Camp Then and Now

In writing this blog, I won’t guarantee my posts will always be chronological. This entry is one such case. Note, the photos here are screen grabs from a 16 mm film, in these cases circa 1957 or so. That is why they are a bit fuzzy. The full video, entitled Dad’s Home Movies can be found here:

https://vimeo.com/30914026

So here’s the story. This past weekend I went to Camp Herzl, a Jewish camp with a long history of its own. At the age of 71, it was a very different but still lovely experience. Thank you Rachel Orzoff for giving me this idea!

Camp was definitely a “thing” in my childhood. From around age 8 I went every summer. Initially I attended a day camp. Joe Demmer’s day camp was located on Lake Tyler where for several weeks each summer we would be picked up each morning by a counselor then brought home that afternoon. The journey itself was pretty amazing, and I still remember a place on the ride called thrill hill. The counselor would put the petal to floor going down, and at the bottom before heading up there would be a lift off the seat and a feeling in the stomach followed by laughter. At camp we learned many skills. We learned to handle guns safely and shoot them, archery, canoeing, and this was where I learned to swim. After age 11 I went to scout camp and indeed camping became something that would carry on for many years after entering adulthood. There were the camp customs as well, things like calling Kool-Aid, the drink of choice in those days “bug juice” and the outhouse was referred to as a KYBO, “keep your bowels open.” Yeah kind of gross, but for a bunch of kids, it worked. Campfires and talent shows were part of the experience.

Reflecting back, I believe the appeal was beyond just loving camping. It offered me ways to get away, to become grounded, and I had the skills to be competent in those environments. From starting a fire, creating a space that was both safe and comfortable, and always, making time to be one with the natural world around me. Outdoor living, in what was a difficult childhood, became a respite where I could go deeper to find myself.

In scouting, we often went to camp Tonkawa, but on occasion traveled to SE Oklahoma and SW Arkansas as well. In those journeys I found a love for mountainous terrain as well. I did pretty well in scouting, earning the Eagle Scout award, God and Country, and Order of the Arrow, an honor camping group. During these times, I was away from the bullies, and I found a certain closeness with others that evaded me in my school life. Memories include swimming in a river, doing a mile swim, the first half mile upstream and the other downstream. Or learning survival skills. Later I was a junior leader in a troop that attended the National Jamboree some years later (1964) at Valley Forge. All of this was put to use on camping journeys with family and on my own throughout most of my adult life.

This past weekend, I looked forward to going to camp once again. Located on Devil Lake in Western Wisconsin just over a hundred miles from Minneapolis, this period known as a Shabbaton was at once both spiritual and a place to truly rest. We arrived that Friday afternoon, gathering at the lake for Friday night Shabbat services. I was with people I know and love and sitting out there on that deck overlooking the lake was so peaceful.

But much had changed for me as I have entered old age. Back and leg issues leave me pretty much confined to a wheelchair. The congregant leader overseeing the trip and corralling the young folks gave me lifts to the service and back on a golf cart. Moving on the gravel road, much less on the uneven ground was difficult. We gathered in the hall for activities before going to bed.

Early the next morning we had services and Torah reading by the lake. Then back to the hall later for lunch, more opportunities etc. While I could not get around, I was surrounded by nature. My much-desired grounding was taking place. I struggled to get about in my chair, and the full realization that much of what I so loved over the decades simply was not possible. I started to head for my room, when I encountered the Rabbi. She stopped to talk with me, and picked up quickly on what was happening. She said, “You’re grieving aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I responded, knowing that like all grief it simply had to be felt in order to move on. I left, entered my room, and cried my eyes out. No more hikes into the deep woods, our mountain paths leading miles from civilization where the food had to be tied up in a tree to discourage bears. Truly I get a bit misty even typing it here.

After a good cry, I left the cabin, pushing myself in my wheelchair as if to exorcize my demons, and it seemed to work. By the end of the journey the pain of loss had subsided and a realization that at certain spaces, I can still commune. Some parks have paved trails and sometimes a piece of what I once knew can be retrieved. And at least so far, my memories remain intact. I joined Jen and Joel and Joel composed with some input from the two of us, a song about our journey to Camp Herzl for the talent show that evening. I captured footage of parts of the show on video, and a link will be attached later. Camping is not only about fun and friendship, but touching base with self as well. All in all, a very fulfilling journey, leaving me grateful to my Shir Tikvah congregation who were with me at every turn, a portrait of what real community can look like.