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CONTEST: We want your Summer Camp tales!

11:42 am July 27, 2009, by JG

There are Summer Camp people, and then there are non-camp people.

I fall into the latter category. When I was a kid, I never attended a real summer camp. I went to a few day camps where we played games in a park and splashed around in the city swimming pool, but by mid-afternoon I was back home with my friends, riding bikes around the neighborhood and playing pickup baseball games until time to go home for dinner.

My wife and her sisters went to a month-long camp in North Carolina over several summers when they were kids, and tell stories of an idyllic mountain retreat where they rode horses, paddled canoes on a lake, sang songs and performed skits around a campfire, ate meals in a dining hall and slept on bunk beds in rustic cabins.

It sounds, to me, like Kid Heaven.

So, if you attended a summer camp, we’d like to hear your stories about your most treasured camp memories. Why did you love camp? What were your favorite and least favorite activities? Do you still keep in touch with friends from camp? Did summer camp teach you any valuable life lessons? Do you send your own kids to camp during the summer?

June 1 marked the starting line for our summer vacation story contest. Every two weeks, we’ll focus on a different category of vacation memories.

This week, you can post your Summer Camp story to this blog in the comments section below. Next Monday, we’ll pick three finalists and let readers decide whose is best.

And the prizes?

Each bi-weekly winner will get to see his or her story published in Sunday’s AJC travel pages and become a finalist for a grand prize getaway to a Florida resort. The prize is valued at $800.

So if you think you have a winning tale, go for it.

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CONTEST: The winner of Vegas Nights travel stories - Mistaken Identity | Still Traveling

July 27th, 2009
12:21 pm

[...] This week’s topic: We want your Summer Camp stories! [...]

Atlanta Girl

July 27th, 2009
12:57 pm

As a kid, I was a girl scout and one summer I went to camp with my sister for a week. We did girly activities and the other girls cried all week to go home they were so homesick. I didn’t get what all the fuss was about. To say the least I never went back to girl scout camp.

Boy Scout camp, on the other hand was way better! The summer after my sophomore year in college my boyfriend at the time had convinced me to work as a counselor at a local boy scout camp, Woodruff Scout Reservation. He had worked there for several years and they way he talked about all the cool activities – swimming, tubing, rafting, hiking, riflry, teaching – oh and there were boys! Staff boys! With a ratio of about one girl to every 15 staff boys the odds were looking good.

Summer camp was fun and beautiful. Woodruff is nestled in the mountains of North Georgia near Blairsville. My cabin all three summers was on the small private lake that belonged to the camp. During off times I could watch sail boats, fisherboys, waterskiers, and the crazy chaos of the swimming area. The sunlight up there was perfect for summer – bright, clear, and warm. In my memory, my favorite part of camp was the way the water glittered on a clear day and the green in the valley around the lake was so verdant it felt like heaven.

Did I mention there were boys? Little boys, skinny boys, screaming boys, cute boys. There were several campers in my classes that were more memorable than others for various reasons usually associated with how much disciple I had to give them. One counselor on the waterfront staff as me my second year, post-boyfriend, was the most memorable. He was tall, tan, with brown hair and eyes like chocolate pools. Somehow I noticed that we keep following each other around. I would save a seat for him and he one for me whereever the staff was meeting. One bright moonlit night on the bridge over the lake we had that conversation.
“Do you like someone at camp?”
“Yes”
“Is it Sam?”
“No! It’s you silly!”

That is how I met my husband and how I had the best three summers of my life . . . at Boy Scout Camp.

zoe

July 27th, 2009
1:21 pm

I attended a Salvation Army camp in Upstate New York for 9 summers. The camp sessions only lasted 1 week, but once I was old enough, I worked at camp for the whole summer. I spent 7 summers working at summer camp.

The camp I attended was a traditional camp with space for about 150 campers. One set of cabins had a community shower and restrooms. Those cabins were usually assigned to boys. The other two sets of cabins had bathrooms and showers inside. It is located on one of the finger lakes and we could take our campers out on a pontoon boat or canoeing. Canoeing was always fun, but it seems that every day one summer I had to swim out after a canoe that went too far or the campers lost their oars. The camp had a pool, the undertow of the lake made it too dangerous for a dedicated swimming area. That allowed for cabins that won special awards to go “night swimming.” Of course we had campfires and I still remember the dozens of camp songs I learned over 25 years ago when I was a camper. Those songs are still sung today. Our camp has a Facebook group page with hundreds of members, there are people on there that I haven’t seen in 15 years, but we still message back and forth. I’ve told many people, camp is much more fun for the staff than the campers. We had a night watch set up so that three of the nine counselors in a cabin group had duty and the other six were off. We were allowed off property to go to town as long as we were back by curfew. We would go to town and play “Fire Drill” with multiple cars, visit the local cemetery and scare ourselves silly or just cruise the back roads. Staff trips on our days off included Niagara Falls, Boston and Maine. One of my friends met his wife at camp and even though they are both from England, they had their wedding at camp! Another friend just had her kids come back from the same camp we went to as kids and even though camp has changed over the years, they loved it! Just as we did when we were campers and staff.

