Amid Verdant Woodlands ...

Tevya campers everywhere will follow the 3 words above with the following 4, “beneath pure azure skies.” Some thought it, some said it and some (you know who you are) began to sway and sang our alma mater in it's entirety. Most certainly we are all smiling, this single verse transports us to the magical place on Lake Potanipo that connected us for life.

Yesterday morning when I approached the blinking light and made the right turn to Mason Road it occurred to me that I have taken this drive close to 50 times in the last 12 years.  12 first days of camp, 12 visiting days, 12 pick-ups – extra round trips the Israel summers, Alumni Shabbats, Reunions and an unfortunate “swirly” incident requiring an unplanned departure (some things are better left unexplained).  As a camper and counselor I made the same pilgrimage in my parent’s car for 7 summers. Here to pick up Andrew from his CIT summer, it hits me that this could be the last time.

I was 12 my fist summer at camp and 18 when I left. In between I had my first kiss (recently contacted by the other pair of lips on FB), my theatrical debut (Little Mary sunshine - Mary, of course) and my first love (or so I thought at the time). Those years are so deeply rooted in my psyche that if "stairway to heaven" starts to play I'm still terrified no one will ask me to slow dance. I was the shortest camper in my age group, president of the IBTC (itty,bitty,t---y,committee -late bloomer apparently) and jealous of the girls with straight hair (present day locks chemically assisted). I wasn't a Color War Captain or Camper of the Year (don't think they award that one anymore), but I was happy (and nervous) the first day of every summer and sad to leave when the August nights turned cold.

Scott and David brought me back to Tevya in 2000, Andrew waited until they would take him at 7 (don't judge, his brothers were there). Those summers were my gift to them and my unique bond with them. We shared traditions untouched by time and something called "Tevya Spirit." They were bunkmates with the 2nd generation of my friendships, our children together in cabins still marked with our fading names on the ceiling. In turn, my boys gave me the chance to go back to camp again with the very people who created my memories. First days and visiting days involved a lot of parent to parent hugging and kissing, both men and women (here the man-hug is routine and the "When Harry Met Sally" theory does not apply). There are non-seasonal get togethers whenever possible. Sometimes a drink (or two) is required to snap back to camp mode, and occasionally we could use a little "counselor" supervision. We have been called a cult, defined in this case : Obsessive, especially faddish, devotion to or veneration for a person, principle, or thing. I say the shoe fits. Our secret, eternal youth, in their presence I am forever a teenager.

In the end,  regardless of the next time I turn onto Mason Road, welcomed by the familiar green and white sign, a part of me will always spend the summer amid the verdant woodlands, beneath pure azure skies.

courtesy of "the kiss." Thanks JK