I headed out of the volunteer house, intending to enjoy the winter day as best I could by wandering at my will about the trails at neighboring Camp AJ. I had donned my slippery black rain pants and all of my winter gear: a green ‘boggan emblazoned with the logo of the farm co-op at home, a coat be-speckled with caulk from a housing project a year gone, and a puffy gray vest sent in the mail on my last birthday.
A trek up the mountain landed me on my favorite trail at camp: Ralph’s Ridge. As the snow crunched under my boots and the sun tasted the powdered sugar branches, I was reminded of another wander about camp this past fall. I had used my Friday off to head out with the year-round camp staff to scope out good places for trails. We had hiked on and off the trails, leaves crunching beneath our shoes and sliding out from under us as we explored this rock and that cave. Mike, the curly-haired, Cincinnati-capped Camp AJ enthusiast, was, as always, ready with an idea to make life more interesting. “You know what you guys should do? Find an old rotted-out tree and knock it down with your bare hands. It’s very satisfying. A buddy of mine and I used to do it.” My fellow volunteers Paige and Emily had embraced the idea, finding trees of the proper level of decay and invading their space to the point where they were ready to give up and move on – back home to the earth.
I hadn’t knocked one over that day though. But I had thought about it. And I thought about it again as I walked along the trail this winter morning. And as I thought about it, I got a pleasant surprise. There right before me was the perfect tipping tree; rotting and ready to rejoin the earth. I grinned and leaned my weight into it. It fell to the ground with a satisfying crack. I dragged it off the trail and went on my way. Ralph’s Ridge soon ended and I found myself on Rambler, a much steeper trail. A steep slope and snow is not really a good combination unless you want to ski. But I had a solution: if I was probably going to end up falling on my butt – I might as well start on my butt.
I sat down on the snow and propelled myself down the trail – turning the hiking trail into a sledding party of one. It may not have been the most adult thing to do – but it was definitely a very camp thing to do. Might as well do as the kids would do. I thought of camp kids again when I crossed the creek. There along the edge of the creek a huge icicle hung from a rock, touching its toes to the ground. I stood next to it and compared heights. Yup. It was definitely both taller and wider than me. Behind the big icicle, smaller icicles curled out of the saturated soil next to the creek bed. I picked one up in my hands and wondered at how they came to be. I couldn’t help but think about how much the summer camp kids would love this experience. Yes, I thought to myself, Camp AJ magic really does exist, even in the winter.
Fast forward one week. The snow is beginning to melt. I walked to camp through the trees, trying to avoid getting slushy snow up to my ankles and down into my socks.
As I broke away from the shadows and found myself at camp, I was eager to see that the snow had completely melted from the hill around the main building. Tired of the constant risk of soggy socks, I sprinted up the last remaining stretch of snow to the driveway. And stopped. The air around camp had lost any hint of winter slush. In fact, it didn’t smell like winter at all. It smelled like summer. Perhaps it was caused by the blacktop driveway soaking up the sun. Perhaps it was caused by the lack of trees around the building. But I like to think that it was more than that.
As I wandered around the building, I suddenly felt very close to summer camp. I sat on the sun-warmed rock where veteran camp counselor Chris had once pretended to be a troll drinking a disgusting potion during the counselor hunt, and tried to sooth the quiet ache inside. This breath of summer in January was making me campsick – at a time when I didn’t want to be campsick – because, come summer, I won’t be here. And that’s just as I want it to be. But I’ll miss it nonetheless. Camp smelled of summer that day because it breathes the air of the time when it is most alive. When it is full to the brim of kids with aches and joys and fear and courage. You see, camp is one of those special places. One of those magical places – one of those places that has been filled with so much love in its lifetime that the love never really leaves.
At Camp AJ, love soaks into the earth and echoes off the rocks. It swings its legs from the branches of trees and slides down mountains in the snow. It whispers in the wind the secret of finding joy in the smallest things – like an icicle – or an old rotted tree. I’ve heard it. I’ve felt it. I’ve smelled it. Here where love lingers and waits for old friends and new; an island of summer in a world full of winter.
Elizabeth is a long-term volunteer serving in the Home Repair program and living in the Jackson County community. In the past Elizabeth has also served with CAP as a volunteer in the S.P.A.R.K. after school program and as a camp counselor at Camp Andrew Jackson. Opinions expressed in volunteer blogs are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of CAP or the Volunteer Program.
