3 Ginger Snaps

I am beaming. Both literally and figuratively.

In my enthusiasm to collect Charlotte from the camp bus today, I neglected to remember to pack a hat and, whilst standing in the parking lot waiting for the luggage to show up, I got a sun burn. Incidentally, the bus was so jam packed, they ran out of room for luggage thus necessitating both the camp truck and a helpful parent with a truck to make the trip south with duffles and trunks and duct tapped plastic drawers crammed into the beds and strapped in for safe-keeping.

The parking lot was gold and blue with anticipation. Old cabin mates reunited with the scratch of gravel underfoot and cries of joy in the air. Cries that echoed their time spent with one another in a sacred place at some distant point on the space-time continuum. Dogs wandered about, unaware of why they were there. Parents found rare moments to linger with one another in conversation. Coffee was had. Laughter was abundant. And then the bus came.

The children emerged. Their eyes, bleary with the tears of long goodbyes, searched the crowd. Eyes that had spent 2 weeks gazing at the stars, reading song books, sharing conspiratorial glances, admiring the lick of a flame, exchanging a wave across the dining hall, watching as the Canadian flag rose each morning, and filling their souls with sustenance. And then – finding familiarity, one chapter ended and another began.

Hugs were administered. Trips back and forth to the open trunks of mini-vans. Final gestures of love, friendship, unity, and gratitude were lavishly spread around. Dogs got playful scratches. Younger siblings got squeezed. More goodbye hugs. And then, finally, departure.

I hope I always remember this moment of joy and pride. Although there are many rifts and schisms that parents and children navigate together in adolescence, one thing they can unite on is that it is a puzzling journey. Despite the fact that it is inordinately difficult, confusing, exhausting and demanding – it also has the potential to yield tremendous results. This moment, the conclusion of Charlotte’s final summer as a camper, marks a paradigm shift in my understanding of her childhood and, perhaps more significantly, a shift in her own understanding of herself. If we’ve had a conversation in the last six months I’ve probably shared with you that she paid her own way for a second session of camp this summer so she could make the most of her final camper year. In doing so, she followed the example of her mother who did the same thing some 35 years ago. Charlotte knows something about her agency now.

As a place and a community, camp has anchored Charlotte’s existence and shaped her view of the world. She first attended at less than a year of age, paving the way for her sisters who first attended at 6 weeks and 2 weeks themselves. Camp has built her confidence to admirable heights, taught her the meaning of friendship, and cultivated a deep sense of value for the natural world. She knows every inch of ground there and has a story to go with all of them. Camp has enriched her life in transcendent ways that she does not yet comprehend but will no doubt be revealed in time. To say that I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the experience and wisdom she has gained at camp would be an understatement. It is common to know the passage of time in youth through the academic calendar. With all of the gifts and growth that flow from time spent at summer camp, it is an undeniable privilege to know that same passage of time through this unique lens.

Having spent the final night refusing sleep in favour of connection, she didn’t last long on the car ride home and, after a quick sub and a few stories, the sounds of slumber drifted out of the back seat. Looking back, there was my child, the same blankets clutched in hand that had been traveling with her to camp since the beginning. The blankets are threadbare. The child is transformed.