Surviving Screeches and Crafting at Camp Maha

At the butt-crack of dawn, I headed west on Highway 370, grateful to have the sunrise behind me instead of shining through the dusty driver’s side window of my red Chevy Cavalier. School had just finished for the summer a few days earlier, and I was on my way to my summer job to earn some extra money for my savings. Since I had previously worked with elementary-aged children early in my teaching career, I felt confident that teaching art at a Girl Scout camp would be a breeze.

As I left the highway, the scenery shifted to a distinctly rural landscape, with cornfields stretching out endlessly. Before leaving my apartment, I had sketched a map of the area and now gripped it tightly on the steering wheel, worried I might miss a turn and get lost among Nebraska’s cows and crops. Eventually, I arrived at the last turn onto a nameless road, then drove a short distance along the gravel path before reaching Camp Maha.

Having never visited Camp Maha before, I was graciously offered a guided tour by the director to help me familiarize myself with the extensive grounds. As we strolled along the verdant trails adorned with colorful wildflowers, she highlighted the important locations—from the lively Lois Lodge, where meals and gatherings took place, to the spacious pool for swimming in the afternoons. The atmosphere was alive with the hum of insects and the distant screeches echoing from nearby cabins. Eventually, she brought me to my art cabin, a charming wooden hideaway nestled among the trees, with large windows that welcomed streams of natural light—an inspiring environment perfect for nurturing creativity. This entire introduction made me feel instantly welcomed and eager for the artistic adventures and discoveries that awaited me at Camp Maha.

Left alone to prepare for the initial group of Girl Scouts, I carefully reviewed the instructions for that day’s art activity. Since I had never been particularly talented in art, I felt relieved to see the project was simple and clear. Each girl would select a pinecone from a box stored along the back wall and, using construction paper, feathers, and googly eyes, create an owl. How difficult could it be? After organizing the supplies, I confidently stood just outside the cabin door, ready to greet my first group of young artists arriving for their nine o’clock session. Before long, I spotted the charming little girls trekking along the path yet foolishly failed to perceive the mischief lurking within each seven-year-old Daisy Scout.

As soon as the fifteen Daisy Scouts settled into the art cabin, their faces lit up with anticipation, I handed out the supplies for our pinecone owl craft thinking it would be a calm, creative activity. However, the moment the glue started flowing, all hell broke loose. Scattered supplies transformed the cabin into a colorful mess; googly eyes rolled under tables, pieces of paper flew like confetti, and enthusiastic chatter quickly escalated into a symphony of giggles, squeals, and negotiating over shared materials. Despite my rising blood pressure and growing anxiety, each scout managed to craft a whimsical, one-of-a-kind pinecone owl. By the end, the mess was monumental, but so was the pride on their faces—as for me, I knew I had made a monumental mistake when I took this job.

After the hectic class of Daisy Scouts, I managed to clean up the mess in the cabin just in time to welcome an energetic group of not-so-cute Brownie Scouts who charged down the path eager to craft their pinecone owls. The cabin quickly transformed into a chaotic battlefield as the Brownies fervently fought over the supplies, their shrieks and whining echoing off the wooden walls. Scattered eyeballs, feathers, and sheets of paper lay strewn across every surface, as if an EF5 tornado had swept through the cabin. Each Brownie clutched a prized item, reluctant to let go, while simultaneously darting eyes searched for hidden treasures to claim. Their energetic voices bounced between frustration and excitement, creating a cacophony that pierced my ear drums and shattered my sense of calm. By the time they finished creating lopsided owls, I longed for the quiet of home and the security of my middle school language arts classroom.

When the Cadettes arrived at the art cabin in the late afternoon, my materials were nearly depleted, and my patience was wearing thin. What was supposed to be an afternoon of creativity and fun quickly turned into a chaotic whirlwind of glue spills, scattered pinecones, and competing voices eager to claim the best materials. The promise of teamwork and artistic expression was overshadowed by the overwhelming noise and the pressure of teaching a subject I knew little about. In that moment, despite my love for guiding young minds, I found myself questioning why I ever signed up to work at Maha—a sentiment born not out of disdain for the organization itself, but from the sheer exhaustion of balancing order and enthusiasm in the cramped, cluttered space of the art cabin. 

Following my overwhelming first day at Camp Maha, I tidied up the cabin and prepared the supplies for the next day before finally dragging my aching body to the car, my muscles sore and my mind buzzing. The classroom had been chaotic, with scattered materials and shrill voices engulfing me and causing a persistent, intense headache. Once I settled into the driver’s seat, the adrenaline from the day started to fade, replaced by a profound exhaustion that seemed to seep into every part of me. The thirty-minute journey home served as a peaceful escape, the steady engine’s drone and the gentle motion of the car offering a welcome opportunity to unwind and contemplate the tough experiences that had marked my day. When I reached my driveway, I rested my head on the steering wheel, already bracing myself for the artistic anarchy that awaited me the following day.

The next morning, I awoke a bit later than the previous day, my mind tangled with a mix of reluctance and unease. As I slipped quietly into the calm of dawn, I drove toward the dreaded camp—a place that demanded creativity but seemed ruled by pandemonium The idea of instructing the mischievous Girl Scouts, whose impish smiles were paired with constant shrieks, churned my stomach with anxiety. Although the early sunlight painted golden rays across the fields, I anticipated a day brimming with boundless energy and minor bedlam. With every mile, my senses sharpened: part of me longed to turn back, yet another part beat with a hesitant resolve, prepared to confront whatever challenges lay ahead.

From morning till night, I experienced a fanciful blend of intense business and adolescent drama, frequently stating that I would never again assume the position of camp counselor. My days at Camp Maha were filled with meticulously assembling colorful Skittle mosaics—each candy functioning as a tiny pixel forming vibrant, edible designs or whimsical torpedoes speeding through the air before hitting their target. In addition to this refined creativity, I developed proficiency in assembling macaroni into hand-painted necklaces, demonstrating considerable patience and perseverance throughout the process. With each passing day and every new craft, I found myself repeatedly lamenting my unwise choice to supervise spirited little girls running wild in the Nebraska wilderness.

For the remainder of the summer, I wound my way through a kaleidoscope of small hands eager to unleash their artistic visions, spontaneous water skirmishes that disrupted serene moments of painting, and the relentless task of keeping factions of energetic campers attentive without losing my mind. Despite the cacophony and mess that seemed to multiply faster than I could clean, I couldn’t deny the flicker of joy that ignited whenever a camper triumphantly displayed their creation, their eyes gleaming with pride. That summer stretched every fiber of my patience and inventiveness, yet beneath the groans and complaints, I discovered a deep respect for the limitless energy and imagination of children—and perhaps, just perhaps, a small seed of willingness to return one day, armed with more coffee and thicker skin.