Kelly

July 27th, 2009
2:19 pm

A Little Piece of Heaven
Kid Heaven is definitely an accurate description of my summer camp experience! In fact, one of the songs that is sung each Friday night at closing ceremonies says “a little piece of heaven there nestled in the pines, it’s a home away from home to me.” I met the man of my dreams, who happened to be named Kelly as well, at Camp High Harbour on Lake Burton. Now we share the same first and last name.

I started going to camp the summer after 4th grade. It was incredible – 2 weeks of watersports, running around in the woods, playing games like Capture the Counselor, camping out, making friends, and learning about God. It is defintely the place where kids can just be kids. I loved it, and kept going to camp there until I was old enough to be a counselor and then a program director. In all I spent 11 summers of my life there and finally had to give it up when I was 21 to get a “real job.”

The most important thing I got from camp would have to be my husband! We had know each other and worked together for years, but we started dating the summer after my sophomore year of college at UGA. He had just graduated that semester from UGA as well and was off to start his career, but not before one last hoorah at camp! He already had a job lined up for the Fall, so he had it made. He started the summer off with some pick up line about us having the same name if we got married… who knew! We dated for 3 years until he pulled off a proposal on the waterfront at where else but camp. We were married in November of 2006, and we just had our first child, a sweet baby boy, 6 weeks ago today.
We are both actually still involved with the camp. My husband is on the board for the organizatinon and won their Volunteer of the year of the award for 2008. We tell everyone we know about this place and our children will definitely be going there. It is incredible how much kids love this place and how they are dying to go back year after year. The counselors are trained so well and have such a passion for fun and serving the kids. The whole experience teaches kids so many important things – everything from how to have fun and be crazy to having confidence in yourself and learning about God. I know that both my husband and I attribute a lot of who we are to camp because of all that we learned and experienced there. I am so thankful that I was able to talk my parents into sending me there all those years ago!

Shari Heinz

July 28th, 2009
7:54 pm

In the year leading up to my first time at camp as a scout, the troop worked to sell items to be able to afford the 2 weeks. We were all about 12 years old and some of us had never been away for a day, so 2 weeks was going to be an Adventure.

I selected 2 weeks in the middle of the entire summer, which meant that girls going there for longer stays would have formed friendships and tent mates.

I remember the meeting at the firehouse for drop off, getting on to the bus and riding it to up-state New York somewhere, having to walk, over a bridge, down a long trial, past the pit toilets and all the tents on platforms dragging my gear. We spent meals in the main canteen, rotating tasks daily of table setup, clean up and dishes, there was not getting out of your responsibilities. Camp fires and swimming in a lake.

On one group hike, we carried our sleeping bags and some other gear, needed for an easy sleepover at the lean to, about a mile or so up the trail. As we started out, the counselors were not sure of the trail blazes to follow and the group got split up. Soon we came to the shelter, but it was already occupied by other hikers. Meanwhile it started to rain and while waiting for the rains to let up, a fire was started in the fireplace. As the rock heated up a big black snake that was resting on the chimney rocks soon felt the warmth of the fire and dropped off right onto the shoulders of one of the counselors who scream and danced about in an attempt to get the snake off her. It was quickly decided that we could not stay there with the other hikers or the snake, so it was back on the trails; soon we were hopelessly lost and just walking about. As dusk started to set in, we came to an opening that had a few yellow buses parked. It happened to be another camp. We were told to board the buses and wait. Some of the seat cushions were missing and we had to rest on the metal frames or against the wall until our camp was notified and the buses were sent for us. Wet and tired some of use slept. The bus arrived what seemed like hours later along with a few counselors and their cars. As we divided up into groups and got into the bus and cars, we thought the adventure was over, but for some it was just beginning. As two of the car get into an accident and several of the campers spent the night at hospital. After that we were not allowed on any other group activities that meant the counselors taking us out of camp, the rest of the time left was devoted to letters to home, crafts and swimming in a Safe area pen.

To say the least, I never when back to that camp or another.

Derek Jackson

July 29th, 2009
4:14 am

One Word:

Manbird

Patrick

July 29th, 2009
1:45 pm

Kelly O….of course you had to be one of the first to comment on here. Hope your baby is doing well. I’ll have to make my way over to visit sometime. Miss you guys!

Jordan

July 29th, 2009
2:05 pm

I went to camp at YMCA Camp Piomingo in Kentucky. My first year there was when I was 7 years old. My brothers had both been the summer before (when I was too young, technically!) and I was so jealous I couldn’t see straight. When I finally got to go, I went for two weeks. My first counselor, Chris, was the guy from the camp counselor poem – running in the cabin in the middle of the night, in a tutu waking us up telling us we’re going to do something. He made it perfect. So much so that I kept returning each summer and later became a CIT and a staff member. All in all 13 wonderful summers spent at Piomingo. While I had a great time as a camper, it was the reward of making a positive impact in the life of a child that I value most from my years as a counselor, aquatics director, program director…etc.

