young man from a nearby steamboat spit tobacco juice into the eye of one of the oxen. Both oxen began cavorting about until they plunged into the river, taking the wagon with them into the icy water. Destitute, the Grovers had to rely on the generosity of others to survive that harsh winter.

In the spring of 1847, Thomas was asked to be part of the vanguard company that would journey to Utah. When it was realized that they would have to cross the Platte River, Thomas, a former river boat captain, was asked to design and help build the raft that would carry the wagons safely across. The Prophet Brigham Young asked Thomas to remain with the raft, to ferry the Saints across who would be coming behind them. Thomas was told that he could charge those who were not members of the Church for this same service, to regain the finances necessary to eventually bring his own family to Utah.

In Susan Easton's Black book, "Who's Who in the Doctrine Covenants," a eulogy written by one of Thomas Grover's daughters is recorded:

"My father was loved by all who knew him. He never spoke evil of anyone; he did not boast, and he did not take honor unto himself. Many times he divided his last meal with a sufferer. His word was as good as his bond. He could neither be bought nor sold."

This is quite a legacy we've inherited. =) These were people who suffered, made courageous choices, and sacrificed so much because of their desire to heed the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Last year I was able to spend some time in the Old Nauvoo Burial Grounds. Several of my ancestors are buried in this sacred location. Their graves are lost; mobbers broke the headstones as they wreaked havoc in Nauvoo to drive the Saints away from their beloved home. A small building serves as a memorial to these lost graves. The walls are filled with the names of those who were buried here.



One of my goals in life is to honor their memory, to live my life in such a way that someday, when they catch on that I'm one of their descendants, we'll have a pleasant conversation when they ask what I did with their name(s).

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Idaho's Version of the Caribbean

This past holiday weekend, I had the chance to hang out at a favorite local attraction, Bear Lake. It has often been referred to as the Caribbean of the Rockies. Once you see this beautiful lake, you'll understand why it has earned that nickname. The water is often an aquamarine color, not typically seen in a mountain valley. There are a variety of stories, legends, and some scientific data that explain why it's this vivid color of blue. I especially like the tales that include the famed Bear Lake Monster, a distant cousin to the Loch Ness character that Scotland brags about on occasion.

When my family first moved to Bear Lake Valley in 1979 (don't make fun, I'm not senior citizen material just yet) this lake was a huge attraction. We played in the water whenever possible. At that time, we stayed primarily on the north beach, which is open to the general public. There is a slight fee for this privilege, but it's worth it. On a hot summer day, the cool water is inviting. We usually brought along a picnic lunch of some kind, taking advantage of the numerous picnic tables that line this beach.

The east side of the lake offers several picnic areas and campgrounds. One state park provides a couple of large pavilions which come in handy for reunions and such.

This past weekend, we spent time with relatives who were enjoying the west side of this lake, along a private beach for Bear Lake West residents. We drove down a dirt road and parked off to the side to stay out of the way of the numerous vehicles that traveled that particular road on Saturday. The beach was crowded, but we still had a lot of fun.

It is advisable (during hot days), to set up items that will provide shade. Our clan had set up a tarp tent that offered a bit of cooling shade after we were through playing in the water.

My husband's uncle had brought a boat to enhance our enjoyment of the lake. We took turns going for rides, but some of the braver souls waterskiied, tried out the wake board, as well as a large inner tube that was attached behind the boat, and at times behind the wave runners (picture snow machines that run on water. That pretty well sums up what these items are like---tons of fun)

We ate, we visited, we played in the water. Some of us got sunburned, but we had a lot of fun. The biggest smiles were inspired by the small fry group who did what came natural and were adorable.

All in all, it was an enjoyable day, something we'll strive to do again in the near future. If you're ever in the area, be sure to drive by this lake, and if you have the time, stick your big toe in the water. You'll be hooked in no time; this lake has a way of getting under your skin. Before long, you'll have to journey back to enjoy this little slice of heaven on a repeated basis.

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4th of July Nauvoo Style

Last year at this same time I happened to be in Nauvoo, Illinois. My husband and I had traveled there with his mother and stepfather. According to the journal entry I made on July 4, 2007, we began the day by going for a wagon ride around Nauvoo Old Town. Naturally I took lots of pictures which I will share throughout this blog.



The shot above is a picture of the Nauvoo Temple that I took while sitting on a wooden seat in the wagon. This is a great way to see the restored buildings and homes that make up the heart of Nauvoo. The grove of trees you can see below is gorgeous. Our tour guide told us that this is where the Prophet Joseph Smith would often preach to the gathered Saints.



After the wagon ride, we drove back to the "new" section of Nauvoo for the much anticipated 4th of July parade. Before it started, we slipped into a nearby candy shop and bought luscious homemade fudge to nibble on. The parade started at 11:00 a.m. and took place down a street called Mulhalland. It was over about ten minutes later. Though the parade was small (3 of the 4 entries were compliments of the LDS missionaries serving in the area) it was still festive and we enjoyed it.

When the parade was over, we wandered through several of the arts and craft booths that were set up along the way. I found a large crystal lined geode that was on sale for $2.00. My father-in-law tried to find one similar and failed. We agreed I was the bargain queen that afternoon. =)

We ate a quick bite of lunch, then drove to nearby Carthage for a tour of Carthage Jail. I had been in this location once before a few years earlier and during that first visit, had felt a trifle sad after seeing for myself where our beloved prophet had spent his final moments. This time, the sadness was replaced by peace. A cousin of mine mentioned that she experienced the same thing and she attributes the change to the peaceful feeling that now exists in Nauvoo with the restoration of the Nauvoo Temple.



From Carthage, we traveled over the Mississippi River to a small town called Keokuk. We had been told that in years past, geodes could be found on the banks of the Mississippi River in this location. We didn't find any that day, but we did get to see a barge pass through a dam lock on its way up the Mississippi River.



Dinner that night took place at Hotel Nauvoo. This restaurant features a wonderful buffet with a variety of tasty food. After we had enjoyed far more food than we should have, we left the Hotel and drove into Old Town Nauvoo to watch a rehearsal of the Nauvoo Pageant. I highly recommend this historic drama to anyone who has a chance to visit Nauvoo. This pageant truly captures the Spirit of Nauvoo, and it reminds us of the sacrifices endured by those who bravely stood for righteousness and truth.



Following the rehearsal, we journeyed up to the temple grounds where we had a spectacular view of the fireworks display that was launched over the Mississippi River.



The 4th of July has always been one of my favorite holidays. My maternal grandfather was born on July 4th, and at an early age, I remember this day was a significant one in our family. Memories of family gatherings, picnics, parades, and beautiful fireworks hold a special place in my heart. I would have to say that the celebration we enjoyed last year was just as marvelous, filled with a tender poignancy as we sat in front of a sacred temple, watching a tribute of fireworks that signified the birth of this nation.

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