During the 7 years it takes to get from age 10 to age 16, a lot of things change in a person's life--so much more than changes in any given 7-year period of adulthood, or at least that's how it seems. One big thing that changed for me was my attitude, as well as those of the boys around me, towards girls. The first summer I went to camp, when I was 10 years old, the boys in my campsite and I presented a united front: girls were annoying and we wanted little to do with them.  continue reading »

One of my favorite things to do on this website, aside from looking at pictures of myself, is to read through others memories of their summers in the woods. Any website that is proud to be home to an entry entitled “I think I was a Wookie,” has an intrinsic value that cannot be measured with existing technology. In my self-centered little world, I can sometimes forget that camp was firmly in place long before me, and continues on quite effectively today without my immediate presence. I am reminded by reading the fabulous stories of valor and wonderful tales of heroism that Camp transcends time, space and often basic moral decency. I have powerful and fulfilling relationships based almost solely on esoteric inside jokes that were conceived on the waterfront perhaps, and then cultivated to legendary status through careful retelling and deliberate repetition over these many years. Without these moments, my life would not be whole. I also enjoy the fact that there are others out there who share their own vivid, and sometime best forgotten, moments with all generations who have passed through Camp’s welcoming front doors. I originally wanted to share one of these with you, dear reader. I fear however, upon quiet reflection, that there are too many. Many’s the time that I thought that if I had more talent and could find a way to curb my superhero-like power of procrastination, I would write a book. This blog will have to suffice.  continue reading »