Life's a Stitch

We are a summer camp kind of family. Early on in our relationship Chuck and I realized the impact summer camp had on our early years. When we moved to Vancouver he ended up as an executive director of a summer camp on a remote island. It was one of those things that was meant to be because before they offered him the job the board of directors insisted that we see the camp together, as a couple, in order to make a decision. It was February, the site was in ill repair and there were enough deer turds on the ground that it could be measured like heavy brown snow – in inches. Upon the end of the tour I whispered to Chuck, "Your take this job and you’re on your own." Insisting that he heard me say "You take this job," that he didn’t hear (go figure) the last part of the sentence (it ended up being a four year sentence), he accepted the job.

It was a rich experience. Mari took her first steps there, thank goodness, I had had enough of her picking up mouse poop as she crawled along our cabin floor. Elina had her first out trip at age four and was thrilled when she discovered a slug in her boot after her first night camping out. Bryant was conceived there (no details necessary) and I gained experience as the regular weekend relief cook after the designated cook staggered off the job drunk during the first weekend. For me it was a fine contrast to my social work job, people loved you immediately, no one was miserable, and everyone was happy for a good meal. They liked me as the relief cook because it was a relief to eat fresh veggies and recognizable meat from a bone.

Our children have carried forward the tradition, although at a different camp. Elina started there as a camper in seventh grade, worked her way up through the ranks as counselor and then staff. This year she is in charge of the counselling staff, and who is one of her counselors? Her brother, Bryant. This is his eighth year there. I can hardly believe it myself. How did these kids grow up so fast? Poor boy had a cabin full of sick campers all week and  now he’s home with a fever and earache. Despite that he had the time of his life. There are far worse things to inherit than a camping gene.

Back on track with Marina: