A Place Unlike Any Other.

My father and I head to brunch on a Sunday morning. We’re breaking tradition - getting breakfast at restaurant other than the "Lite Bite" in town. I am home for the weekend and this new diner is where I'd like to go instead. I know the owner, you see, and though I haven’t seen him for years, he recognizes me the minute I walk through the front door; running up to greet me with a hug and my familiar nickname.

Dad and I sit down; order our coffee, our eggs. The owner comes over to say hello again, to catch up for a moment before our food arrives. When my friend leaves to check on other customers, I tell my Dad stories - about this friend, then other friends, and our one common denominator. Camp. My Dad might have heard all of these tales before – goodness knows I’m sure I’ve told them – but he listens intently all the same.
“You know, Kel, it’s impressive you and your camp friends have kept in touch this long. A lot of people just go to camp for a summer and that’s the end of it.”

I take a sip of coffee; think on this for a second.

“Well, camp is a pretty special place, Dad. And it's filled with some very special people.”

******

In the summer of 2001, I participated in a challenge course training session. There were 10 of us enrolled in this course, all returning leadership camp staff. We were expected to carry what we learned during our week of training into the coming camp season. During this week there was a lot of what you might expect to find on a ropes course - trust falls and trees climbed and team building and belays and spotters and zip lines. There was also, on our last day, the “pamper pole” challenge.

The notorious pamper pole is nothing more than a telephone pole set into the ground. The goal is to climb it, hoist yourself up to stand on top, and finally, to jump off the pole, hitting a sort of buoy with your hand once you leap, before your belay team lowers you to the ground. I’ll let you go ahead and figure out why it was given the name “pamper pole” in the first place.

Believe me, it’s harder than it sounds.

When it was my turn on the pole, I climbed to the top with relative ease. The tough part begins when you need to get both feet onto the small circumference of the pole and balance yourself on top without falling off.

I fell.

I fell the first time I tried; I fell the second time.

I came close to finding my balance on my third try but then I fell, again.

After they lowered me down, a few other people in the group took their turns - some of them fell, some of them didn't. I told the man running the training, Joel, that I wanted to try again. He smiled, nodded, helped me back into my safety harness and the belay ropes. Once again I climbed to the top and once again I fell. The other members of the staff - my friends - shouted out words of encouragement when I was back on the ground. “It’s the toughest one we do,” they reminded me, patting me on the back.

I asked Joel if we had time for me to try again. He answered yes without a moments hesitation. I took my time hooking up the belay ropes, I climbed slowly. I held my breath. I focused, I concentrated. Then, from up there – halfway on and halfway off the pole I asked one of my friends to talk me through it. I’m not sure how he knew just the right thing to say from down on the ground, but he did. He told me I needed to find my star. To focus on that star, that one light, and if I found it, I’d find my balance.

Funny, the things that will work when you’re several feet off the ground.

Suddenly I was standing on top of that pamper pole, balanced. A quick grin moved across my face. My belay team was ready for my jump. I leaped. And I missed that damn white buoy. My team lowered me to the ground, with hugs all around. “You got to the top, Kel! You did it!” they exclaimed.

I turned to our instructor. “I know I can hit that buoy, Joel.”

He nodded. And just like that everyone resumed their positions. I climbed the climb again, I worked on getting to the top of that pole, it swayed to the left and right while I balanced. Once centered - finally -I held my breath, leaped, and you better believe I hit that white buoy as hard as I possibly could. I landed on the ground with hurrah! tears in my eyes and hugs all around from my team.

That one is a favorite. It is a moment that’s all mine, one I keep buried deep in my gut. Sometimes I’m prone to go a long while, forgetting all about that day back at camp so many years ago. But then something triggers a memory and in a flash it all comes back. It does my head, my heart, good to remember that's the kind of stuff I'm made of; that I work hard to never, never, never give up.

And that? Well, that makes me proud of me.

******

There is a place just a mile or so away from my hometown that occupies a sacred spot within my heart.

Camp.

This past weekend after far too many years away, I ventured back. It was pouring buckets of rain, the dirt roads were muddy and flooded, they had lost power and were running the dining hall on a back-up generator. It was a hell of a weekend to visit. It was also perfect. Thankfully, blessedly, from the minute I turned down the main dirt road and made my way back to the dining hall it felt as if only a moment had passed, instead of a year, or eight.

It felt good to be back home.

One of my friends - now the camps' head chef - and I stood reminiscing in the dining hall kitchen. We were talking about campers we remembered from years ago, what they were up to now, what amazing people they’ve grown up to be.

"You know?" my friend said, "When I see them now, I think – we did something right."

We did.

Camp did.

And I, for one, will always be eternally grateful.