Happy Camper

Sunday, we dropped Annabel and her cousin Rylea off at Good Counsel Camp. It will last a week. That’s one week until I see my baby again. Seven days. I don’t know if I can do this.  

We’ve talked about her going to this camp for a long time, so I knew it was coming. And I’m absolutely convinced it is a beautiful and magical place. Kelli and her family were all campers and counselors there, and her parents were even caretakers. Their family has been linked to this camp for so many years that there’s not a family gathering that occurs without at least one GCC story being told.  

But a whole week. I just don’t know.  

Saturday night, after she was all snuggled up on the pull out sofa, she said, “Daddy, can you tuck me in?” Of course, this is an every night occurrence. The kid will not even attempt to go to sleep until her mom and I have tucked her in and have given her magic kisses like Mimi (Kelli’s grandmother) used to do. But it was different that night. Usually, she will wait for me to give the three magic kisses, at which point I will hug her and she will hug me back. But that night… she didn’t wait for the magic kisses. She just said, “Daddy, I’m so nervous.”  

“Sweetie,” I said, “Have you listened to all of the stories your mother had told you about Good Counsel? They are beautiful stories, right? Well, I’ve never been to Good Counsel, but I went to camp when I was your age, too. And to this day, I remember almost every moment of it. They are some of my favorite memories. And though you will miss us and we will miss you, you are about to create some memories that you will carry with you forever.”

She hugged me so tight, and she said, “Ok daddy. I love you.” And just like that, she was asleep.  

As I lay down that night, I tried not to think about being away from her for a week, or think about her being in a cabin, trying to go to sleep but missing us so much and being scared and me not being able to get to her. Instead, I thought about my days at camp. Surprisingly, they are still so incredibly vivid in my mind. I remembered the night hike which was the first time I ever heard an owl hooting in the wild. I remember sleeping in the cabins and all the boys telling stories and next thing we knew the sun was coming up and we hadn’t slept a minute. I remember big meals and games and the waterfalls we stood under. I remember touching a snake for the first time (thank God a professional was holding the durn thing).  

All of these memories came back to me the next day when we took her to GCC. We walked in and the first thing that was said was, “No cell phones.” They told us, there were signs posted on the walls, there was a piece of paper taped to the counter and on the door as you exited the building. “No cell phones.” We checked her in and I could see the nervousness on her face, but she was amped a little, too. Her eyes were big, her chest was puffed with anxiousness. We then went to the infirmary and gave our consent for her to receive itch cream or Benadryl were she to get a rash. Then… it was on to the cabins.  

The cabins are old. I mean… friggin’ old. They are the tiniest little things you ever did see, with several bunks crammed in for the campers and the counselors. When we walked in, Kelli said, “I’m sure you can find my name up there somewhere.” So I looked in the rafters and there were millions of signatures from all the campers past. Signatures, drawings, little pictures of various things. The rafters were covered in these calligraphic writings that date back to God-knows-when. It was incredible.  

“Is your name in this cabin?” I said to Kelli.  

“It is in all of them,” she said. And then I thought of Annabel in the history of the camp, in the history of her mother and the history of her family. (I later found out that Denise had the same exact conversation with Rylea, one cabin over, at the same time as our conversation). Suddenly, I felt this incredible energy around us, as if it was the ghost of Kelli’s childhood hanging out nearby to witness the present of her child, and I thought of how Annabel will be seeing the things her mother saw and doing the things her mother did at the very same age her mother did them. Thought it hurt me a little to walk away, I suddenly felt that it was all going to be ok.  

Then Annabel noticed that we were the only parents around and basically kicked us out. “Ok,” she said, “you all can go now. Bye. See you in a week.”  

And then… we were gone, and she was still there. It’s incredible how much I miss her right now. For the last three weeks, the three of us have lived in such tight quarters that we are never separated for any moment of any day. We are either in the yurt where our beds all but touch, or we are eating dinner outside or picking blueberries or feeding the animals. I have grown so attached to having her by my side every single moment.  

Yet, she was ready to push us out the door so she could go on and live her little nine year-old life all on her own. I don’t know if I can do this.  

I’ll say the same thing in 9 years when she graduates, just like I did when Braedon graduated this year. I’m sure I will say the same thing in (hopefully many) years when she becomes engaged to her soul mate, just like Kylie did this past week. I’m sure I will say the same when I see her venture out to places that are farther away than camp, discovering the world on her own, just like Tawney did this past weekend when she visited Colorado. The myriad of emotions I feel for my children right now are beyond expression.  

But for now, I’ll just dream of Annabel having the time of her life, and wait for her to come home and tell us all of her stories. I’m sure that will be a glorious day.