Post 2: Camp--My Home

It’s my home.  Ever since I was a little girl, this is where I’ve gone.  Just about every summer, without fail.  I met my best friend here.  You can’t miss him: the kind of short one; crazy as anything.  I met him in the Beitam.  I was just sitting there on the bleachers when he walked up and said hi.  I had met him before, but never thought much of him.  He’s now the one person in my life who I have no secrets with.  We tell each other everything.

We spent that summer linked as if we were conjoined twins.  In the Hadar, we were forced to be separated.  But that was only meal times.  When it was swim time, he had to go to the pool when I had to go to the lake and he had to go to the lake when I had to go to the pool.  Ah, the lake.  Murky and cold.  The blob was everyones favorite.  The water trampoline just hovering out in the middle, all alone.  The canoes and kayaks littered across the smooth surface.  I never really went in.  I always sat on the side playing cards with my friends.

In later summers, Macom Nachshonim was our favorite spot to go.  People were almost never there.  It was our spot.  It was special.  We went there whenever we could: hill time, perech zien, and even on Shabbat.  The memories it brings back are wonderful ones.

Then there was the tree house.  The opposite of Macom Nachshonim.  You know, out by the baseball field.  On the far side of the lake.  I know you’ve been there.  How could you not have been?  People were always there.  Everyone knew the spot.  We would come here to tell stories and relax.  People never believed us when we told them that we had just been talking.  That was because we were always late for services.

I showed him my secret places.  It always seemed as if they were hidden deep in the woods, yet, in reality, they were almost in plain sight.  It was like magic.  You could see out, but they couldn’t see in.  Six Chairs.  There were so many rumors about this spot.  I doubt many of them even happened.  But they make good stories.

Havdalah.  The one experience of camp you can never forget.  The sun has set and the whole camp joins in song.  You hug you neighbors, even if you don’t know them. The Sabbath is over.  The camp breaks out in song and dance.  These moments define camp.  These, you can never forget.  This experience cannot even be described in words.  And I am ashamed of myself for attempting to do so.  Seeing the Gesher kids cry on their last Shabbat.  They will not return the next year.  This is the end for them.  It has been a great ride though.  And it was all worth it.

This is camp.  This is my home.