By Esther C. Baird, first published in the Chronicle & Transcript Aug 2021.
Hello regular readers, it’s been a while. I had to survive the end of the school year and the very rainy July.
In order for me to live in New England, I require summertime to recharge my sparkle and ability to be pleasant. This mostly happens at our family camp in the Adirondacks where we live an outdoor life. And when the outdoors is always wet, and mud is all you know, it’s simply not possible to recharge anything.
This July, I turned into a salamander. I learned to breathe, sleep and eat while always wet. I found that damp was a state of mind, (though not a pleasant one). Mostly I realized I was unable to be the great outdoor cheerleader for either myself, or my family. So, it was within that context that one of my longest standing declaratives: “you can’t go to camp for a full month!” fell by the waterlogged wayside.
“Sweetie,” I asked our 14-year-old daughter, “what if you stayed at camp for a month instead of two weeks?”
And, done.
Given that this was our seventh year packing for camp, I figured we were in decent shape.
“I”m gong to need a staging area for my suitcases,” our daughter announced. “I’ve created a packing list,” she waved a sheet of paper with three columns, “and identified what we may need to buy like toiletries, perhaps another T-shirt or two, and a foam egg crate mattress pad.”
“Uh huh,” I tried to sound thoughtful. “You realize you’re going to camp not college, right? Your list seems to be erring on the side of, oh, I don’t know, utterly ridiculous.”
My loving logic didn’t change her mind. By the time the “staging area” was filled, it looked like we were moving. Four large duffel bags, a camp chair and an egg crate mattress pad, plus a few “organizational bins” full of who knows what, sat on the floor. For the record, I was firmly against the egg foam thing but… my tiny child who is taller than me was going to camp for a month! Plus, I was damp and not of sound mind.
The larger problem was, once we arrived, it all would need to go into her single bunk bed and three small shelves.
“Do you need four oversized sweatshirts?” I asked looking at a bag that couldn’t zip closed.
She looked at me like I had never known her, nor had I begun to understand her delicately balanced sense of fashion, was I even her mother!?
“Never mind, I’m sure they can double as a blanket if need be,” I quickly amended.
The truth was I was about to hand it over to the professionals. Her young, cute counselors – – the ones with the endless energy and creative ideas for rainy days and ability to ‘vibe’ with the multiple sweatshirt needs of a teenaged girl – – they could tackle this issue.
When we arrived at camp, she began to buzz with excitement. Her counselors looked like they could sleep a mere four hours, dance in the rain all day, and still have glowing skin and eyelashes that were a mile long. They were perfect, and she was in her happy place. I looked at her bags, looked at her shelves and did a quick calculation.
“I’m going to make your bed while you unpack,” I said.
I’ll just say I’m pretty sure the egg crate monster in the upper bunk won the round. I felt like I was wras’ing a gator and lost all sense of up and down as I attempted to get the fitted sheet over the massive piece of foam that dreamed bigger dreams than merely lying flat on a bed. Finally, I tossed a quilt and pillow on top to hide the mess and backed down the ladder to where things were exploding out of her suitcases.
That was my cue.
“Well, I’m going to head out!”
“Don’t you want to stay and help me organize my shelves?” she asked.
“Mmmmmm,” I smiled looking at her very capable and cheerful counselors. “I’m not sure I ‘get’ your system, I might make it worse.”
She nodded – we both knew it was true. And with that, I gave her a final hugs and ‘I love you’ and reminder to place herself in front of the camp webcam a few times a week so I could indulge my stalking habit.
I smiled at her counselors. “Thank you,” by which I meant, ‘Godspeed!!!’ and I left.
As I type this, it’s pouring rain over here at our family camp, and I miss my baby who is nearly grown, and incidentally, probably sleeping with a full suitcase of clothes on her bed each night. And while a month away makes me nervous, I know she is happy, maybe even dry, and certainly recharging.
Hopefully it’s enough that she won’t mind having a salamander for a mother when she returns home.