Maya Rose: Arrival Day, Camp Myrtlewood (Day 0)

My family and I pulled into camp in our big Australian rental van, with colorful stripes down its side and the large, cheerful black letters greeting the circle of staffers in the grass with the German twang of AUTOBARN. I began laughing to myself in the front seat, thinking, well, that’s one way to arrive. Not even to mention that we were a perfect twenty-four hours early.

Thanks to the kindness of the camp, I was able to stay a night early. Not without a room and board fee, of course, not to mention the cost-of-guilt for the extra work the amazing staff was doing. I was, and am, very grateful though, as in the other scenario I would have been pitching a tent. Likely right outside the camp entrance. 

My friend and camp counselor, Aubrie, was the one who told me about Not Back to School Camp, and she was also already there… seeing as she was working. I was wandering down the path from somewhere to nowhere and I heard a voice yell HEY! and spun around, tackled in a hug. We walked from nowhere to somewhere and she pointed out this and that and all that. I began to feel a bit less frazzled. 

I wandered the grounds, reveling at the beautiful creek and the tall trees. I hiked up and along the hill and found everything awash in a sea of ferns, and wandered down a trail of fallen leaves through low trees that branched overhead, creating a natural arbor. I was staying in the Gum Cabin, painted a light eucalyptus green on the outside and sweet-smelling on the inside. All the cabins are named after trees from what I could tell, and I found it rather fun that I’d gotten the rather ambiguous one. There were four bunks and two singles in the cabin, and I’d chosen a bottom bunk in the corner.

Yet camp was silent and, in honesty, before the official arrival, there was not much to do. I read my book. I wrote. I walked. I tried to acquaint myself with the camp dog, a sweet scruffy thing named Happy. On the real Arrival Day, things began to move. A tent was set up in the field for intake, and covid tests were lined up. Soon cars began coming in sporadically. Then the buses. 

When I was younger I had always looked out the window in the middle of summer break and wondered what in the world all these school buses could possibly be doing. Now I have a rather solid answer: dropping off excited teens and kids at summer camps. 

Kids poured out of the bus, milling in the field with excited screams and embraces whenever they saw a friend. People met up again for the first time in a year, new people met each other. Conversations started and re-lit like fire.

I saw the throng and turned heel. I thought to myself, well, I’m not just going to stand around. I watched with curiosity and a feeling of displacement people who, already now on the Day After, I know the names of and am comfortable chatting with. People who look a bit intimidating or who you are afraid to talk to are, perhaps, or even likely to be, the ones you will be best of friends with. 

But saying that doesn’t reassure the little squirrel inside of you running from wall to wall of your skull exclaiming WOW! So many people! So many colors, styles, eyes! So many thoughts and words filling the air! Wow. I think I must go back to my drey for a bit. 

Before the welcome circle, Christian was showing a group of people how to swing a bat. I was observing. He was a good teacher, and the bat would hit the tennis ball with a TING and off it would soar, narrowly missing the two grounds kids running after them. The bell rang and the circle began to get loosely formed, and our little group ran to join. We sang a song, welcomed brand new campers, did all the introductory things. Then we split into our Advisee groups– groups of around ten or so campers and one counselor who discuss how they are feeling and get to know eachother.

My Advisor is Milla and in my group there are lot of fun people. We talked about general camp schedule, played some get-to-know each other games, all that jazz. Then we went to the campfire. We ate dinner, mac and cheese and some greens. 

At this point, I’d acquainted myself with Niko, another new camper, and I wandered to the campfire with them. A group of all of us walking in the dark woods, heading towards the orange glow of the flames and the sound of singing voices. It was more comforting than it sounds. 

Everyone joined into the song. The glow lit up people’s faces. People stood up and said what they were dedicated to bring to camp– joy, adventure, safe space. We passed around anonymous slips of paper that we had written on what we wanted to express in ourselves at camp. Creativity, love, unfiltered expression of the self. Love love love spun around the circle like a dog let off the leash. After the meeting they gave us a Hug Number– the number was three. The aim of it is that, if you so wish, you find three people to hug. Of course, if you don’t want to hug, you do the universal no-way-no-how sign– arms crossed in an X across the chest. I hugged three people, a bit awkwardly, and had to bend down and to the side a bit to hug my newfound beautiful-and-notably-shorter friends. I am not the best hugger– I feel like hugging me must be like hugging a goat. But no-one really cares here. That’s something I got used to quickly. In the city I worry about the color palette of my outfits– now I am sitting here writing this wearing corduroys underneath a skirt because it got cold fast. 

We walked back to the Lodge and were treated to some zucchini bread, milled around and chatted.  I found it amazing how so quickly, all in one place, I can find people that I feel like I have been searching for for years. Other young people aware of and acting against social and climate issues, other people who write, simple as that sounds! Writers who don’t know writers will just write themselves into straight oblivion, and young activists who think all the other young folk don’t give a damn will just get plain depressed. 

Don’t be misled by my starry-eyed connotations. I’m not not social, but groups of people leave me floored. The only  response I had to the buses, the true start of camp, was to walk away and write for a bit longer, although at that point I was just tapping my pen on the paper. Yet as I write this a day later, I already recognize quite a few faces and am having enjoyable conversations with people. I know where everything is and (almost) have a bedtime routine sorted. Kind of. It is midnight right now. But Oh Well. It’s been a blast and I’m looking forward to see what the rest of camp has in store.

Maya Rose B., campre