Rachel Starr Thomson

Winner of the Family Fun Story Contest, Ages 14-15 Category

by Mary Landry, Age 14

I stepped out of the sun-warmed vehicle. Looking forward to a whole week of tradition mingled with the unexpected, adventure poking its celebrated head into quiet routine, I gazed across the campground, a great grassy field edged by a shady maze of forest. Those woods were unofficially the Haven of Cops and Robbers, a game which has long been revered in the unwritten but dutifully followed Rules of All Saints Family Camp throughout the years.

Across the field, opposite the woods stand two lodges, paint peeling and weather worn. Totem Lodge and Kitchen Lodge, by our home school group’s vocabulary. I believe they have real names, carved into wooden plaques above the Lodges’ doors, but to our camp group they remain, and always will, Totem Lodge and Kitchen Lodge.

Leaving, somewhat guiltily, the family I had arrived with (not my own) to tend to an ocean of carseat buckles and car-weary children, I raced across the field towards the long wooden Kitchen Lodge ramp. I would try the lodge doors (would they be locked? I wasn’t sure. Maybe Mom and Dad, who would arrive in a few minutes, would have to pick the keys up at the camp office.)

The camp smell of dried grass, oversweet blackberries and old wood, lovely even with an undertone of nearby skunk cabbage, greeted me. I sighed happily. This place was wonderful – we had come here so many summers of my life that it was familiar and almost homelike, yet somehow still new and exciting. All Saints Camp was filled with childhood memories of friendship, family and faith. And of course, fat marshmallows poked on a stick.

With a million voices shouting, “Hooray! Hooray! We’re here!” in my head, I marvelled how different it was, being the first long-time All Saints Camp enthusiast to arrive. Different than arriving here previous years, surrounded by my friends and family, when the whoops of joy were real and all around me. But this time, I had driven with a first- time camp family, and we were the first ones here. Of course, this new family wasn’t bubbling over with a surge of loyal camp exuberance, as could be expected. And somehow, I felt strangely alone. But of course, that wouldn’t last. Friends would be arriving soon. We would all have a whole week to enjoy, and I was prepared to enjoy every minute of it.

As it turned out, the doors were unlocked, but upon entering it, I was dismayed with what greeted me. The Kitchen Lodge had a huge, dangerously teetering mountain of old cupboards that looked like they were waiting for a ride to the dump, and the Kitchen Lodge just happened to be their storage room. Also, the Totem Lodge bathroom counters were covered in hammers, nails, saws and other tools. And the Lodge’s loft, an excellent refuge in hiding games or a quiet place to sit with friends and play cards or Monopoly or Sorry!, had just been reroofed and sharp nails stuck out everywhere from the low sloped ceiling.

All this disarray brought to mind our arrival at camp the previous year. The field had been mowed and not raked up afterwards. So we were greeted with a huge field piled with messy hay. But it didn’t turn out so bad – we found some rakes and a team of teenagers and dads spent a portion of the afternoon raking the dead grass quite diligently. (Okay, so one or two handfuls may have flown through the air to land in the hair of an unfortunate target.) By the end we were only a little itchy.

So now this year, yet another camp maintenance flaw awaited us. What was to be done with the tools and old cupboards?

My family’s giant white van pulled up towing a tent trailer and my three sisters and three brothers tumbled out. I hurried over to inform my parents of the unfortunate state of the Lodges. They phoned the camp manager who said he’d be over soon to take away the mess.

So that was dealt with. Now, I wondered, when would the rest of the families arrive?

As the afternoon wore on, more and more families joined us at camp. Upon each rumble of a family vehicle on the pebbled camp driveway, the already-arrived camp population would, as always, run out onto the wide porch cheering (and booing happily, in the frequent cases of unpunctuality) as the newcomers drove in.

The first few days few days of camp were filled with hikes, walks to the lake and trips to the icy potholes. (On one memorable occasion, a few of us went for a walk up and down the pothole river, actually walking in the slippery rocky depths. Our feet were numb by the end.)

We stayed up far too late each night, attempted to catch on to the card game “Mow” and played the traditional games of Capture the Flag, Cops and Robbers, Pirateship and Spoons. The latter of these games, however, came to a noisy, abrupt and somewhat heated end that involved a number of utensils being pounded rhythmically on a tabletop.

We had a dance one night, and a few of us partook in a 2:00 a.m. marshmallow roast. We all said morning, afternoon and evening prayers and on Sunday went to Mass at a little out door chapel.

On one evening, an ice cream dessert was followed by a violent scramble for the not-quite-empty ice cream pail.

Every night, at midnight or one, I could unzip the window of my tent and see across the field into the totem lodge windows. Some of the older boys were having curious wrestling matches while standing fully inside their sleeping bags, head first.

One night this particular group of boys decided to play a practical joke which I, an early riser at camp, was first to discover the next morning. I stepped out of my tent and began tiptoeing through the dewy grass, then stopped short at the sight which befell me. On the totem lodge roof, spread out neatly and at even intervals, were the towels of many of the campers, several of whom would be up soon and in want of showers. Also, (and this was truly strange) an empty plastic garbage bin had been raised to the top of the flagpole, and dangled there weirdly. Here I appeal to anyone who appreciates a strange sight: put “a garbage bin dangling from a flagpole” on your list of Things to See Before You Die. It is truly memorable.

Unable to resist getting back at these boys in some way, I hurried to wake my friends. Only one of them, Anna, was actually willing to get up at this hour and help me. My sister Lucy also joined us.

First we climbed up to the loft and (careful to avoid the pointy nails) tried fishing the towels from the roof with a stick stuck through the skylight. That failed miserably. Next we attempted to hoist ourselves onto the roof from standing on the porch railing. After all, that was how the boys had gotten the towels up there in the first place. But they were taller and stronger, and while they could climb up to the roof easily it presented itself as a much greater challenge to us girls. Finally after much heaving and a few good shrieks – a wonder we didn’t wake the whole camp – Lucy and I managed to hoist Anna up onto the roof, and she hurried around, tossing towels down to us. We found some liquorice and other Necessary For Survival food items belonging to some of the boys and tossed them up to the roof. Anna spread them out neatly and at even intervals across the roof.

For good measure, we lowered the cylindrical plastic flag and threw the towels in. Then we raised it again, hoping and praying that the knots we tied would hold.

That was certainly an interesting morning.

On another day, a few of us got hopelessly lost trying to walk around the lake, and spent the bulk of the afternoon climbing over dangerously thin-branched bushes, dodging (sometimes unsuccessfully) sharp thorny brambles and crawling, crawling, under low branches in mosquito-filled thickets, trying to get back to camp. It was terribly unpleasant, and our imaginations took liberty to think up all the worst possibilities; bloodthirsty leeches in the muddy ooze beneath our feet; the chance that one of us would trip on a treacherous root and break our leg; that a hungry cougar was prowling nearby. But in the end, of course, we got on a main path and were all the more grateful for soft grass to walk on.

All in all, camp was a wonderful experience and created lovely memories that will last my whole life. What makes times like these so beautiful, so unforgettable, one might wonder?

There are many possible answers, and a great deal of them probably bear some truth. (“This camp was memorable for me because here I first learned my inability to paddle a kayak in a straight line.” True, but not the sole reason.)

But for me, I know that memories like these are made and kept because of the friendship kindled and rekindled there, because of being with my wonderful family and friends who become like family, and most of all because of the faith that together we all cherish.

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