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by Michelle Pugh
I love the smell of pine tree forests
Sunrise
is my favorite time of day
I love at night to
sit around the campfire
With friends to sing
and guitars there
to play . . .
"I want
four piles of sticks. Pieces skinnier than your
pinky finger, pieces about the size of your pinky
finger, pieces the size of your thumb, and pieces
thicker than that," my counselor told us,
pointing at the ground. Many girls moaned and
groaned at the thought of rummaging in the woods
for sticks. I crawled under tents and through
bushes to find dry pieces. While I didn't
exactly like gathering wood, I loved what came
next. Fires were my favorite part of camp. After
the piles of wood were deemed big enough, we
were sent off to play until the counselors built
the fire.
At camp, sunset is just the beginning
of an evening of fun. Around the fire the counselors
perform silly skits, read stories, and teach
endless numbers of songs. It was much more exciting
than the evenings other children spent glued
to a TV. I loved learning new camp songs. I memorized
them all and drove my parents crazy by singing
them over and over again on the car ride home.
Each week there is an opening campfire where
counselors make up songs for the kids to tell
them what the week will be like:
(To the tune of Row, Row, Row Your Boat . .
. .)
Go, go, go to camp
Here at Bonnie Brae
Meet
your counselors, Hershey and BB
You'll
have fun all week.
Learn, learn, learn to swim
To hike, to sail, and cook
You'll compete
in archery
And to the island swim
Stay, stay,
stay a week
Here at Bonnie Brae
Make some friends,
and have some fun
You'll never want to
leave.
Then, at the end of the week, there is
a closing campfire where the girls make up songs
to tell the rest of the campers what happened
in their patrol during the week. I loved watching
the flames jump and blink while listening to
happy voices singing. The skits and made-up songs
were entertaining, but my favorite part was the
end of the night. The staff sang slow songs to
lead into bed time. They didn't teach these
songs; they just sang for us to enjoy.
As a little
girl, I always begged counselors for "one
more song" at the end of the night. Then,
as a teenager I hoped for more songs, though
I would never have asked. When I became a counselor
myself, my kids didn't have to beg. Bonding
with the girls around the fire and singing them
to sleep were my favorite parts of camp. Time
stops when I sit around a campfire — there's
always time for one more song.
Don't disturb
the ladybug sleeping by the spider's web
And if you see a butterfly, don't try to
catch it in your net
It's taken such a
long, long time, to build this very special place
So open up your heart and mind, to all it has
to say . . .
"Hershey, can we go Polar-Bearing
tomorrow?" one of the campers asked the
first week I was a counselor.
"Hershey?"
Oh,
right, that's me. It took a while to remember
to answer to the nickname.
"Yeah, pleeease?
We reeeally wanna go Polar-Bearing."
I
thought about the frigid early morning water.
I hate swimming even in the middle of the day.
The thought of swimming before the sun has risen
to a decent level was atrocious. "No. Let's
be Turtles instead." Turtles go for pre-breakfast
walks.
"Let's go on a mud-walk," one
kid suggested.
"Wouldn't you rather
hike to the wetlands?" I tried to persuade
them. I did not want to deal with ten children
smeared in mud from head to toe.
As a camper I wanted to do everything at camp.
I swam in Big Pond at sunset, slept out in a
field underneath the stars, and ate my lunch
in a canoe on the lake. I took advantage of every
possible opportunity. Each summer, awards are
given to girls who participate in certain challenging
activities — swimming to the island, Polar-Bearing,
or Turtling each morning during the week, waterskiing
around the island, completing the ropes course.
Over many summers I earned each of these awards
at least once. I couldn't get enough of
camp.
"Why did I take this job?" I
asked myself one night as I attempted to crawl
in my sleeping bag for about the eighth time,
only to hear a child calling my name.
"Hershey,
I'm scared. Will you sing me a song?" Sigh.
Of course. I sang song after song until she finally
fell asleep. While I sang I reflected on the
nights that I fell asleep to the sound of counselors' voices.
I remembered waking when the sun was barely up
and wiggling into my swimsuit so I could go Polar-Bearing.
I remembered trudging through the mud in the
rain and learning to pitch a tent. I thought
about all the counselors who did these activities
with me. Wanting to give other little girls those
same experiences was the reason I had become
a counselor.
The next morning I was the first
one dressed for Polar-Bearing. I grinned through
my blue lips and played Marco Polo until the
breakfast bell rang. Watching their smiles and
listening to the giggles as I chased after them
in the water, I remembered why I wanted this
job. My weeks after that were packed with activities.
My girls and I studied the beauty of nature,
competed on the ropes course, learned to cook
over fires, and yes, we even Polar-Beared daily
before breakfast. My paycheck didn't get
any bigger, but my smile sure did.
One breath
of a butterfly and one ray from the sun,
And
lots and lots of laughter from little children's
fun . . .
Pixie dust. This was the solution to
one of my biggest challenges as a counselor.
I had a group of Brownies (six- to-eight-yearolds)
who were homesick and whiney. No activity interested
them — swimming was "too cold," dress-up "too
dumb," hiking "too hard," and
crafts "too babyish." I needed a
plan. While the girls were eating lunch, I prepared.
After they ate, I led my droopylipped, teary-eyed
girls away from the dining hall. A little way
down the trail I gasped in "surprise" and
knelt down to study the trail. "Wow!" Brownies
are naturally inquisitive so they gathered around
me. "This is incredible!" I pointed
at a little patch of shiny powder glittering
in the sunlight. "I can't believe
this!" The girls started getting excited.
Their eyes were big and they were asking each
other, "Do you see that?" Once they
were all excited and curious I asked, "Do
you girls know what this is?" They shook
their heads side to side.
"This," I
told them, as all of their eyes confidently watched
me, "is fairy dust." Ten little pairs
of feet were immediately jumping up and down
while ten pairs of hands clamored at me. Each
girl shrieked louder than the next in an attempt
to be heard. "Shhh," I cautioned
them, "You'll scare the fairies."
As
we spent the next two hours traipsing all over
camp following trails of fairy dust, the girls
consulted my authority on countless questions
regarding fairies. "Four inches tall," I
confidently answered. "Yes, they're
all nice," I assured them, and "Yes,
there are boy fairies, too." The glittery
piles and lines led us through the woods, into
buildings, and around fire circles. The girls
giggled and ran and whispered to each other,
"Did you hear that? I think it was a fairy."
"I think I saw one!" Finally, the trail of
fairy dust led us to a shiny, jeweled box hidden
under a pile of leaves. Inside were candies,
ten plastic fairy rings, and supplies to make
fairy wands — an afternoon snack and a
craft. The fairies saved the day.
Find yourself
before you run away
Stand in the grass and watch
the children play
For their world is really half
of your world
For their world, is really half
of yours . . .
"I don't want to go
home," six-year-old Rosie told me the last
night of camp while I was tucking her into bed.
"Of course you do, I know your family misses
you." I responded automatically.
"I'd rather
stay here with you."
My heart skipped a
beat.
"No one tucks me in at home." She
was very matter of fact about it.
In my mind
I replayed conversations with Rosie from earlier
in the week. "Nobody ever braided my hair
before . . . No one tells me to brush my teeth
at home . . . My Mommy doesn't color with
me . . . " My heart ached for this little
girl. She wanted so much to be loved and taken
care of. I remembered reading the information
about Rosie before she came to camp. Her Dad
was in jail, and her Mom was under investigation
by the Department of Social Services. DSS had
paid for Rosie to attend camp for a week to make
sure she was in a safe environment.
