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A Camping We Will Go!
One Mother's Journey Back to Camp By Jenn Director Knudsen
Having two daughters, my aunt didn't want one of her girls to feel left out while she was with the other, so she asked me to join them as the surrogate mom.
Just because I felt honored didn't mean I enjoyed myself. I smelled badly for three straight days. I had to shower with teenagers. I subsisted on PB&J. The bathrooms were unattached to cabins; flashlight in hand, I had to traipse to the loo in the middle of the night in a region where we were warned our first night of camp bears lurk and do so even at busy campsites filled with screeching teenage girls.
Ticks are a problem in this area of New England, too. I did not want to be a surrogate mom with lime disease.
My aunt, who is somewhat of a prima donna, went through the motions at her daughters' camp with tons of aplomb. I was surprised at how well she weathered the heat, lack of cleanliness, mattresses as substantial as yoga mats, myriad mosquitoes and general lack of sleep over consecutive nights.
At one point during a game of lacrosse, she noticed my clear fatigue and lackluster demeanor.
She told me how grateful she was for my coming and added that were her daughters my own children, my attitude would be way different. I'd probably really be enjoying myself, she said.
I wasn't so sure; I feared I'd become too accustomed to and needy of the comfortable life that even for my own flesh and blood I could never love, or even like, camp again.
And then I became a mother.
According to the effusive article, generations of grandmothers, mothers and their children attended this camp year and after year, loving it more with each successive year. There would be cabins, crafts, campfires, all on the beautiful and peaceful Oregon coast, a mere few miles from the camp I attended as an elementary-school student.
