Looking Back to Summers Past..

Although it has 20 years or more now, I still feel I can be in the same moment of my summer camp days. I am a little fuzzy on the names, dates, and exact moments entirely. Waiting all year then, doing group activities with my civic organization to get there, and always making new friends; I looked forward to the three months in the middle of year. I belonged to the Camp Fire Boys and girls for nearly seven years. I grew up in North Texas, where a large camp ground site named El Tesoro was located. It was named for an American Indian tribe. Each cabin campers stayed in had a name too of a separate race of Indians. Almost every year I went on a stay for about a week with other kids at camp.

Being out of school for a kid seems to be the part of life when we wish were already grown up. Leaving home for that time with a brand new wardrobe for the theme of the week I went on, was so joyous. My grandparents did raise for me some time when I was older. But, it was always grandma that went out shopping with me, and made sure to ask thousands of questions on much fun I would be having. Packing up a sleeping bag and a dozen different bug repellents took up a few days out of the week before I left. This place was so far away from I lived, my parents would drive a few hours to get there. In Texas large cities are surrounded by smaller little towns and their counties are divided up by strange borders. This camp site sat on several county lines, including a huge river, where canoe lessons are fishing were taught. The best thing about a camp like this was earning a badge to sew onto your uniform vest.

Once at camp, everyone settles in. Unpacking and organizing or bed space for the next week. Our clothes would be bundled up in our packs, and no one brought suitcases. Getting to know new people took a little time too. Usually, the entire group of girls I belonged to from my home town shared a cabin, and planned in advance to go together at the same time. Each member group of a certain Camp Fire club had their own name and people involved. In mine there were never any boys. In fact in the eighties only a handful of boys had joined at all. But, I do remember meeting some of these boys at the camp, who stayed on the opposite side of the site. Each cabin was monitored by an older, graduated camp counselor. This would be a former member of Camp Fire who stayed involved for at least ten years, and was now 18-25 years old.

The days starts with a large announcement of a wake up call, just around the sun coming up. Public bathrooms there had running water, where we could get up and change before breakfast. It was almost a military role call to line up in a large square and watch the flag being honored and hung onto the pole. The same for the evening and dinner ceremonies. To be chosen for marching and folding the flag was a great accomplishment and required extensive time to practice. Once completed cabins were called up by age and experience in the clubs to go inside and eat their meal. Unless a special outdoor campfire cooked dinner had been arranged every meal was had at the mess hall.

Coordinators were all over this place to supervise the activities of kids of all ages from 7-17. Swimming, hiking, arts/crafts, story telling, singing, horseback riding and other endless journeys took off into another world. Learning about culture was a big part of the entire experience. We were even given time to write home, and sent along with allowances to buy stationaries and souvenirs in the gift shop. Mail call was each day, and some kids anticipated their families to send surprises for them. While I spent a week there, some kids spent the summer there.

Leaving the place each time became more difficult, because as you get older you were one more year closer to never being a camper again. The girls I knew wanted to grow up and have their first job be working at the camp. An ending ceremony hosted a dance and mingling time between boys and girls. One summer I keep onto was the one where I met a really cute guy, I never saw him again, but we danced with each other. Meeting my parents back at the wooden suspended bridge that swung over the wide river was like being released back into reality. I left the membership at age 13 of the Camp Fire boys and girls, shortly after I moved out of the city to live my dad after a divorce custody agreement had been made. For so many years I left warm memories like this one floating around in a dust ball of forgotten summers.