The next
afternoon Rosie sat in my lap while our patrol
played duck-duck-goose before dinner. She tugged
on the pigtails I had braided into her hair and
watched my every move. "Can I stay here
with you?" At a loss for words I just shook
my head. I watched her big blue eyes fill with
water and her tiny lip tremble as she started
crying. "I don't want to go home," she
whispered. The gong rang for dinner, and a tearful
Rosie held my hand when we walked inside. I mouthed
grace because my voice wasn't working.
Counselor training hadn't prepared me for
times like this. I expected to care about the
kids' safety and to enjoy spending time
with them, but I hadn't imagined dealing
with touchy situations like this. I didn't
touch my food.
After dinner I pasted a smile
on my face and said goodbye to my girls. They
hugged goodbye and scattered to find their families.
No one came to get Rosie. I had to take her to
the meeting area to have a driver take her back
to the city. I knelt down to hug her goodbye.
All I could think was: what kind of parent could
neglect this sweet little girl? Who leaves their
child to be driven home by a stranger? She scuffed
her shoes in the dirt while I said goodbye. Right
before she got into the van she tugged on my
hand.
"This was my favorite week ever." She
climbed up into the seat. As the door slammed
shut, she called out, "I love you, Hershey."
"I love you, too." I mouthed to the closed
door. I couldn't help wondering the last
time she had heard those words.
Mmm mmm and come
September
Mmm mmm I will remember
Mmm mmm our
camping days and friendships true
Mmm mmm and
as the years go by
Mmm mmm I'll think of
you and sigh
Mmm mmm this is goodnight and not
goodbye . . .
Wish boat ceremonies are a significant
memory for every girl who has spent a week at
Bonnie Brae. During the week each girl builds
a boat out of items from nature, and then she brings
it to the closing campfire. The fire circle resembles
a miniature marina as all of the bark boats are
placed at the girls' feet. The campfire
starts out as a celebration as each group of
campers performs a skit or song to tell stories
about their week. The skits are interspersed
between songs that the counselors lead. As the
night progresses, the songs get slower and the
mood more serious. When the last skit has been
performed and it is completely dark, the camp
director lights a candle in the main fire.
The
counselors stand on each side of the path singing
quiet songs and holding candles to create a flickering
tunnel. Campers file into a long line holding
their boats and approach the tunnel. As each
girl reaches the tunnel, the light on her boat
is lit, and she proceeds through the tunnel,
ending at the lake. Each camper squeezes her
eyes closed and makes a wish before setting her
carefully crafted boat in the water. Legend has
it that if your boat floats your wish will come
true.
Once the boats are launched, the entire
camp joins hands in a giant circle around the
campfire. Counselors, directors, and girls join
together to sing Taps for the last time that
week. Girls reflect on the week of friendship,
activities, and fun. Many tearful faces glow
in the flames. As the last note fades away, counselors
start singing the final song of the evening,
Linger. The girls join in with shaky, quiet voices.
The camp director dismisses groups of girls one
at a time. During each pause in the song, sniffles
are heard around the campfire. Eventually all
the girls are dismissed, and only counselors
remain for the last round of Linger.
Say when,
will we ever meet again
Say where, and I'll
meet you right there,
Say why, do we have to
say goodbye . . .
College, jobs, and responsibilities
have pulled me in multiple directions and prevented
me from journeying to camp as often as I'd
like. I keep a picture taped to my mirror to
remind me where my heart will always be. When
days are especially difficult, I imagine myself
transported there. I focus until I can imagine
the smell of the woods and the feel of the water.
I keep in touch with my camp friends and together
we are able to keep the memories alive. Someday
I will bring my little girl there. I will let
her breathe in the scent, see the vibrant colors,
and feel the color-filled water on her bare skin
under a sky of stars. I'll build her a
campfire and hopefully late into the night she
will beg for just one more song.
There's
one last song I want to sing before I leave you
. . . .
One last song to show how much we have
shared
A smile a tear has brought us closer together
Each of us leaves a part of our hearts here
Note:
The lyrics featured throughout this article are
a collection of camp song memories from the author's
days at camp.
Originally published
in the 2008 July/August issue of Camping Magazine.
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