To A Camper

There’s this place, a special place, where I’ve spent more than half of my life.  I learned more skills there than I did in college and all of the jobs that I’ve ever had.  Driving past the wagon wheel and over the bridge means that I’m coming home.  I don’t need to go out and hike around, just being there is enough.  It’s camp.

We just had a staff reunion at Camp Conestoga, in New Liberty, Iowa.  There were staff members from when I was a camper.  There were 4 of us from my CIT group in 1987 and 1988.  There were staff members that I worked with from the first year that I was on staff in 1989.  There were staff members that I worked with in later years.  There were lots of kids running around, not really caring that it was stinking cold.  (It was snowing shortly after I arrived.)  There were new staff members who will be working at camp this summer. 

Best of all, there were babies.  It was so cool to see staff members bringing their new little ones for their first visit to camp.  The babies won’t remember it, but they were there and there are pictures to prove it.  I got to cuddle them all!

Babies in backpacks!  Coqui & Tori. Snapdragon & Sam.  Rainbow & Kirsten.  Amity & Norah.

The poem I chose is called ‘To A Camper’ by Mary S. Edgar.  This poem was read every summer, at some point during every session for Scouts’ Own or during Ecumenical on Sunday.  I can still hear different staff members reading it, each with her own pauses and accent.  No one will know this poem, unless you’ve been to camp.  I know that it means something different to each of us from camp.  But, it means camp.

We had a silent auction to help out with the costs incurred from the weekend.  (Hopefully we didn’t have to pay for all of the firewood that we used, because we used A LOT!)  I crocheted a baby dress out of this beautiful peach baby yarn.  I figured enough people either had babies or knew someone who did.  I think that it went home with Rainbow.

I know that a frilly dress doesn’t really go with the poem.  A backpack, or a camp blanket or even a sit-upon might have been more appropriate, but I seem to recall wearing a formal gown at camp for a final night skit when I was a camper.  Little girls who go to camp wearing their ripped shorts and dirty tennis shoes can still wear frilly little dresses.  

Hanging out in font of the fireplace in the Dining Hall to escape the snow and cold outside.  ( I slept in front of the fire later that night.)   That's me, Quibs, in the grey sweatshirt.

It’s hard to explain how special camp is to people who have never been.  I can’t imagine a life without it. 

Below is the poem and pictures follow afterward. 

                    TO A CAMPER

You may think my dear, when you grow quite old

You have left camp days behind

But I know the scent of wood smoke

Will always call to mind

Little paths at twilight

And trails you used to find.

You may think some day you have quite grown up

And feel so worldly wise

But suddenly from out of the past

A vision will arise

Of merry folk with brown bare knees

And laughter in their eyes. 

You may live in a house, built to your taste

In the nicest part of town

But someday for your old camp togs

You'd change your latest gown

And trade it for a balsam bed

Where stars all night look down.

You may find yourself grown wealthy

Have all that gold can buy

But you'd toss aside a fortune

For days 'neath an open sky

With sunlight and blue water

And white clouds floating high.

For once you have been a camper

Then something has come to stay

Deep in your heart forever

Which nothing can take away

And heaven can only be heaven

With a camp in which to play.

                          Mary S. Edgar

  The dress is a much darker shade of peach than the picture shows. (Obviously, peach isn't the doll's colour. And the dress was made for someone a little bigger than her.)

A close up of the bodice.

A close up of the skirt.

And who do you think is underneath? This is the cat who refused to get out of the rocking chair. I even rocked it and she stayed put. So, I threw the blanket and the doll on top of her and took the pictures. This was the last picture taken.