When we signed up to be a campground host, I wasn’t fully aware that part of the job would be managing crisis. I should have expected it, but mostly I thought about cheerfully sharing camping stories and answering guest questions. I guess it is a good thing that I have decades of prior experience as a public school administrator. I am adaptable, able to interact with individuals from all walks of life, and ready to handle the unexpected. Incidents range from the mundane to critical. We evaluate each situation as it comes and determine an appropriate response. Fortunately, there are paid employees who handle anything serious. After all, we are just here for the fun of it.

If the screaming next door is because our neighbors decided to store all their food on the ground in plastic tubs and the raccoons are having a late night picnic at their campsite, we sit tight, have a chuckle and consider it a valuable lesson learned. If an early morning visit to our site is because a camper traveling cross country has a flat tire on their motor home, I immediately put down my coffee and find our compressor to help get the couple back on the road.

Sometimes the situations are humorous. I followed a man driving in circles in the campground. He just kept driving his camper in and out of loops. When I finally was able to flag him to a stop, in order to assess if he was lost, disoriented, or was searching for something; he said, “everything’s fine ma’am. I’m just no good at parking the trailer so when I mess it up, I drive a loop to get up the nerve to try it again.”

Sometimes suspicious behavior is puzzling. A camper approached me and said, “someone needs to investigate site x.” She refused to say more. I drove to the site and didn’t see anything unusual except that they had parked and not paid. I sent a ranger who told them they had to pay, but he said he didn’t see anything unusual either. The man was working in the camper at a desk and appeared to be on a conference call and alone. When he left the park, he paid my husband for the stay. The man said he didn’t know his address and that he was traveling with a child. No one had enough pieces of the puzzle to get a clear picture. Was it nothing? Something? We will never know.

Occasionally there is actual crisis. As I was doing the morning rounds in the golf cart, a woman came running over to me and waving her arms. There had been a dog attack in the park. Even though the park has a 10 foot leash law and dogs are to be kept under physical control by owners at all times, people always assume their pet is the exception. (In fact, I was knocked down and bit by a German shepherd in this park a few years ago. The owner thought a 20 foot leash would give the dog more freedom….a story for another day.)

By the time I arrived on the scene, the man was sitting in his truck. He was bleeding from his legs and arms. His clothes were grass stained and had bloody holes. He was shaking and trying to use his phone. I did a quick assessment, asking if he was injured. He said he thought he was alright and didn’t know if he had been bitten. I asked if he would like me to check his arms for puncture wounds or provide bandages. He said he didn’t have time to worry about that. He needed to get his dog to the vet. It was then that I noticed a small dog bleeding all over the back seat of his truck.

As I helped to locate a veterinary clinic (the closest vets were not taking appointments even for emergencies) and trying to determine if he was well enough to drive, the man told me that he had been taking an early morning walk with his dog in another section of the park. Two pit bulls broke through the side of a tent and attacked his dog. The dog owner was able to get control of one dog, and the man wrestled the other to get him to let go of his small dog. The man’s injuries came from diving onto the pit bull and struggling on the ground. Thankfully he did not receive a bite. The man’s dog ended up in a pet surgery in St. Louis. The man was devastated.

The rangers checked in with the pit bull owners who were in shock. They were sure that a) their dogs wouldn’t hurt a fly and b)they were contained in the tent. All parties involved had their trip cut short. I wish dog owners understood that their pet is often stressed and confused at being in an unfamiliar environment. They will always require extra attention and restraint, especially if the park is at capacity.

Last night, just as I was shutting down the check station, an ambulance and police vehicle pulled into the park. We followed the lights and found a man lying in the grass. His leg was being held in the air by a fellow camper. Individuals with swimsuits stood in a circle. Other campers, beer in hand came to watch. If this had been at a school, I would have immediately cleared the area, but I don’t have that kind of authority here. A golf cart and a badge only get you so far.

The man had been floating the river, and decided to jump from the bluff without checking the depth of the water. He had done the same jump numerous times in the past, but the recent flooding has changed the river course. What had been a deep pool was now shallow. He lost the skin off of his foot to the bone, and suffered serious injury. Knowing the campground was the last opportunity for help for a long while, his sister and girlfriend helped drag him up a steep riverbank into the campground. The campsite the stumbled upon just happened to belong to an off duty first responder. Providence. First aid was started, 911 activated.

The patient was transported to the hospital. His significant other rode along. This left his sister, alone in the dark, in her swimsuit. I offered to take her to the check station so she could call the rest of her group. She said she didn’t know the numbers and her phone was with them. They had continued on float , as it was dark and they had quite a way to go. She called her phone and no one answered. I offered to drive her to their pull out spot, thinking we would easily arrive before her floating buddies. So we took off through the woods, down a highway, and then a long dirt road. It was just us and dozens of deer and raccoons. We got there in good time, but there was no truck. Her friends were gone. We had not passed them in the park.

What next? She asked if I could take her to the nearest hospital where she could at least regroup with her injured brother. I was happy to help. The last I saw of her was a tired, wet, barefoot, and bikini clad body walking in the doors of the emergency room with thanks on her lips and uncertainties in her eyes.

I was, however, most affected by a much simpler call for help. All week, I had interacted with a young couple camping in a yurt. The woman was polite and called herself a hippie. She dressed in flowy dresses and carried a chubby barefoot baby on her hip. She cooked over the fire. He played with the baby. A few days in, they asked if they could move campsites to the one next to ours since it was shady and it got too hot in the tent for the baby in the full sun.

At this point, I began to wonder if they were living in the tent full time, but they seemed happy. Lots of people are full time campers. But one morning, she came sobbing into our campsite. Big ugly crocodile tears coming so hard that I could not understand her words, accompanied her shaking hands and shoulders. Her boyfriend explained that she had gone to shower and lost her engagement ring. It was a family heirloom and had belonged to his grandmother. She remembered taking it off and putting it in her shower bag before washing herself and the baby. When she got back to the campsite, it was not in the bag. Someone else was in the shower room when she went back to check.

Her fiancee was convinced that the person in the room after her had stolen the ring. I went to the shower house and asked maintenance to lift the drain covers. After a thorough check, no ring. I came back to let her know. The fiancee was driving the park in search of the last person to use the shower house.

She was still crying. Her body was hunched into a protective ball. She looked so vulnerable. I asked if she needed a hug. She clung to me like she had never been hugged; like her life depended on the hug. She cried and we hugged. She cried some more. And then a floodgate of words. She loved him. She loved her baby. She had a bad case of post partum. She had medical complications from the delivery. They were living in the tent as they were between jobs, but he had just gotten a good job and things were finally on the right track. She was afraid she had messed everything up and that he would leave her because she lost the ring. His family would hate her. She had ruined the only thing she ever wanted, a stable family.

I looked her in the eye and told her she hadn’t done anything wrong. Misplacing the ring while trying to wash a baby in a campground shower house was an accident. If her man would leave her over that, then, he was not the one. She said…. I know, but I didn’t know my dad, my mom well…I want my child to have family. I love him. We are going to do this right and now I messed it all up. The ring represented her lifelong wish….a stable family.

She hugged me some more while I tried to speak wisdom and blessings by telling her how I had observed her being a good mom all week and by reminding her of her self worth as a strong woman. She reacted like a parched plant taking in water. I noticed an ugly bruise on her arm and asked her if she was safe. She said yes, he is a good man. I believed her.

When she calmed down, I had her tell me the steps she took at the shower house and after returning to her car. I suggested that it was likely that the ring was in the backseat of the car, jostled by moving diapers and blankets and towels. I told her I had lost three different weddings rings. She smiled. She looked hopeful.

About an hour later, she returned flashing a pretty handmade ring and a glorious smile. It had been in the car all along. She thanked me and invited me to the wedding. She came back several times offering to cook us dinner or buy us groceries. I told her that was unnecessary but incredibly thoughtful to offer. Sometimes, I reminded her, we just help each other because it is the right thing to do. She came back to talk a few times before they left the camp and once at the end for one more hug. A beautiful soul trying to find the light.

Can you help? Three simple words. If it is within my power, the answer is almost always yes. We are given so many opportunities to help, to make a small difference. I didn’t expect so many needs at the campground. But anywhere people are being peoply, they will need help. Hopefully if I am in need at a campground, the person looking back at me from the check station will respond “how can I best help?”