Journey to the Knot: Back to Camp

The crackling fire. The crunch of twigs under my shoes. The crickets chirping. The wind gently handling the leaves fluttering on the pavement. The stillness of the black starry sky. The hills at sunset across the lake that look too picturesque to be real. The smell of fresh, clean, pure air untouched by the city. The guitar strings being plucked and humming into the speaker that quietly echoes into the hills behind me. The serenity of a prayer being sung with voices that have memorized its many harmonies for years. The hush of the cabin at night as tired eyes close and dream of tomorrow.

These are the sights and sounds and smells of my youth. For six of my formative childhood years, I would go to camp and experience what can only be described as “the Shabbat of the year,” the time I most looked forward to when old friends would come back together to experience peace, togetherness, fun, learning, songs, and laughter. This weekend, I’ve been given the chance to come back “home” and, in a sense, go back in time. It’s Saturday, and I’m sitting in the Pagoda, the gazeebo in the middle of the “short cut” to the cabins. The birds chirp, the butterflies flutter, and the breeze wisps my hair around my cheeks. The smell of Off fills my nose again as I spray those mosquitoes away so I can concentrate on writing here in nature. So many memories here, so many happy times.

This Women’s Retreat is the first annual event of its kind. I wasn’t planning to come, even though I wanted to when I first got news of it. But, how could I leave my family for a weekend when our schedules are packed with soccer, birthday parties, campaign events, commitments with friends for football watching, and Sunday school? How could I ask Sam to “man” the boys with so much going on so that I could participate in an event I didn’t know would be worth it or not? But, it kept gnawing at me, it kept creeping back to me, inviting me, enticing me, pulling me in. So, I decided that I didn’t care who went or how many people I knew going, I was going to be a part of it. Once I registered, I was giddy about the idea of not just getting away and vacating my responsibilities for a couple days, but also of stepping back in time a bit: bunking in the cabin with the girls, being in nature and away from the rush of the real world, shirking tasks that have become everyday life, and making time for ME.

Even as I packed, I reflected on the expertise I’ve gained in all the years of going to camp. What I would need or not, what I’d want or not, how to best consolidate my belongings. I wasn’t thinking about other people, about little boys and what they would require on a weekend away. It was just me, my things. It’s so very rare to think of myself and only myself, and packing would be the start of this amazing weekend focused on sisterhood, relaxation, and taking time for just being me.

Once in the car, I purposefully played music from my most awkward years, and to be honest, I STILL love those songs. The bluegrass music I was into during that time in my life… when I had crushes on boys from camp and couldn’t wait to see them again – only to see them again and think, “What was I thinking!?”… when school came easy but I couldn’t stand the people I saw everyday… when posters of Antonio Sabato Jr and Mike Modano draped my walls as I’d belt out the latest Alison Krause, Boyz II Men, or Jackopierce album. It was a fun drive. It went fast, and no one needed anything, interrupted, or whined. I stopped for a Slurpee and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, and it was delightful. 😀

Once I arrived, I schlepped my duffle to the cabin Robyn had saved me a bed in. The cabin smell hit me as I walked in the bunk, and it was an all-too-familiar smell. The girls were already settled and making their way back to the bunk to meet me once I let them know I was there. Robyn walked in and hugged me, and her eyes filled with tears. It had been a long time since we’d seen each other, and we don’t really talk anymore. Life changes, and we move on, and move away. Life gets in the way… but not here. Not in this place. Time doesn’t change anything, nor does living hundreds of miles away and never really communicating other than a quick text to ask for advice about the best dry shampoo product or how much I should spend on a Keratin treatment. (Yes, it’s always about the hair.)

From that point on, it has just been hanging out and reliving old times. We’ve aged, we’ve grown up, and all the insecurities I harbored in my past are just gone. While I miss being a kid, man, being here as a grown up is way better! Our conversations are more inclusive, our stories are more meaningful, our reflections are deep and helpful. We’ve spend the past 24 hours talking about our kids, our husbands, our daily struggles with laundry or cooking or disciplining. Our jobs, our frustrations with our kids’ schools, our worries, our bodies. It’s just like when we were younger, just with “old lady” topics! 😆

I am feeling so grateful for this time, and yet again, for this space. I’m grateful that Sam has the kids, and that I don’t – just for this one weekend. I’m missing them, and I miss my cozy bed, but I needed this. We all needed this. Women need this time away from those labels and from those hats that seem to take the place of who we really are. We have talked about that in our Shabbat services, and it’s refreshing to see women listening to each other, being there to hear what another friend is saying, truly having the time and desire to reach out to others. We’ve laughed about how it’s nice to enjoy a meal with other grown-ups, without the dirty hands of a toddler touching your shoulder for your attention, without someone needing their spilled milk cleaned up, without someone asking for a dozen more things while they eat their hot meal and yours is getting cold, without the interjections of “I don’t want THIS for dinner!” We’re in that time in our lives when we are put on the back burner, and it’s nice to know we aren’t alone. The older women at the retreat have even looked to us, the younger women here, saying, “All of you went to camp together? You all grew up together? And now you’re all married with young kids, huh? And some of your kids go to camp here now? That is so special.” And, yes, it really is.

