My mom brought up the story of my Eagle Project in one of her earlier comments. Since it's an interesting story I thought I would remember as much of it as I could and recount it here. One thing you have to realize though. I was 13 when I was leading this project. It seems so long ago now.
For my project we went to a Methodist retreat center on Lake Brownwood. As with any large place there are always repairs to be made. We took approximately 25 kids between my troop and one I invited to come. We stayed there for the weekend and made it a combination campout and work project. The work to be done included securing a cross in the vesper's area that had come loose in it's concrete, clean up and repaint a small campfire area, and paint and waterproof a dock. Everything was going great until about 3:00 that afternoon. I was hoofing it back and forth between the sites to make sure everything was being taken care of. I was on my way back down to the dock when I met three of the four boys coming back from the docks and covered in paint. They were going to get cleaned up and explained that they had been in a paint fight. I sent them on their way and headed down to the docks. One thing I didn't realize was that they were headed to the showers where they expected to get off oil-based paint. (i.e. It doesn't wash off with water and soap) I went the rest of the way to the docks and one of the boys was still swimming in the water. He had jumped in when the paint fight started b/c he didn't want to mess up his clothes. We couldn't decide what to do with the dock since it had blue flecks of paint all over it. We couldn't find the ranger to ask him if he wanted us to sand it down to remove the paint or what exactly we were to do with it. By the end of the day we finished the blue paint around the rails, but didn't have time to finish the dock so we had to go back another time. When I get back to the camp the boys are out of the shower. One of them, Bill, didn't bring a change of clothes for the weekend and had jumped into the shower with all his clothes on. When he got out he just walked around with his undershirt pulled up like pants. Somehow he had managed to get paint on his rear end. Whenever he bent over we suddenly had a Blue Moon. The three boys rode home with my mother where she took them to the unfinished furniture store to get the rest of the paint off, before their parents came and picked them up.
