Article Text

For me, nothing topped the freedom of sleep-away camp during the summers of the 1950s.

I began attending at age nine, starting with 4-H Camp at Shakamak State Park in Jasonville, Indiana. I already enjoyed 4-H—whose four H’s represented head, heart, hands and health—and had learned to bake and sew through the program. Some of that work even earned ribbons at the county fair.

But camp felt like an entirely different level of excitement. My grade-school friend Mary Ella and I arrived dressed more for making an entrance than for rugged outdoor activities, and we thought we looked wonderful.

Afternoons meant swimming in the park’s large natural lake. We paddled out to the dock, dove into the water and swam among the minnows. On other days, we made collages, finger-painted and tackled crafts. I braided an imperfect green-and-white lanyard in my future high school’s colors and proudly wore it every day.

At 11, I graduated to a two-week stay at Camp Columbus outside Columbus, Indiana. My neighborhood friend Susie came along despite being unable to spend a night away from home. Sure enough, after the first night, she asked a counselor to call her mother.

My mother then contacted the camp office to see whether I wanted to leave too. My answer was immediate: “Heck no! I’m having too much fun!”

Each cabin housed 10 girls and two college-age counselors. We admired the counselors and copied them whenever we could. During those two weeks, I learned to row, improved my lanyard-making and wove a wicker basket.

Evenings brought campfires and songs including “Kumbaya” and “Jacob’s Ladder.” Singing in rounds was especially beautiful.

Camp also featured a toe-length contest with prizes. I entered my second toe—and won. Organizers told me that meant I would become the boss of my family. Apparently, nobody ever informed my future husband.

Those days remain treasured memories of leaving the familiar nest behind and discovering a wider world beyond home.