We spent the weekend reminiscing, and old memories have felt so real, so vivid I could almost touch them. Seeing us on the ropes course with harnesses and helmets and belays; remembering the feel of my friend tying my hair into dreadlocks while sitting on the floor of the screen-windowed cabin; recalling the mix tapes and CDs my dad would make me every summer and how it felt to get those amazing care packages my mom would send with birthday banners signed by my family and friends back home - and finding my mom’s signatures all over the banner equal to the number of years I was that year; recalling my first kiss – if you can call it that – and the absurdity of this guy trying to kiss me in the dark with looming clouds and an impending storm and how scared I was that he came towards me with his tongue out (we all got a good laugh out of that recollection). The shaving parties we’d have on the cabin floor, the family pictures that were taped up around my bunk bed, the summers of horseback riding and learning to take care of the horses in the thousand-degree heat. The rain dances we did in the hopes our campout might not happen and we could stay indoors. The frustration of starting a lanyard but the satisfaction of finishing it. The day trips we would take into the city, the July 4^th celebrations away from home, and the year a bunk mate got lice and we all had to clean every single strand of hair and every little thing in the cabin got vacuumed and washed many times over. The naughty songs we wrote about our counselors who we thought were being unfair. Hearing the news my uncle had died and the worrying about missing his funeral. The summer after my cousin died and how hard being away from family was but the comfort I found from her best friend and from mine. The enjoyment of the little things like having green mashed potatoes when I was on the green team for Maccabiah, the inside jokes that make you laugh 20 years later, seeing the Torah unrolled completely as the entire camp held it up with a couple of fingers each, receiving a Soap Opera Digest from Mom so I could keep up with my soaps, sending and receiving snail mail from so many people back home – long before email was a thing, being asked to imagine what God looks like and to draw a picture of God, sitting in the Kibbutz freezer eating cookie dough with 5 or 6 other teenagers, learning how to squeegee a floor – and what the hell a squeegee was, and celebrating my first double digit birthday away from home. These are the memories of my summers – the years I turned 10, 11, 13, 14, 15, and 16. They are the memories of retreats and reunions, and I’m comforted knowing I get to keep making them. (Case in point: playing Cards Against Humanity Saturday night and laughing til we cried and felt hoarse the rest of the night.)

I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to come to camp as a camper. Camp, sleep-away camp in particular, teaches kids skills they could never learn at home or in school - from how to cope when you don't like what's being served for dinner to how to comfort a homesick friend. I could write a whole blog post about the lessons I learned at camp that were never directly taught but gained through my own realization or reliance on myself. I’m hopeful and looking forward to when my own kids decide to be campers; Banner has already mentioned wanting to come in the next year or two. I am grateful that my parents supported my desires to go to camp and Israel so long ago, when I was little and it meant being away from me for 4-6 weeks at a time. They put their trust in the camp leaders and counselors, and as a parent now, I know what a big decision that was. But, what a great one it was, as this place, these people, this camp has helped create who I am today. I will definitely be coming to next year’s Women’s Retreat, and I hope more of our old camp buddies will join. This walk back in time has been priceless, and the time for ME has been well worth the trip. Sam, thank you for wanting me to participate, and thank you for holding down the fort (and maybe even building some with the boys!) this weekend.

On Saturday night, we ended the camp fire with a classic camp song that happens to be one of my favorites, one that sums up my feelings about camp and the nostalgia felt this weekend. These words used to pass my lips without much thought, but as an adult recalling all the summers past, it had a new meaning that reinforced my sentiments:

Stars in the sky bring the summer right back to me.

Tell me you’ll try to think about me whenever you see those

Stars in the sky.

It’s just a letter from a friend of mine,

Another picture from another time.

A word or two about a friend we miss.

A fond reminder of a promised kiss.

A fond reminder of a vow we made long ago.

We went away when we were very young

To find the person who we would become

To find the person that was hidden somewhere inside.

What we discovered there it still holds true.