A thousand words in place of a picture

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.  So here are actually slightly over a thousand, because of a picture I didn't shoot. So I invite you to imagine it, in your mind’s eye – as if these were the olden days, when radio was all we had to bring us other worlds from other minds and places.

You are sitting in a stiff-backed Bavarian-looking yellow chair, on the opposite side of the lodge’s great room from this huge fireplace, in which there is a roaring fire despite the warmth of the evening. The floors and walls are dark wood, burnished by years and design to a deep glow which reflects, not only the fire, but all the candles which have been lit for the occasion (many more than are shown here), and also the white middies of perhaps 150 campers (ages 10 to 15) and staff (mostly former campers, now in their late teens and 20s, like my daughter). Middies, in case you don't remember, are those sort of sailor shirts with the big flap in the back...

The girls (this is Girls Fire night; the boys are all at Boys Fire on the other side of camp) are all seated on the floor, though some of the younger ones are clutching pillows and stuffed animals and will soon be sprawled out, asleep.

The wall to the left of the fireplace wall is all French doors, as is most of the wall behind me; all the doors are open to the night, and a few additional campers are seated on benches just beyond the doorways.

The girls are quiet, and though some of the younger ones are braiding the hair of their counselors, the drama and jockeying for attention that happens when the boys are in the room is mostly gone, and all attention is focused at the front of the room, where, to the right of the fireplace, two young women seated in chairs like mine are reading aloud endless notes, called “boons,” celebrating various good deeds and friendships, notes like this -- “Dear Caroline and Lucy, thank you SO MUCH for talking me into coming back this year: I’ve had a wonderful summer and couldn’t have done it without you! Love, your brown-eyed gypsy” -- and this – “Juniper, you guys have been the best cabin EVER, Love, Amanda”—and even one for me, “Dear Mom, thanks so much for coming and being willing to take on so many different kinds of classes. I love you, Ali.”

Five to ten boons will be read in a row, and then a group of girls – friends, or cabinmates, or once all the counselors stood together in a long line – will stand in front of the fireplace and sing a song or read a poem. Most of the singers are accompanied by guitarists – there are lots of guitar players here – and one girl actually played an elaborate solo – a waltz, Hungarian, I believe – on a standup bass. One group – 5 cabinmates and their counselor — stood at the far right side of the hall, in front of the music room, so one of their group could play the piano, accompanying the others in their performance of “Hey, Jude.”

After every performance there is appreciation, always expressed by hands, not clapping, but rubbing together up and down, quiet, honoring the sacred space of the evening. Sometimes the girls do a quick rendition of “Bravo, Bravo, Bravissimo” if a performance was particularly brave or impressive.

And into this space, at the front of the room, right after my boon is read, steps my daughter, who is here for her 14th summer. She has been a camper since she was eight -- before they raised the minimum age to 10 – and has loved music all her life. She began dancing before she could walk, and though for years she sang in a monotone and her more musical friends made fun of her, she has continued singing in spite of their teasing. Her persistence has paid off, and with time she has broadened her range considerably: though she doesn’t have a lot of confidence about it, she has a lovely voice, and she and her friend Elaine, who plays guitar, perform for us an edited version of a song called Little Lion Man; something about it being "not your fault but mine, And it was your heart on the line…" Very sweet, and I can feel my heart expanding though the words aren’t meant for me but reminisce instead about past relationships and failures.

More boons, more songs, and then Elaine and two other girls (one of whom is my housemate for the week) get up and sing the lullabye from O Brother Where Art Thou – “Go to sleep you little baby.” Their voices harmonize perfectly, my heart is full, and at the close of the song one of the young women who has been reading the boons comes to the front of the room, sits before the fire, and talks briefly about tradition, and generations, and how almost every staff member in the room was once a camper just like you, and how she knows that many of those girls who are now campers will someday be staff and counselors, too.

We are dismissed with another song, and as we all rise and head to the front of the room to collect our boons, I find myself surrounded by a quartet of young campers, maybe 11 or 12 years old, all clamoring to know, did I go here when I was a girl? The camp, which has been going since the 20s, boasts many multi-generational families, but ours is not one of them; I never got to go to camp as a child. I’m glad, though, that we were able to send Ali here; it’s been a huge influence in her life – and somehow I suspect that she is the beginning of several more generations to follow, children and grandchildren who will love this camp as much as she did.

It was a lovely evening, and I’m sorry I didn’t bring my camera; I’m not sure what I was thinking, leaving it behind. But she totally understood: somehow, sometimes, we are too much a part of events to step out and photograph them. And who needs a photo; this picture will live in my mind forever.