Skiing through Leelanau in the morning light. The sun rises over Mt. Baldy casting long shadows behind the cabins. The air is crisp, my breath hangs about me in a cloud. Icicles line the gables of Algonquin. The HQ bell wears a jaunty top hat of snow. Even the rope that lolls from the bell to the cabin before snaking its way into HQ dons a segmented sock of snow. The HQ bowl stands buried as I ski across the bench tops and smoothly past the snow-shadowed flagpole. There is a peace about camp.
I cast my mind back to a summer morning. Dew on the soccer field, counselors sitting on their porches, quietly studying their lesson. Chirping birds, and an occasional snore augment the peace of a resting camp. A camp, kinetically ripe, that awaits the joyous crack of the cannon.
Each day dawns bringing us closer to the Solstice, the brightest day of the year, not for hours of daylight, but for joy expressed at Pyramid point. The countdown has begun, Opening Day lopes nearer, and increasing excitement levels make sleep a less frequent friend.
In less than100 short days Camp will explode with activity. Swimming, playing, hiking, sailing, skiing, art! Healing, learning, teaching, living, loving, Camp! To say “I cannot wait” belittles the phrase in its own inadequacy.
The lengthening days taunt. Summer Camp in all its glory will be here soon. Until then…
Taps has been played. The day is done. Camp is tucked in, nestled cozily under a blanket of snow.