Dear Summer Camp…

For me, summer camps began when I was only four years old. My parents parked our pop-up trailer at the top of the hill for two weeks. My siblings joined their age-appropriate cabins, my mom counselled below in the beloved cabin #3, and my dad faithfully cleaned the toilets and did all the odd jobs. 

In those early years, I remember hopping around in the evenings zipped up in my sleep sack. I fell asleep nightly to the soothing tone of the guest speaker in the late evening sessions. There’s even photo evidence of me inside a cardboard box (read: basket), being pushed out on the stage, where I fell asleep while playing the role of baby Moses in the bullrushes. To think I missed my own acting debut…

Those years of summer camps were filled with lake swimming, dock jumping, a little bit of swimmer’s itch, and a whole lot of calamine lotion. The tuck shop, top bunks, team games, and a trampoline without a net. Do you remember those?!

I shaved my legs that didn’t need shaving with camp friends on a rock by the bank. I tipped canoes and learned how to upright them again, and I loved the boat rides that showed us islands inhabited only by nature. Little brown plastic mugs held the best tasting early morning hot chocolate. Homemade caramel sauce topped the ice cream sundaes. Fluffy pancakes were slathered with peanut butter, brown sugar, AND THEN syrup. Jumbo-sized freezies were given out only after our group’s turn in the dish pit. 

Specific exercises and stretches still trigger a rendition of the ‘Father Abraham’ song in my head.  

There’s nothing like the crisp morning air of each new day at camp, intertwined with the constant fusion of corporately worshipping God in such a beautiful place. 

Did you know my parents met at a camp? We’ve always prefaced this story with a bit of a scandalous smirk… since my dad was a counsellor and my mom was a camper. The story goes that he offered to carry her either up or down a hill… The direction is irrelevant; what matters is that she said yes. 

Good news she did, or I wouldn’t be here… I believe their ‘chance’ meeting was a divine camp encounter.

Ironically, a few years back, and by ‘few,’ I mean 21 now… I also met my husband while working at a summer camp. I’m convinced God also put us there precisely when He did; meeting my best friend in one of my most favourite places is a special gift God gave me.

Over the years, the camp locations have changed, but now my kids are growing up with the summer camp experience as a core memory for them too. For the past ‘lots of years, ‘ we’ve packed up and gone to a family camp worth going to for the waffle cones alone. 

It’s on an island in the ocean with mountains lining the distance. Ferry boats silently travel across the way, and it seems like eagles and hummingbirds own the place. A deer even showed up this year, which was super idyllic until it started eating all the flowers. 

Everything is thoughtful and beautiful, and my boys have so much independent freedom to roam the grounds with their groups and extraordinary leaders. Still, since it’s a FAMILY camp, they also have their mom slathering them with sunscreen in the morning and sorting through their suitcases in the evening. It’s so nice to gather for outdoor meals and hear them excitedly tell us about their day. 

The camp has its own farm and gardens and a general store. There’s water skiing and tube rides, big floaty things in the cold ocean to climb and play on, and the boys do so much fishing with their cousins from Texas. This year, they even caught a $100 bill floating on the ocean water.  

There’s a delightfully slow pace to being at camp and a deep satisfaction from daily gatherings to learn and worship our Creator while being immersed in His creation. There’s a fullness from good food, fellowship, and the tangible presence of God. It just brings me so much joy.

But through all my years at camp, I have noticed the most peculiar thing: I’m not sure how time goes quicker at camp, but it does. It always feels like it’s time to go home almost as soon as we arrive, and there’s always such a draw to return. 

It feels like a foretaste of heaven, with a side of waffle cones…