They say in the wilderness of summer camp, kids find themselves. I'd love to hear from folks who had that experience (or not & why! or from folks like me, who never got to go to camp at all ... )
Camp felt both institutional and lawless. Very Lord of the Flies. Feral mean girls in a 24/7 pressure cooker together, without much supervision, and I never could catch on to what I was supposed to do or be in order to fit in.
I loved being out in nature, though. The layered complexity of forest smells and sounds. The vastness of the sky and the mystery of millions upon millions of stars. Animals and insects. DIY everything, from building a fire to pitching a tent or making crafts, did build competence. And I always found at least a few fellow weirdo friends who also didn’t fit in, and we found joy in being outliers together.
I can't wait to hear more about your summer writing camp and am already dreaming about going! When I was seventeen, I saved some money from working at Taco Bell and paid $189 to go to summer camp before my senior year of high school. From where I lived it was a 24-hour bus ride to Camp Windy Gap in North Carolina. The week was magical in so many ways. Swimming, mountain biking, kickball, singing around a campfire. The memory that most often surfaces is the day it rained, and we all played in a big mud puddle. We rolled around in it, smeared mud on each other's faces, and laughed until we peed our pants. Great times!
Ah, summer camp. To think of one story or image is truly impossible. Summer camp was, and still is, everything to me. Safety, bliss, kindness. The chance to simply be a kid. I went to a summer camp for kids with diabetes, a disease that is as full-time job and made all of us grow up pretty quickly. To be around people who understood me on a biological level, who knew my deepest fears and biggest triumphs, who knew exactly what the dynamics of this all-encompassing disease were and how they manifest in all of our lives. It is the very reason I'm here today. Every kid deserves this opportunity to go to a space where truly the entire point, above all else, is to have fun. I continue to volunteer at my summer camp every year to provide that opportunity to even more children.
Oh Jeannine, I love your idea. I loved camp so much that I would hide in the woods on the last day when my mother came to pick me up. It was so vibrant, so alive, the polar opposite of the dead air back home.
Gahhhh!!! I feel like a stalker to every post hanging out in the comments soaking up all this deliciousness yet again, & not posting anything of my own. 🤦♀️
I am chomping at the bit😂 for a quiet place away from the busy bustle of my days; to unearth some thread to pull on😉 & weave I into something worthy.
Ironically, I started some kind-of a poem about a month or more ago that I believe came from your “who are you?” prompt…
I feel I write best when I just blindly start, or perhaps, more accurately-I just enjoy it more- surprising myself with what gets ‘handed up to me;’ even if I don’t deem it craft.
In any case, memories from visiting my Gramma’s cottage when I was real little came forth: Creek bathing, & my rock collection (house in an cardboard Pampers’ box), hornets’ nests, & blackberry picking, fires in our pjs & snapping turtle catching 😂 on long hikes with my Daddy.
Thank you for this space @Jeannine & everyone. It is so rich & rewarding just to be here . 💕
It's an honor to have you here. It's an honor to have you start in whatever way works best for you! And I love the memories, the strange pairings (a rock collection in a Pampers' box!). These are such gorgeous details, clear and bright, beyond worthy. xoxo
Summer camp counselor from 1977 at the Mecan River Youth Conservation Camp reporting in for duty! This is the landscape where Aldo Leopold wrote Sand County Almanac long before my turn in Cabin 4. Calls of the loons and cranes. Skinnydipping in the river. Star-gazing. Campfires with storytellers and singing accompanied by guitars. KP Duty. Letter writing. Flip-flops. Everyone making their own "sit-upon" (vinyl pillowcase laced around newspaper for on the ground seating). Beading a necklace on a leather thong. Swimming and swimming. I know I went to Girl Scout camp was I a kid for a week but I have no memories of it except for the remarkable fact that my father wrote me letters that were funny.
I didn't go as a child. But as an adult, in my late twenties, I was a part of academic summer camps for 'gifted' teenagers, as they were called then. I hired faculty and I taught too. The kids were lovely, and I adored my fellow teachers. We had so much fun, even though it was exhausting to cram a semester of college level work into six weeks. After the kids were in their dorms, and we'd prepped for class the next day, we 'faculty' had water gun fights, smoked illicit cigarettes and drank beer under the stars. Quite a few folks fell in love. And there were some massive, unrequitable crushes, which was thrilling as crushes are. As one of us said, "This is like junior high with a good haircut." 40 years later, it still makes me feel all warm inside, and grateful, because I was very unhappily married, and being there on my own gave me back to myself. THAT is a much longer story. (For the loveliest essay imaginable about summer camp, read Brian Doyle's 'The Meteorites.') PS : I ABSOLUTELY WANT TO GO TO CAMP WITH YOU ALL AND I DON'T SNORE ANYMORE SINCE I GOT MY SLEEP APNEA TREATED AND I CAN'T COOK BUT WILL STAND UP TO SCARY ANIMALS AS NEEDED AND I KNOW HOW TO CURE HICCUPS SO PLEEESE CAN I COME??
These comments are so fascinating, and bring about such a variety of aromas, sounds, feelings. Now I want a burned marshmallow.
My mom loved camp as a kid, probably because it was her chance to escape from home. That was back in the 1950s. I should ask her for more details about those years. My daughter loved camp and was a camp counselor for years, before she became a teacher.
One year I went to some "adventure YMCA" camp, and the canoe I was in was the one where the group of us somehow lost control, got off course and almost ended up veering off from the calm lake into some rapids. I am a perfectionist and one of our craft projects was making moccasins. I made one and was so proud; I didn't have time to make two. My parents raised their eyebrows when I presented my single moccasin to them and said they could take turns wearing it. Yeah, I was an odd kid.
Also, because my dad was the camp director, some of my memories are of things happening when I'm not sure the campers were there. Like the crop duster that swooped low over the entire camp and released a huge cloud of white perfumey smelling DDT over everything. Anyone remember that? I remember riding my bike in the cloud, trying to keep up with the plane. Oh, my poor lungs! We had no idea it was toxic. It was just amazing fun.
My dad was a camp director so yeah, I went to camp - every summer until I was 12 or 13 - at Lake Tiorati in Bear Mountain New York. I don't remember much about my childhood but what I do recall, almost all of it happened there. Sitting on big rocks around a campfire, singing Pete Seeger songs, goopy marshmallows (mostly) falling off my stick into the flames. Twelve girls I'd never met before, breathing in the dark in a bunk with no windows (only green canvas rain flaps). The algae-scented lake. Swimming to the moss-slippery raft like a tadpole. The hollow echo inside an overturned canoe. My mom used to say that when I was three or four, the swimming counselor took me out of her arms and threw me into the lake. He promised her I'd surface. I did.
My dad was a YMCA director. When I was about 4, he dragged me to his summer camp for teen boys, where they delighted in scaring the holy living shit out of me at the campfire. 🔥 These huge dudes came running out of the woods, in masks, yelling bugaboos at the perfect moment in the scary story. I feel something primal about facing our fears in the dark! Please invite scary stories!
Hi Jeannine what a wonderful plan. Wish I could be there but alas the tyranny of distance forbids. We don’t do camp in the same way as you, but we sure do summer under canvas or in rickety ‘baches’, by the sea or in the bush. My family are sea people and we still go, albeit carrying memories rather than our corporeal parents who we continued to transport, with their various mobility aids, until they left to journey on without them. Dad went first, Mum five years after. In 2017 we stood high above the sea, under crimson-flowered pohutukawa trees, to scatter her ashes into the bay, imagining them mingling with her husband’s and drifting with the waves, into eternity. I will go back there next summer, with my brothers, to reminisce some more.
As the fifth of five, and a Girl Scout dropout at age 8, I never got to attend any sort of summer camp situation. (Sidebar: dropped out cuz the troop leaders treated us like 3yo’s - insisting we call them Mrs A and Mrs K cuz we couldn’t possibly remember their names…..uhh, yes we could, Mrs Altmayer and Mrs Katspeck! Nearly 60yr and I still remember!!)
All of my sisters stuck with GS and got to go to camp in WI. I was regaled for years with their tales of summer shenanigans. Oddly, I don’t remember feeling left out cuz they invariably returned sunburned and bitten alive by all manner of bugs and spiders, glad to be home and no longer sleeping in incredibly rustic cabins - just not for me, even as a youngster. I loved getting letters from them while they were away. And, having a little more alone time with my mom. That was fun!
My older brother, the only male amongst us 5, attended day camp year after year. My mom was overly concerned that his life, steeped in so much unavoidable estrogen, would be adversely affected. To counter that, he was afforded countless testosterone-fueled pastimes: model airplanes galore, a shortwave radio, handmade balsa wood rockets to shoot off in the park, target practice with my dad at the shooting range, an archery setup in the yard that the bees loved even more than he - none of which impacted his sexual orientation one iota, but we aren’t going there - it was the 60’s. My mom’s intentions were good, albeit misguided.
My summers were spent taking fun summer school classes, preferably ones like earth science that had field trips, or art classes, creating all things clay, wire, paper maché and jewelry from construction paper and glue. My typing class landed me in the local paper, having won the contest for speed and accuracy at 122wpm on a blind manual Underwood (the keys were unmarked). Our elderly teacher, Mr Orr drummed out the beat to which we were to type, to the tunes of John Phillip Sousa and Three Dog Night. I had fun and developed friendships with kids from other elementary schools that morphed into pen pals, back in the day when kids didn’t really talk much on the phone. Writing letters was much more fun - must’ve been the budding writer in me!
Wow- I guess I am a Girl Scout drop out, too. I love that you remember their names!! And now I am singing Jeremiah Was. Bullfrog and Sousa marches. So much here!!! More!
Well, I’m in great company then! Lol!! Yeah, it kinda feels like divine retribution that I can still remember their names and faces! It’s that pharmacist’s memory! Thank you for your kind and encouraging words, as always, Emily! And, yes, we did type to Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog, among others! I loved having penpals, too - used to make my own stationery, as well as stationery for my eldest sister, who wrote to me from college. When life was simpler….
Summer camp, memories and more. Bunk beds and cabins, some screened in, some not, some with an open front (Adirondack, I think was the name). Mosquitoes and chiggers, poison ivy. Swimming and canoeing, hiking, nature lessons re plants and animals; crafts, stories around campfires, Thunderstorms and lightning. Short sheeting a counselor Becoming a counselor and then getting hired at age 14 to be on the staff at a large Boy Scout Camp where I was in charge of the dining room feeding 300 boys 3 times a day, one of those early jobs, learning and getting paid for it. All the tables had waiters and I had to train them, make sure all supplies were filled, silverware, plates, cups, glasses, napkins, salt, pepper and sugar, etc and in the "off" hours I helped the cooks in the
kitchen. And, I was responsible for the cleanliness of the large dining room. The head cook, Dorothy, was the wife of the Camp Ranger/Manager and they ran a tight ship as you might imagine. We got one day off each week to take care of personal stuff and rest. Our friends were older counselors, life guards, and staff, not the campers who were several years younger. That was my last camp experience. The next summer, at age 15, I worked on the railroad where you were supposed to be 18 but we just signed the paper and did that for two consecutive summers, a very different kind or summer camp!
Thanks, Emily. For a couple of us, when we heard the rallroad was hiring for summer work on the tracks, we went to their office and without telling them how old we were, (you were supposed to be 18) we asked for an application, signed it and were hired. No proof was needed, we looked big for our ages and like we could do the work. This was during the summers of 1952 and 1953. The details of the work, the jobs and our experience may not be interesting to many but for kids back then we were making $3.25 an hour which was more than we had ever made before $130+ per week, plus overtime, was most welcome in our summertime budgets. We replaced old railroad ties with new ones which we had to unload from rail cars and the ties were covered with creosote which could burn if if it got on your skin. And we had to put new spikes in the steel plates that held the rails in place on the ties. Then we had to align the track to be exactly 4'8.5" apart. This all done by machines now. Lots of related stories about people and experiences including cleaning up a train wreck and getting double time pay.
OK, help me with a title besides, "I've Been Working On the Railroad." Old American folk song that probably a lot of the younger folks don't know Or "Steel Drivin' Man" made famous by Johnny Cash What most people don't know is John Henry was a real person. a nineteen-year-old from New Jersey who was convicted of theft in a Virginia court in 1866, sentenced to ten years in the penitentiary, and put to work building the C&O Railroad. So, there's some background!
I WANT TO CAMP (and write) WITH YOU even though I really don't like camping and don't trust nature very much. I've been sunburned to sickness and nearly drowned and frozen in summer rain until my teeth chattered and STILL I WANT TO CAMP (and write) WITH YOU. I've survived desert dirt-devils and suffered from heat exhaustion and STILL I WANT TO CAMP (and write) WITH YOU. (Are we allowed to ask questions? Is there plumbing? Electricity?)
Hahahahahaha trust me, friend, I have had YOUR voice in my head while dreaming up this adventure. More info coming soon, but one thing I can say is that we would not be in tents. So maybe that's some consolation to you from the get-go, haha. xoxoxoxoxo
I used this as a prompt for another poem. I've had quite a full week so am posting a bit later than Thursday.
camp
we raised canvas tents over wooden platforms
I wondered why we weren't sleeping
on the earth so it could absorb
the soft sounds of our breathing
we walked on and off trails
looking for the round leaves of sweet Indian gum
close to the ground stems between
our teeth sugared green
not quite mint
soot stuck to the soaped bottoms of cheap pots
eggs fried over fire
oily toast marshmallows later
the burnt ones the best a crackle
when blown out smoke
skin then gooey sweetness
we found the big dipper
and the milky way wandering away from the fire
the purple hue of galaxies giggling
until our breath misted and we yawned
off to our sleeping bags
the mean girls tried to break me
but I was already a wild-natured thing
comfortable enough in my skin
that nudity and my budding breasts were only a shift
not an embarrassment
I loved the canoe
it split water so delicately
so clear we watched the fish
and swaying plants before slipping beneath
to be with them
cool relief on our sunburnt shoulders
the leeches that grabbed hold
fascinated me as much as anything
I removed them gently
one by one off each girl's legs and arms
with salt or flame
or with a delicate squeeze to blossom
blood from their so round mouths
each of us
was one small creature
feeding from another
Camp felt both institutional and lawless. Very Lord of the Flies. Feral mean girls in a 24/7 pressure cooker together, without much supervision, and I never could catch on to what I was supposed to do or be in order to fit in.
I loved being out in nature, though. The layered complexity of forest smells and sounds. The vastness of the sky and the mystery of millions upon millions of stars. Animals and insects. DIY everything, from building a fire to pitching a tent or making crafts, did build competence. And I always found at least a few fellow weirdo friends who also didn’t fit in, and we found joy in being outliers together.
I can't wait to hear more about your summer writing camp and am already dreaming about going! When I was seventeen, I saved some money from working at Taco Bell and paid $189 to go to summer camp before my senior year of high school. From where I lived it was a 24-hour bus ride to Camp Windy Gap in North Carolina. The week was magical in so many ways. Swimming, mountain biking, kickball, singing around a campfire. The memory that most often surfaces is the day it rained, and we all played in a big mud puddle. We rolled around in it, smeared mud on each other's faces, and laughed until we peed our pants. Great times!
Ah, summer camp. To think of one story or image is truly impossible. Summer camp was, and still is, everything to me. Safety, bliss, kindness. The chance to simply be a kid. I went to a summer camp for kids with diabetes, a disease that is as full-time job and made all of us grow up pretty quickly. To be around people who understood me on a biological level, who knew my deepest fears and biggest triumphs, who knew exactly what the dynamics of this all-encompassing disease were and how they manifest in all of our lives. It is the very reason I'm here today. Every kid deserves this opportunity to go to a space where truly the entire point, above all else, is to have fun. I continue to volunteer at my summer camp every year to provide that opportunity to even more children.
Oh Jeannine, I love your idea. I loved camp so much that I would hide in the woods on the last day when my mother came to pick me up. It was so vibrant, so alive, the polar opposite of the dead air back home.
“The dead air back home” !!! I’m glad you love the idea & I’m so excited!
Gahhhh!!! I feel like a stalker to every post hanging out in the comments soaking up all this deliciousness yet again, & not posting anything of my own. 🤦♀️
I am chomping at the bit😂 for a quiet place away from the busy bustle of my days; to unearth some thread to pull on😉 & weave I into something worthy.
Ironically, I started some kind-of a poem about a month or more ago that I believe came from your “who are you?” prompt…
I feel I write best when I just blindly start, or perhaps, more accurately-I just enjoy it more- surprising myself with what gets ‘handed up to me;’ even if I don’t deem it craft.
In any case, memories from visiting my Gramma’s cottage when I was real little came forth: Creek bathing, & my rock collection (house in an cardboard Pampers’ box), hornets’ nests, & blackberry picking, fires in our pjs & snapping turtle catching 😂 on long hikes with my Daddy.
Thank you for this space @Jeannine & everyone. It is so rich & rewarding just to be here . 💕
It's an honor to have you here. It's an honor to have you start in whatever way works best for you! And I love the memories, the strange pairings (a rock collection in a Pampers' box!). These are such gorgeous details, clear and bright, beyond worthy. xoxo
Summer camp counselor from 1977 at the Mecan River Youth Conservation Camp reporting in for duty! This is the landscape where Aldo Leopold wrote Sand County Almanac long before my turn in Cabin 4. Calls of the loons and cranes. Skinnydipping in the river. Star-gazing. Campfires with storytellers and singing accompanied by guitars. KP Duty. Letter writing. Flip-flops. Everyone making their own "sit-upon" (vinyl pillowcase laced around newspaper for on the ground seating). Beading a necklace on a leather thong. Swimming and swimming. I know I went to Girl Scout camp was I a kid for a week but I have no memories of it except for the remarkable fact that my father wrote me letters that were funny.
I didn't go as a child. But as an adult, in my late twenties, I was a part of academic summer camps for 'gifted' teenagers, as they were called then. I hired faculty and I taught too. The kids were lovely, and I adored my fellow teachers. We had so much fun, even though it was exhausting to cram a semester of college level work into six weeks. After the kids were in their dorms, and we'd prepped for class the next day, we 'faculty' had water gun fights, smoked illicit cigarettes and drank beer under the stars. Quite a few folks fell in love. And there were some massive, unrequitable crushes, which was thrilling as crushes are. As one of us said, "This is like junior high with a good haircut." 40 years later, it still makes me feel all warm inside, and grateful, because I was very unhappily married, and being there on my own gave me back to myself. THAT is a much longer story. (For the loveliest essay imaginable about summer camp, read Brian Doyle's 'The Meteorites.') PS : I ABSOLUTELY WANT TO GO TO CAMP WITH YOU ALL AND I DON'T SNORE ANYMORE SINCE I GOT MY SLEEP APNEA TREATED AND I CAN'T COOK BUT WILL STAND UP TO SCARY ANIMALS AS NEEDED AND I KNOW HOW TO CURE HICCUPS SO PLEEESE CAN I COME??
Hahahaha- best campfire story ever. Would not be camp without you! And you get all the scary animals and hiccups.
These comments are so fascinating, and bring about such a variety of aromas, sounds, feelings. Now I want a burned marshmallow.
My mom loved camp as a kid, probably because it was her chance to escape from home. That was back in the 1950s. I should ask her for more details about those years. My daughter loved camp and was a camp counselor for years, before she became a teacher.
One year I went to some "adventure YMCA" camp, and the canoe I was in was the one where the group of us somehow lost control, got off course and almost ended up veering off from the calm lake into some rapids. I am a perfectionist and one of our craft projects was making moccasins. I made one and was so proud; I didn't have time to make two. My parents raised their eyebrows when I presented my single moccasin to them and said they could take turns wearing it. Yeah, I was an odd kid.
Burned marshmallows! Now I want one too.
Oh the time share moccasin !!!
Haha! I love it! That's brilliant! I could see a whole essay with that as a title.
Oh please!!
Also, because my dad was the camp director, some of my memories are of things happening when I'm not sure the campers were there. Like the crop duster that swooped low over the entire camp and released a huge cloud of white perfumey smelling DDT over everything. Anyone remember that? I remember riding my bike in the cloud, trying to keep up with the plane. Oh, my poor lungs! We had no idea it was toxic. It was just amazing fun.
Wow, just wow- write all this please! And “ the hollow echo of an overturned canoe” is just dang gorgeous.
My dad was a camp director so yeah, I went to camp - every summer until I was 12 or 13 - at Lake Tiorati in Bear Mountain New York. I don't remember much about my childhood but what I do recall, almost all of it happened there. Sitting on big rocks around a campfire, singing Pete Seeger songs, goopy marshmallows (mostly) falling off my stick into the flames. Twelve girls I'd never met before, breathing in the dark in a bunk with no windows (only green canvas rain flaps). The algae-scented lake. Swimming to the moss-slippery raft like a tadpole. The hollow echo inside an overturned canoe. My mom used to say that when I was three or four, the swimming counselor took me out of her arms and threw me into the lake. He promised her I'd surface. I did.
My dad was a YMCA director. When I was about 4, he dragged me to his summer camp for teen boys, where they delighted in scaring the holy living shit out of me at the campfire. 🔥 These huge dudes came running out of the woods, in masks, yelling bugaboos at the perfect moment in the scary story. I feel something primal about facing our fears in the dark! Please invite scary stories!
Wow!!! I would have expired on the spot!
I did. I’m a ghost now 😂
Ha!
Hi Jeannine what a wonderful plan. Wish I could be there but alas the tyranny of distance forbids. We don’t do camp in the same way as you, but we sure do summer under canvas or in rickety ‘baches’, by the sea or in the bush. My family are sea people and we still go, albeit carrying memories rather than our corporeal parents who we continued to transport, with their various mobility aids, until they left to journey on without them. Dad went first, Mum five years after. In 2017 we stood high above the sea, under crimson-flowered pohutukawa trees, to scatter her ashes into the bay, imagining them mingling with her husband’s and drifting with the waves, into eternity. I will go back there next summer, with my brothers, to reminisce some more.
Beautiful, Anna
As the fifth of five, and a Girl Scout dropout at age 8, I never got to attend any sort of summer camp situation. (Sidebar: dropped out cuz the troop leaders treated us like 3yo’s - insisting we call them Mrs A and Mrs K cuz we couldn’t possibly remember their names…..uhh, yes we could, Mrs Altmayer and Mrs Katspeck! Nearly 60yr and I still remember!!)
All of my sisters stuck with GS and got to go to camp in WI. I was regaled for years with their tales of summer shenanigans. Oddly, I don’t remember feeling left out cuz they invariably returned sunburned and bitten alive by all manner of bugs and spiders, glad to be home and no longer sleeping in incredibly rustic cabins - just not for me, even as a youngster. I loved getting letters from them while they were away. And, having a little more alone time with my mom. That was fun!
My older brother, the only male amongst us 5, attended day camp year after year. My mom was overly concerned that his life, steeped in so much unavoidable estrogen, would be adversely affected. To counter that, he was afforded countless testosterone-fueled pastimes: model airplanes galore, a shortwave radio, handmade balsa wood rockets to shoot off in the park, target practice with my dad at the shooting range, an archery setup in the yard that the bees loved even more than he - none of which impacted his sexual orientation one iota, but we aren’t going there - it was the 60’s. My mom’s intentions were good, albeit misguided.
My summers were spent taking fun summer school classes, preferably ones like earth science that had field trips, or art classes, creating all things clay, wire, paper maché and jewelry from construction paper and glue. My typing class landed me in the local paper, having won the contest for speed and accuracy at 122wpm on a blind manual Underwood (the keys were unmarked). Our elderly teacher, Mr Orr drummed out the beat to which we were to type, to the tunes of John Phillip Sousa and Three Dog Night. I had fun and developed friendships with kids from other elementary schools that morphed into pen pals, back in the day when kids didn’t really talk much on the phone. Writing letters was much more fun - must’ve been the budding writer in me!
Wow- I guess I am a Girl Scout drop out, too. I love that you remember their names!! And now I am singing Jeremiah Was. Bullfrog and Sousa marches. So much here!!! More!
Well, I’m in great company then! Lol!! Yeah, it kinda feels like divine retribution that I can still remember their names and faces! It’s that pharmacist’s memory! Thank you for your kind and encouraging words, as always, Emily! And, yes, we did type to Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog, among others! I loved having penpals, too - used to make my own stationery, as well as stationery for my eldest sister, who wrote to me from college. When life was simpler….
Summer camp, memories and more. Bunk beds and cabins, some screened in, some not, some with an open front (Adirondack, I think was the name). Mosquitoes and chiggers, poison ivy. Swimming and canoeing, hiking, nature lessons re plants and animals; crafts, stories around campfires, Thunderstorms and lightning. Short sheeting a counselor Becoming a counselor and then getting hired at age 14 to be on the staff at a large Boy Scout Camp where I was in charge of the dining room feeding 300 boys 3 times a day, one of those early jobs, learning and getting paid for it. All the tables had waiters and I had to train them, make sure all supplies were filled, silverware, plates, cups, glasses, napkins, salt, pepper and sugar, etc and in the "off" hours I helped the cooks in the
kitchen. And, I was responsible for the cleanliness of the large dining room. The head cook, Dorothy, was the wife of the Camp Ranger/Manager and they ran a tight ship as you might imagine. We got one day off each week to take care of personal stuff and rest. Our friends were older counselors, life guards, and staff, not the campers who were several years younger. That was my last camp experience. The next summer, at age 15, I worked on the railroad where you were supposed to be 18 but we just signed the paper and did that for two consecutive summers, a very different kind or summer camp!
I love hearing all these camp experiences from the counselors’ points of view. And the railroad at 15! I hope you write about that!
Thanks, Emily. For a couple of us, when we heard the rallroad was hiring for summer work on the tracks, we went to their office and without telling them how old we were, (you were supposed to be 18) we asked for an application, signed it and were hired. No proof was needed, we looked big for our ages and like we could do the work. This was during the summers of 1952 and 1953. The details of the work, the jobs and our experience may not be interesting to many but for kids back then we were making $3.25 an hour which was more than we had ever made before $130+ per week, plus overtime, was most welcome in our summertime budgets. We replaced old railroad ties with new ones which we had to unload from rail cars and the ties were covered with creosote which could burn if if it got on your skin. And we had to put new spikes in the steel plates that held the rails in place on the ties. Then we had to align the track to be exactly 4'8.5" apart. This all done by machines now. Lots of related stories about people and experiences including cleaning up a train wreck and getting double time pay.
This is fascinating, and the way you tell it makes me want to know more more more!
OK, help me with a title besides, "I've Been Working On the Railroad." Old American folk song that probably a lot of the younger folks don't know Or "Steel Drivin' Man" made famous by Johnny Cash What most people don't know is John Henry was a real person. a nineteen-year-old from New Jersey who was convicted of theft in a Virginia court in 1866, sentenced to ten years in the penitentiary, and put to work building the C&O Railroad. So, there's some background!
I like “John Henry was a Real Person” for a title!!
I WANT TO CAMP (and write) WITH YOU even though I really don't like camping and don't trust nature very much. I've been sunburned to sickness and nearly drowned and frozen in summer rain until my teeth chattered and STILL I WANT TO CAMP (and write) WITH YOU. I've survived desert dirt-devils and suffered from heat exhaustion and STILL I WANT TO CAMP (and write) WITH YOU. (Are we allowed to ask questions? Is there plumbing? Electricity?)
Hahahahahaha trust me, friend, I have had YOUR voice in my head while dreaming up this adventure. More info coming soon, but one thing I can say is that we would not be in tents. So maybe that's some consolation to you from the get-go, haha. xoxoxoxoxo
Also, I do own plaid shirts