The Dirty Dozen...with Donuts

I love the smell of pinesap in the morning. It smells like...money.

This was the thought running through my mind this weekend as I volunteered for my son's Cub Scout pack fundraiser. Each year the pack picks up discarded Christmas trees and hauls them to the DPW, where they are ground into mulch. The money collected ($10 per tree) goes to running the pack and paying for all those camp-outs and marshmallow roasts and other fun activities (so parents don't have to open their wallets.)

Would I have preferred to be somewhere else at 8:00 a.m. on the coldest Saturday of the year? Of course. Given my druthers, I would have remained in my nice, warm, cozy bed, snoozing between fluffy flannel sheets and dreaming of a tropical vacation with George Clooney. But then I thought about my friends from the other side of town. Their pack requires them to climb into the bottle bin at the transfer station in all types of weather, dumping out other people's swill and organizing redeemable bottles. I've seen friends in 90-degree heat with gloves up to their elbows, swatting bees.

I guess a few hours on a cold Saturday morning is a small price to pay after all.

The DPW office was filled with moms, dads and scouts, all crowding around the table laden with coffee, donuts and other baked goodies. Our fearless pack leader stood at the head of the table, laying out maps and spreadsheets like an army general about to send troops into battle. As we stood around the table, listening to instructions, it felt like a scene from the movie "The Dirty Dozen" (only with donuts).

Each team was comprised of a flatbed truck driver and a parent riding shotgun with a route map and a list of pick-up sites. Following close behind was the "chase car", which contained another parent (or two) and a passel of cub scouts, by this time all hyped up on (yes, you guessed it...donuts).

As we received our assignments, the mom standing next to me gave my outfit the once-over. She was dressed in several layers of fleece, with warm, waterproof boots on her feet. I was in sweats, a fleece top and sneakers. "Are you going to be warm enough?" she asked with concern. I assured her I'd be fine as I slid into the heated front seat of my minivan (now known as the "chase car"). I guess she had the idea that I would be the one hopping out from stop to stop and hauling trees into the truck. Really. That's why I volunteered my husband.

Another scout's dad (my designated navigator) hopped into the passenger seat ("Is this seat heated?" he asked with wonder) and we were off. Our list of pick-up sites was in alphabetical order, but within minutes my co-pilot and I had plotted the most time-efficient route. The van rolled through town like a Sherman tank (a Sherman tank with a DVD player blasting "Star War: Clone Wars"). At each stop, we'd check for traffic, then open the side door as the kids burst out shouting, "Move! Move! Move!" like a team of commandos. One would grab the money in the attached Ziploc bag while the others would grab the tree and tug it, grunting and heaving, to the flatbed truck. At this point, my husband and my co-pilot would heft the tree up onto the flatbed. The commandos would throw themselves into the back of the van; swing the door shut and we'd be off to the next stop. Mission complete.

This cycle would repeat itself 44 times over the next three hours. By lunchtime, more than three hundred trees were collected, thanks to the combined efforts of the scout leaders, volunteers, truck drivers, moms, dads and, of course, the scouts themselves. As we drove back home with the scent of pine clinging to my children's clothes, I thought of all the future camp-outs the kids will enjoy as a result of that morning's work.

Of course, while they're camping out, I'll be home in bed, dreaming of George Clooney.