Pagan Summer Camp: Four Quarters Farm

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Do you keep all your fish in one boat? Is that wise? Adopt a pantheon of bored gods today, and spread those fishies through a whole fleet of clipper ships!


My legions of readers know all about the Boy Scouts and how they won't allow any gay members. And we at "The Gods Are Bored" say, oh well, the Klan probably doesn't allow black members either. Clubs are clubs, you know what I mean?


But what exactly is a strapping young gay guy going to do if he wants to go to summer camp? And we haven't even addressed the other gender, the gals who crave scouting opportunities in the great outdoors.


We also haven't addressed the fact that the vast, vast majority of summer camps are allied with some Christian denomination. And one can just imagine that these camps would not be eager to fling wide the gates to a bunch of Asratus, Wiccans, or Druids.


Weep not, wise ones! There's a great camp for you! And as an added bonus, it's only about 20 miles from Berkeley Springs!


Four Quarters Farm is a huge, beautiful property located along scenic Sidling Hill Creek in the extreme south of Bedford County, Pennsylvania. To say this place has a big, broad, flexible outlook is putting it mildly. You can worship any way you want, dress any way you want, and otherwise commune with your deities whoever they may be.


Exhibit A: Four Quarters Farm



One of the many joys of this locale is its swimming hole. Appalachian creeks always have great swimming holes, and Four Quarters has got a whopper. For the less intrepid there's wading in shallower sections of the creek - bring an old pair of sneakers, because the rocks are sharp.



Old geezers like me can't tent camp anymore. But if you're a young, spry scout or a prime-of-lifer who digs canvas, there are campsites galore. Communal fire rings. A circular henge of stones, half complete, that gets closer to completion every year. They even have hot showers and a bistro. (As a young, spry non-scout, I would have scoffed at these luxuries. I have done me some wild camping in the years when my knees and hips worked.)


The aspect of Four Quarters I find most intriguing is the opportunity to erect private shrines in the woods. You'll be meandering along, and suddenly you'll see a little cairn of stones, decorated with mementos. As a person who thinks everyone should have their own personal deity to whom they dedicate a shrine, this is simply sublime.


Needless to say, every public campground must have some basic rules, if only to cover their keisters against lawsuits. This holds true for Four Quarters, of course. But if you want to drink yourself blind and slaughter deer with your bare hands, you can go camp in nearby Green Ridge State Forest. If you see a forest ranger coming, just dart into a thicket, dragging your deer carcass behind you.


We at "The Gods Are Bored," having attained a certain age (but having kept our girlish figure), prefer the comforts of a mattress and roof. These can be had in Berkeley Springs (posh), Hancock (reasonable) and Town Hill B&B (quaint and right up the road). We also can't forget to mention the inimitable Road Kill Cafe not far from Four Quarters. We strongly recommend at least one breakfast there. The possum gravy and biscuits can't be beat. So tender.


Four Quarters has large rituals on all the pagan holidays, Dark Moon meditations, and drum circles. All faiths are welcome.


So there you have it. Poo poo to the Eagle Scouts! They can have their god and country, no homos allowed exclusivity, not to mention all those militaristic badges and scarves. We at "The Gods Are Bored" like a variety of veggies in our soup.


One final note: If you take Interstate 68 to Four Quarters Farm, you have to make a right turn off the exit ramp. If you turn left and pass the Town Hill B&B, you'll wind down a mountain and at the bottom find an iddy biddy crick called Terrapin Run. We at "The Gods Are Bored" encourage you to seek out this crick (see sidebar) and do what you can to save it. You might earn your first Pagan Scout badge.


Ack. Forget the doggone badges. Don't you think they're way imperial?


FROM ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS