Sometimes, in the early morning hours, I will wake up at school to the sound of a large ringing bell in the distance. In a semi-delusional state, I prepare to hop out of bed and put on my uniform before getting my kids up for breakfast. Although this sounds like a far from normal instinct that most nineteen year old college students may have, it is a reflex for those who know what it’s like to work at a sleep away camp.
Early this past June, I packed my bags with a heavy set of nerves. I was instantly reminded of my eleven-year-old self on the eve of my departure to my first ever summer camp. Taking a job as a counselor can be a lot like that first time camper feeling. I found myself worrying about all the same things: will I like the people there? Can I make it that long without my friends and family? Will the food be ok? I have always been a worrier by nature. Luckily, this tendency to fret didn’t stop me from packing my bags for a summer in Maine once again.
I worked at an all girls sleep away camp in the town neighboring my childhood camp. I knew the area so well that I could basically smell the campfire and s’mores before I even pulled down the long dirt road leading me towards my new home. I stepped out of my car and felt the familiar shade that only comes from standing under large, lakeside pines. I could smell their needles floating each time a light breeze brought another bundle tumbling down towards my feet. I was back at sleep away camp in Maine and already loving it.
Although the pre-camp jitters and the scent of the pines may have been the same, I was prepared for many differences between my life as a counselor and my former life as a camper. Responsibility was the largest difference. I was to work in the land sports activity department and get trained so that I could help out with rope climbing activities. The days of orientation with my fellow counselors flew by in a blur. We did a lot of work preparing for the campers to arrive, and I was feeling more and more confident by the day.
I woke up on the first day of camp feeling excited for my new adventure to officially begin. My bunk was spotless, the beds were rearranged, and my co-counselors and I were grinning as we awaited the arrival our six new guests. The campers came by buses from areas near Boston and New York. When they stepped foot on their familiar ground, some even stopped to take in the smell as I had done before they darted to hug their friends they hadn’t seen all year. That night, the dinner was loud. No camper stopped to sit down or even eat her food. They sang until their voices cracked and I felt like a foreigner listening to their camp songs. As I eventually learned, the campers were chanting songs that they had crafted over the many years. Some were as old as the camp itself, others were just made the summer before.
As I looked around to see how other counselors were reacting, a little red head with a worried looking composure caught my eye. She was a new camper sitting at my table trying to clap along to the songs she did not know. I saw an older camper sitting next to her bend down to whisper something in her ear that made the little red head’s eyes light up as she smiled. This type of companionship shown between the older and younger campers was something I would come to see practiced all the time during my time as a camp counselor. At that moment, I realized I had made the right choice to become a part of it, myself.
Camp progressed and I would occasionally long for my family and friends or for decent Wi-Fi, but I was too busy for this to happen often. I respected my co-workers, many of whom were not from America, but returned year after year because they couldn’t stay away from the lifestyle that camp created for them. It was a camp founded on the ideals of preserving and appreciating nature. We spent our Sunday nights sitting around a large campfire circle by the pond, watching the sun as it set to the West and its golden hues matched those of our fire’s glowing embers. At those moments, I forgot all about Wi-Fi.
The summer slowed. The heat came and went, being replaced by a familiar breeze that would soon bring autumn along with it. As I fell into a camp schedule of my own, finally learned every camp song there was to sing, and enjoyed the last of my days off with my fellow counselors turned friends, I began to fret about a new concept: leaving camp. Ask any camper about their last day of camp and they will not be happy to recount it. It is tearful and bittersweet. Ask me about my final day, as a camp counselor, and I will admit I share the same sentiment. I developed a relationship with everyone who lived and worked alongside me each day, so leaving all of them at once was a difficult burden to bear.
The camp was quieter than it had ever been before. When the last camper left and the final task given to the counselors was to sweep our bunks, I walked down to the lake and turned to see the camp from afar. I was used to watching feet scurry across the roots and up the hill towards tennis, while other girls lined up by the dock for canoe. These familiarities helped me recall one of my last encounters with the little red head from my first camp dinner. She was playing tetherball with her friends, wearing an oversized camp shirt that went past her knees. The older camper had given it to her as a gift and she wore it home on the last day.
It has grown less frequent that I wake up hearing the sounds of the morning bell while I am at school, but when I do I catch myself before I instinctively jump out of bed and smile, reminding myself how lucky I was to have spent another summer beneath the pine trees of Maine.
