Summer = Camp

It’s summer so it must be camp time.

As a kid 65+ years ago, summer camp was the highlight of the three months break from school each year.

My sister and I travelled by train to the small town in Oklahoma with the goal of going to Dwight Mission, a Presbyterian camp a few hours’ drive from our grandparents’ homes. 

The gathering of kids from small and large towns in the Sooner state featured seven days of singing, playing ping pong, making useless bracelets and key rings, swimming, and even a bit of biblical teachings.

I wish I could claim with honesty my devotion to those morning and evening services, but the truth is, they were last on my list of interests. 

Each day we would be sent out from morning breakfast to ‘meditate’ somewhere on the campus, under a tree, by ourselves, no talking, just alone and in quiet solitude. Now, at 12 years old, sitting still and contemplating my isolation was not the highlight of the day. I was impatient, nervous, eager to meet back up with my friends to participate in some social activity where we could talk, laugh, play. Thinking, contemplating, observing, praying, and/or meditating wasn’t the reason I was at camp. I was at camp to have fun.

As I’ve often noted, my primary goal was to interact with my peers, and camp was the perfect place for such socializing.

We spent many weeks at our aging grandparents each summer, and my sister and I usually spent time together walking the streets of this southeastern Oklahoma village unsupervised, unnoticed, and ogling the toys in the Ben Franklin store.

There were several old men sitting on one street corner, next to the Green Frog café every afternoon whittling away making wooden whistles. I’ve no idea what they did with all those things, but they would always give us one. Of course, the minute we got back to Grandmother’s house, they went immediately into the trash with the admonishment they were, no doubt, ‘dirty’. 

A state park was just out of town and a wonderful lake served as our swimming hole during those long hot summer days. If we were lucky our uncle or aunt would take us out to the lake maybe once a week so we could race and splash to our heart’s content.

But most days, we ambled around town just enjoying the freedom and lack of supervision offered by our elders.

Yes, summer means camp to me, and I wish I could go back to those days of youthful bliss. 

Wait…now that I think about it, being in San Miguel is sort of like those long summer days. I stroll around town, with no obligations to perform, work, or produce. I am free to explore nooks and crannies of the city. I can window shop unnoticed. 

Yep, I think I’m at camp!