The memory that always sticks out in my mind (aside from all the funny ones) is the time I stayed over the weekend to be a counselor for a specialty camp. We normally had the weekends off, but I volunteered to work that weekend for some reason. The weekend was the V.I.P.S. Camp – Visually Imparied Pre-Schoolers, for visually impaired kids, their siblings and parents, in 1992. Most of the kids were totally blind, or at least had such impairments that they could only determine light and darkness. It was definitely a challenge to constantly remind myself that my normal physical comedy antics wouldn’t be such a hot sell to this crowd. We did all of the big ticket camp items that weekend: mudslide, caving (where I was reminded how awesome these kids were again), swimming, arts and crafts, etc. It was in arts and crafts that for the first time I could put myself in their shoes. I did a painted rock with a camper (Jamie) who was born blind. He was awesome. I asked him, in my blunt/honest style, how were we going to do this (he was 9 going on 30). He just told me to describe the colors to him. I know it sounds like a scene in a movie, but there we sat under the large maple tree that hangs over the multi-colored, tattered, “Arts-N-Crafts” cabin, as I described colors to him and let him choose which ones he wanted to use. He ended up with a fresh cut grass, hot sunny day, cinnamon, popsicle colored rock. And I ended up learning a lot from a kid.

Sarah Dasher Watton

July 29th, 2009
2:15 pm

I went to Camp Illahee for girls in beautiful Brevard, North Carolina for several wonderful summers. Every spring, I would spend hours poring over the camp brochure, carefully selecting which courses I would be enjoying during my three weeks in North Carolina. Seventh grade year, I was bored by the prospect of tie-dying tees and sculpting clay doo dads for yet another summer in Arts & Crafts. I wanted to try something exciting, something different (and not as scary as say, rockclimbing or whitewater rafting). One of the more peculiar options was a class called “Printmaking”, in which girls would learn to “handcraft stationery and other printed items” using an old-fashioned Platen printing press.

In June, I found myself amidst a small circle of campers surrounding a medieval looking iron contraption in the dark basement of a camp lodge. As the counselor explained how the press worked, I began to seriously doubt my decision to spend my afternoons in this manner. However, I soon learned to enjoy the methodical process of setting letters and shapes into the type mold and locking them into the press to be flattened against sheets of paper. I also liked the teamwork required to operate the press: one girl in charge of loading the type mold into the press, while another turned the wheel that drove the plates together.

These two steps were intended to be done independently of one another, but I had the unfortunate occasion to learn firsthand what happens when done in tandem. You see, one afternoon, a younger camper was partnered with me to turn the wheel. She was somehow distracted, and began to turn the wheel before I had fully extracted myself from loading in a mold. In slow motion, I watched the edges of the plates biting down toward my suddenly vulnerable looking hands. And narrowly missing escape, I felt the most excruciating pain my 13-year-old self had ever known as the iron clamped down on my right index finger.

The agony was so intense that I proceeded to pass out in the dank basement, only to awake in the arms of the counselor selflessly carrying me up the hill to the infirmary. The camp nurse cheerfully splinted my throbbing finger and sent me on my way with a warning to keep it elevated as much as possible. This required a lot of walking around appearing as if I was aimlessly pointing into the distance. By supper that night in the dining hall, my freak accident and bizarre new pointer stance had become the center of camp attention. And to add further insult, my bunkmates rolled mercilessly on the cabin floor in laughter as my counselor tied my splint with string to the bed coils above my lower bunk so that I could of course keep my injured digit aloft. It wasn’t until August, while boating on my hometown lake, that the mangled nail fell off. Conveniently, in front of my entire youth group. I’ve stuck to humdrum Arts & Crafts ever since.

James

July 29th, 2009
3:40 pm

I am a Scoutmaster for a Boy Scout Troop. I took my scouts to Woodruff Scout Resevation this year. Usually the first day is very hectic in registration, moving into your campsite, and making sure the scouts take their swim test.

This particular Sunday was very hot and every one was wore out and went to bed early. This is my third summer camp with the scouts and I have never encountered home sickness from any scout. Around midnight of the first night one of the younger scouts came and knocked on my tent and told me he was ready to go home. Initially he really startled me and this was my first brush with homesickness. I told him we would call his mom the next day. We prepped the mothers of the boys for situations like this. She stayed strong and made him stay the whole week even though he begged her to come get him.

Well, this scout looked depressed the whole week. One evening we had a horseback ride. In order to get on the horses each boy had to have a permission form. When we got to the stable the homesick scout asked me could he tear up his permission form. I asked him why. He looked me in my eyes and said, “The horses don’t look this big on TV.” I laughed and made him get on the horse. After the ride he had the biggest smile on his face for the first time that week. That smile alone made taking a week vacation from work worth going to summer camp.

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