Written: 4/7/2012
I’ve worked on camp staff for ten years. This upcoming season will be my eleventh. It is safe to say that camp staff certainly changed my life for the better. Each summer is different, and special in its own way with hardships and achievements, but I can look back at each one with a smile (although truth be told, sometimes it is getting harder to differentiate each one from those around them).
I was able to find a core group, and make friendships that have lasted since. And while I’m still at least cordial with just about everyone I worked with, there certainly is a group from camp that I consider family. I can look back and some of the crazy moves we had, the back-breaking manual labor, the long, hot hours in program and the crazy nights in the staff site with fondness. I can also look back and know that we made a difference in the lives of young people, for the better.
One of the things that we sometimes don’t talk about, or maybe even admit out loud, is that the staff needs the experience and can learn and grow just as much as the campers, to some degree at least. For a humerus look at this, check out Camp Confessions, while some are more specific to Girl Scout or even non-affiliated camps, they all ring true. Slate also looked at the summer camp culture in an article from a while ago. It’s interesting to see those so invested in the outdoor classroom of camp and how it can change their lives.
I love the mountain that I’ve worked on for ten years (although, and I’m not shy about this fact, it is not my favorite camp), and thinking about losing that oasis is frightening. I work personally with the Rangers and know all the staff, but when I finally am able to move onto a new job, I fear I will never see camp again, at least until the discriminatory policies of the BSA are changed.
Yes, I’m sure I could go up to visit if no event was going on, I could probably even go up for some of the service weekends, we all know we need more volunteers to get everything done. But I don’t want to have to go back into the closet to volunteer a weekend of my time, even if it is for a place that I hold so dear.
And do I even dare to dream of a time when I could take a boyfriend on a tour of the place that shaped me so profoundly? To hold his hand at The Rock, or share a kiss at Spear’s Point, gaze at the stars from the floating bridge or hike the Courage Trail, showing him all of my favorite hiding spots in the woods, the place where I held my Vigil?
Maybe it is too much to ask.
All my best,
The King of Spades
