When we drove up this fall, at first the camp felt empty. It was still its beautiful rustic self, but the community was missing. There wasn’t even the sound of children running around! It was similar to that feeling you get when you go back to your college, and realize its not your place anymore, but instead is full of wide eyed, wild young “kids” that remind you that at some point you grew up…But you can’t outgrow camp. As soon as we started walking around, the energy of that place began to pour into us. Everything at camp triggers a memory.
The ball field brought back memories of a Thursday night girls talk under the stars with my favorite group of campers, an epic staff game of wiffle ball, a joke rich told and vividly remembers as the first time he made me laugh. White Pine brought out stories of staff weekends and the silly and creative ways in which we found to entertain ourselves on a budget. I can still feel the spirit moving in the voices rising from a campfire, or the freeness and loss of inhibition that comes with a late night lake jump. I am always refreshed in the quite stillness of the woods. I can remember the butterflies of a camp crush, and how through distance, patience, challenges and time those butterflies changed to love.
Its amazing at camp, how quickly acquaintances turn to life long friends, and how the experiences at that place bond us forever. How two summers living in servitude and simplicity have shaped our lives forever.
I recently read this blog, that talks about how each person has approximately 10 great stories we tell about ourselves, and it is these repeated stories that tell the narrative of who we are. Well folks, camp is certainly one of our stories. I am so grateful for these images (taken by the talented Paul Vincent).
They certainly capture our love, but also they hold in them our story and they just fill me with joy!
