I feel as though I could write a novel a day. The little details of camp. But I don't have a notebook with me all the time, and I definitely don't have time to write, so you get this: a mish-mash of moments and observations.
The other morning I went out on the field and the air was so humid and the sun was so hidden that the dew was still there at eleven in the morning. It made the grass silvery and all the footsteps of the morning classes left tracks like the beach or in the snow.
There is a camper who is here right now. When she smiles her eyes curve down and her mouth curves up, making the biggest, most lovable circle of joy around her face. Her teeth take up nearly a third of the surface area of her face. The front teeth are a little too big, like many eight-year-old's are, and they are a little crooked on the sides, as her mouth tries to cope with the change from baby teeth. And like almost every child ever, there is normally a stain on her teeth from leftover chicken fingers or a ring pop from outpost.
On certain nights at the lodge between the hours of 10:30 and 11:55 you will find a group of staff on the front porch engaging in hardcore cornhole or hardcore rocking. I am in that position right now. My feet are crossed up in the chair and it's a little too small for me so the arms are digging into my thighs and the wicker seat is making marks in the side of my feet. If I think about it this is not very comfortable at all but it seems much better than having my feet on the ground.
Every time Lydia, in the chair next to me rocks, her arm catches the arm of mine and pulls it down disjointedly and I wonder if she looks over and reads what I am writing or if she is just letting me do my thing.
There is a loud arhythmic thud of the beanbags hitting the board and the encouragements and berating of the players, at others or themselves. Every minute or so Thomas will announce the score for those who care. And then he asks the Braves score from Laura who is sitting on the floor listening to the game on her phone.
Daniel is shooting against Dustin and the beanbags keep piling up around the hole.
To my left I have surrendered control of my camera to Meagan. She's filming the people around her, taking a break from talking to Rebecca on her right. The filming reminds Rebecca to tell a story about her time in China.
To my right Bailey is sitting her fleece, Grinch, pajama pants is watching the back and forth of the beanbags with a sleepy expression on her face. She is zoning in and out, much like Champ, still holding her phone.
James and Karina are on the end talking about her future plans.
At the board under the stairs Thomas is throwing against Lydia now. She's still wearing her tribal outfit of red shorts and long athletic socks.
At this point in the night its easy to get lost letting your head roll back and forth watching the beanbags fly over our heads and I think that this post is getting repetitive. I could go on writing but I need to stop.
So I'll leave you with one last observation from camp life:
The other night I lay on the pavement by field two, waiting to hand out gold coins to the campers for a game. I lay back and looked up at the sky. It was so open and perfect that it seemed like I could see the curve of the sky. The clouds looked like cotton that had been picked apart and stretched out against the bright blue. I made all the campers tell me a shape they saw before I gave them their coin.
The little moments make life. And mine is overflowing as of late. Keep looking for your own small moments and let them make your day.
The other morning I went out on the field and the air was so humid and the sun was so hidden that the dew was still there at eleven in the morning. It made the grass silvery and all the footsteps of the morning classes left tracks like the beach or in the snow.
There is a camper who is here right now. When she smiles her eyes curve down and her mouth curves up, making the biggest, most lovable circle of joy around her face. Her teeth take up nearly a third of the surface area of her face. The front teeth are a little too big, like many eight-year-old's are, and they are a little crooked on the sides, as her mouth tries to cope with the change from baby teeth. And like almost every child ever, there is normally a stain on her teeth from leftover chicken fingers or a ring pop from outpost.
On certain nights at the lodge between the hours of 10:30 and 11:55 you will find a group of staff on the front porch engaging in hardcore cornhole or hardcore rocking. I am in that position right now. My feet are crossed up in the chair and it's a little too small for me so the arms are digging into my thighs and the wicker seat is making marks in the side of my feet. If I think about it this is not very comfortable at all but it seems much better than having my feet on the ground.
Every time Lydia, in the chair next to me rocks, her arm catches the arm of mine and pulls it down disjointedly and I wonder if she looks over and reads what I am writing or if she is just letting me do my thing.
There is a loud arhythmic thud of the beanbags hitting the board and the encouragements and berating of the players, at others or themselves. Every minute or so Thomas will announce the score for those who care. And then he asks the Braves score from Laura who is sitting on the floor listening to the game on her phone.
Daniel is shooting against Dustin and the beanbags keep piling up around the hole.
To my left I have surrendered control of my camera to Meagan. She's filming the people around her, taking a break from talking to Rebecca on her right. The filming reminds Rebecca to tell a story about her time in China.
To my right Bailey is sitting her fleece, Grinch, pajama pants is watching the back and forth of the beanbags with a sleepy expression on her face. She is zoning in and out, much like Champ, still holding her phone.
James and Karina are on the end talking about her future plans.
At the board under the stairs Thomas is throwing against Lydia now. She's still wearing her tribal outfit of red shorts and long athletic socks.
At this point in the night its easy to get lost letting your head roll back and forth watching the beanbags fly over our heads and I think that this post is getting repetitive. I could go on writing but I need to stop.
So I'll leave you with one last observation from camp life:
The other night I lay on the pavement by field two, waiting to hand out gold coins to the campers for a game. I lay back and looked up at the sky. It was so open and perfect that it seemed like I could see the curve of the sky. The clouds looked like cotton that had been picked apart and stretched out against the bright blue. I made all the campers tell me a shape they saw before I gave them their coin.
The little moments make life. And mine is overflowing as of late. Keep looking for your own small moments and let them make your day.
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