Archive
08/21/09 - (2)
Family Campers
Two days ago, This season's alumni and their families Said their final good-byes To Camp Nebagamon for Boys of all ages, Cut their evanescent ties with nature's humble ways, And headed back into their busy, insulated lives, In Chicago, St. Louis, Los Angeles, New York.
Only I, who hadn't participated In the weeklong Family Camp program (Guaranteed to evoke memories green and golden Of those summer yesterdays of old), Remained behind, To survey the camp's closing down, Record the fleet dismantling of the palpable magic
That insinuates itself, nine weeks, each summer, Into what, otherwise, is just a hodgepodge of cabins, A catchall for sailboats, docks, patched canoes, Tennis rackets, baseball bats and gloves, Ramshackle rituals and myths Recycled, since 1929, as if they were gospel... Which, somehow, they are.
Now, under an invigorating drizzle, I walk, at a meditative pace, over the sodden sandy paths, And touch base with camp's emptiness, Grateful that this place is sacred to me, as well. Suddenly, I know why I'm still here: My own Family Camp is in full swing; The man and the boy I am are becoming friends again.
08/21/09 - (2)
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