Rumors of spectacular northern light displays circled through camp last week. I have yet to notice anything myself, but a nighttime sky watcher will not be disappointed even if the lights don’t make their expected appearance. After living in the Twin Cities for 9 months, the brilliant nighttime sky is even more impressive than I ever noticed back home. Being in the middle of a lake cuts back on localized light pollution. Being mid-August, the meteor showers add an extra spark.
Perhaps my most favorite thing from this summer’s experience is the occasional trip back to the island late into the night. On a few occasions, I’ve made an escape to visit Camp Olson, the YMCA summer camp I worked at previously. Coming back to the island after an evening off requires a dark boat ride on the calm nighttime lake. The full throttle smooth passage into the dark abyss of the lake is a calming way to end a day. Navigating by the stars and a well-placed buoy, the 15-minute trip is 15 minutes of forced, but welcomed, relaxation and reflection.
Skimming across the lake near distant shores I can often see the glow of the bow and stern lights of small fishing boats. Others congregate near the best walleye fishing holes on the lake. They move about like little spaceships; glowing lights in a globe of dark sky and water where it is difficult to distinguish where the land ends and the sky begins.
The health inspector came and went and after my experience with the water inspector, I knew to prepare ahead of time. As we walked through the cabins he tested the water temperature as expected. It was as we approached the shower house that I remembered that I forgot to turn down the settings on that water heater. He pulled out his thermometer but paused before turning on the shower. After successful readings at our first two stops he decided it wasn’t worth his time and put his thermometer away. When all was said and done we only got cited for one infraction, which isn’t bad at all.
We’ve had some pretty talented guests pass through camp this summer. I got a haircut from one in particular in exchange for some computer usage. That may sound like a lame bargain for her, but at camp Internet accessibility is restricted to staff. For some campers, it is quite a challenge to go an entire week without email. New phones with Internet access are circumventing that challenge for more and more people, but those without remain cut off.
Every week we have at least one or two doctors in camp, a handful of nurses, a couple of lawyers, a professor or two, and a bunch of other highly educated professionals. Unitarians have a significantly high percentage of folks who are educated beyond a four-year degree. Those without fancy degrees and titles attached to their name are often highly skilled in a technical trade or art. This job provides excellent network opportunities in a world where it’s not what you know but who you know.
Any fine summer camp requires a tradition of pranks. During staff training earlier in the summer I pulled out a trick learned from another friend. I offered to make dessert for an evening meal. Caramel apples sounded appealing to me. I spent an hour unwrapping and melting caramels and finally drizzling it over a dozen apples. Into the mix, I included a few raw onions. You can see where this is going.
A caramel onion looks the same as a caramel apple. Folks were excited for the dessert as I presented the tray. The first staff member to grab one, my assistant director, Ben, got one of the hidden onions as planned, but as he pulled it off the tray enough caramel came off to reveal the white outer skin. My prank failed, but provided a good laugh, nonetheless.
This past week I had my opportunity to try again. Every Monday morning we have a trash and food run. We take a boatload of trash to the mainland and pick up a boatload of food from a delivery truck. Each week the assigned staff member sleeps with the phone and the truck driver calls camp when he is 45 minutes away so we have enough time to get to shore.
Saturday night I snuck the phone into Ben’s room after he went to sleep. Under the cover of night I loaded the garbage and recycling. I set my alarm for 5:45. When I awoke I went to the camp’s second phone line and placed a call. After four rings Ben answered in a groggy voice. “This is Tom from FSA,” I said while attempting to disguise my voice. “I’m 45 minutes out.” Without missing a beat Ben responded, “Alright we’ll be there.” I snuck back to bed and wondered how long it would be before he’d figure out it was the wrong day. I later learned he spent 5-10 minutes trying to determine if it was actually Sunday or Monday despite his roommate assuring him that he didn’t in fact sleep through an entire day of the week. He even checked the date on the computer and called the food service company to verify in his confused state.
When he was finally reassured that it was a prank, Ben and his roommate decided to get even. From my slumber the phone rang and it was Ben calling from his cell phone saying the boat had died on the way to the marina. Without hesitation I told him I’d be right there and ran down to the waterfront and sped off in his direction. As I skimmed across the lake without any stranded boats in sight I began to fear I had received a taste of my own medicine.
After a careful search, I turned back toward camp. The pontoon with the garbage was still gone. I docked and searched camp for someone who might know more but as I got to my bedroom I found the recycling and garbage bins where my bed and dresser once lived. While I was out in search for the stranded boat he had driven it around to the other side of our peninsula, unloaded the garbage, hauled it down the trail, and taken some of my stuff back to the boat. It was a prank done so well that I couldn’t do anything but laugh at the situation. I walked into that one.
The cool air is a reminder that autumn is already on the way. I’m down to my last week at camp and as director before I shake the responsibilities and get back to something I’m a little more familiar with, school and homework.
Happy Trails,
Greg
