Pangs of Nostalgia: Camp Cherith

I just found most of this in my drafts. I wrote it almost five years ago, but since it's a collection of memories it holds up. Woo!

I went to Camp Cherith for at least one week every summer from age 7 to 19. I calculated it once, and I lived in that place for about three months total. You may have noticed that Zoe calls me Pyg once in a while - that's because at camp I had to pick a bird name to go by, so I picked Pygmy Owl and shortened it to Pyg. Sometimes I can't think too much about my time at Camp Cherith because the camp I knew and loved is gone now. Sometimes it hurts to remember all the joyful memories I had in that place, but here are a few, all jumbled together: 

• the quiet of the archery range and the dull thump of a bulls-eye (I'll try to forget the flies and mosquitoes that tried their best to distract me)

  

  Photo courtesy of Rebecca Thelin

• the squeals of little girls calling me "Pyg! Pyg! Pyg!"
• the giggles of little boys calling me by clever variations of Pyg
• the excitement of my first trip to Big Bear on a weekend with a boy I liked
• the raucous laughter during a vicious late night game of rat slap - and by vicious I mean I still have a tiny scar on one of my fingers
• the thrill of a good soap bubble fight in the kitchen
• the chill of the morning
• the heat of an afternoon hike
• the silliness of skits and camp songs

  

  Photo courtesy of Rebecca Thelin

• the beauty of a wooden cross behind a camp fire with the mountains looming in the background
• the irresponsibility of engaging in a squirt gun war when we were supposed to be working
• the deliciousness of trying my first cheese raviolis
• the delight of telling campers about a fake smiley face constellation named Bob
• the relaxation of watching Newsies or Princess Bride for the hundredth time
• the amusement from startling the entire camp during meals by shouting a CILT cheer 

  

  Photo courtesy of Rebecca Thelin

• the adrenaline from seeing the occasional bear or raccoon
• the mindless satisfaction of weaving a colorful lanyard
• the stickiness of a good marshmallow fight
• the savoring of dough baked on a stick over an open fire and smothered in butter, cinnamon and sugar
• the sweetness of a hundred voices and one guitar singing for Jesus
• the cheesiness of holding hands with new friends and hearing our director say "Y'all come back now, hear?"

I learned so much from that place - how to get along with people who were very different from me, how to lead, how to put Jesus first by centering my day around Him. I first heard about Westmont College from one of my camp counselors and from my camp director - I may not have attended without knowing they'd gone there. Which means I might not have met Zoe. Which means this blog is here because of my camp experience. Mind. blown.

I hope Eiley and Margot get a similar experience some day.