“A lifetime’s not too long, to live as friends.” — Michael W. Smith, “Friends”
When I was a kid, I thought everyone in the universe went to overnight camp. That’s because in my (very sheltered and privileged) universe, everyone did.
My mother — who herself went to overnight camp as a child — and father both had positive overnight camp experiences. Going to camp wasn’t a question of if — it was a question of when. I was a lucky girl.
My camp was hardly what you would call cushy, however. To call it rugged was more accurate. For one thing, there were no bathrooms in the cabins. We had to walk, on paths filled with tree roots that would JUMP up and grab you. And believe me, that first summer, that was a LONG walk to the washhouse. There was also no electricity in the cabins. No heat, or air conditioning. The cabins didn’t even have windows, really – they were glorified screened-in porches.
No matter the lack of creature comforts, summer camp was — pardon the cliche — the time of my life. Not just because it was fun. Or because I was away from my icky brothers for a whole four weeks (or even eight a couple of summers).
It’s where I learned who I really was, and gained the confidence to be who I really wanted to be — not who others thought I should be. It’s where I learned the gift of trying new things — and examining old ideas through a different lens.
I learned survival skills of all kinds, some that were readily applicable. Like when a bear invaded our Boundary Waters campsite.
Other survival skills were a bit more subtle. At camp I had to wade through sometimes sticky situations, and perhaps most important of all, it taught me how to “work” with people whom I did not choose and live with people I didn’t necessarily like. As a tween and early teen, that’s pretty heady stuff.
At 30-something, I see it for what it was: a life lesson.
While my camp experience shaped me in so many intangible ways, I was fortunate enough to bring something “tangible” home with me. And it was more than homemade ceramic boxes and hand-dipped candles (although I had plenty of those).
I forged many special friendships at camp, but one in particular stands out.
The kind of friend who no matter how long it has been since you’ve seen her, it will seem as if the time had never passed. The kind of friend who there is never enough time to talk to, who always has an ear when you need one, who over the years will dry a river of tears — while sharing a mountain of laughs.
The kind of friend who doesn’t think anything of it when you break into camp songs in the middle of a crowded restaurant.
I met my lifelong friend when we were 11, although at the time we didn’t know it.
On Thursday, she and I will return to camp together, as part of an alumni reunion celebrating our camp’s 100th anniversary. Along with 300 other women of all ages, we will stay on the same old beds, in a cabin without bathrooms or (gasp!) electricity, in sleeping bags, on a glorified screened-in porch with no windows.
For four days, I get to run away.
We will stroll down the sand and dirt paths I’ve walked down so many times in my dreams. We will hear the whispering pines. We will listen to the call of the loons. We will rekindle what it means to be a young girl with our whole lives — and friendship — ahead of us.
Laura Weisskopf Bleill is the co-founder and editor of chambanamoms.com. You can reach her at laura@chambanamoms(dot)com. This weekend, she wants you to call, text, or even better — hug — your forever friends.