Notes from summer camp

Every day at camp, after breakfast, physical, and spiritual fitness, we would split into groups for workshops. There were two per day. Separated by snack time. Zone bars, carrot sticks, and juice. And a stack of eighteen plastic cups. But I digress. Workshops. Somehow, my experiences in third and fourth grade qualified me to teach volleyball. And so that is what I did. Marc and I, and the occasional Tom/Lucas/ Guillaume, would take five campers down to the field. Volleyball being the main camp sport, we tried to cultivate skills that would allow us to have a “good game” during community game time. With the workshop assignments sorted out for the day, we’d gather our troops. Bug spray, check. Water, check. Raspberry mocha blast hat, check. With three volleyballs in hand, one of which would be getting fished out of the woods ten minutes later, we were ready to go.

We’d start out by practicing basic hits, bumping and setting, and then work on serves. Some people could clear the net easily. For others, it was a big deal when, on their fifth try, standing six feet from the net, the ball finally went over. By the end of the week, we were good enough to get some good rounds of pepper, complete with shrieks of “buuump… set… spiiike!” and the letter game—although I would argue that some illegal hits were used in making it to triple R, or whatever the final record was.

Not every day was AVP quality, as we were occasionally plagued by unidentifiable biting insects, a glaring sun, or the camper who had just not gotten quite enough sleep. Attempts to skip out with a bathroom break were quickly thwarted, and pleads of “Stand up, your team needs you!” were periodically heard. While these episodes were quite frustrating, the good times more than made up for it. For instance:

The tournament at the end of camp, complete with the widest variety of sunglasses styles I have ever seen. Juliette serving five straight points, laughing because she wanted to stop. Rex (and Tom) sending the ball thirty feet into the air, despite their best tries to lightly tap it. Xavier rallying his team even when they were fading. And Kathy, to my surprise, telling me this fall that she had joined the volleyball team at school.

Camp offered many experiences like those with volleyball—each one with its ups and downs. Hiking: the length of the climb, balanced by the serenity at the top. Serious workshops: not an easy experience, but certainly a valuable community opportunity. Services: sometimes a burden, sometimes a prideful act of producing the best tuna casserole ever.

While at camp, it’s difficult to know what type of impact you are having on the kids. But the little comments you’d hear made you realize you were achieving something positive. When we’d do “highs and lows” before bed, the girls would often cite activities as both a high and a low. The things they were doing were new and sometimes difficult, yet they were the best parts of their day.

One evening while doing the dishes, Leah asked me how many years the camp had been running. She was disappointed that she hadn’t come before, and only after being told 27 years was she able to settle for not having attended previously. It’s this desire that reminds me how meaningful our time at camp really was.

Amanda Kolb, Harvard '08