This summer contained its fair share of challenges and triumphs. I found it challenging to dive head first into a position in which I had very little preparation, oversight and instruction. It was a challenge to keep campers satisfied and safe, staff happy, and my superiors pleased all at the same time with each decision I made. It was challenging finding the endurance to make each week as successful as the previous and to develop the respect and admiration of a staff of 14 people who initially each knew more about the camp and its day to day functions than I did as the new director.
Triumphs included the weekly collection of camper evaluations that highlighted and affirmed our efforts in making camp a fun place, getting boats to start when others failed, keeping trips to the emergency room to a minimum, staying under budget, successfully rescuing stranded boaters, passing inspections, and perhaps most importantly, fishing the old mixer out of the lake and making it work again.
Each day this summer I was reminded of what a terrific staff I had working for me. I had to encourage them to slow down and relax more often than I ever needed to prod them to get some work done. Things happened on a daily basis that I had no part of. From day one returning staff knew what to do and they just did it, did it well, and showed the new people how to do it, too. All summer long I heard accolades from guests about how great camp looked and operated from their perspective. Time and again I simply tipped my hat to the amazing crew that made it happen week after week.
The morning of my last full day at camp I walked into my dark, shade-drawn room midmorning. As I untied my shoe I noticed a post-it note on the floor reading, “there’s a chipmunk in cabin five.” Puzzled as to where it came from but without enough focus to care, I ignored it. As I finished untying my shoe and stood upright I saw before me dozens of post-it notes plastering the walls of the room. A few of them highlighted some complaints that occurred during the summer. “There have been some complaints about staff hygiene, we stink” and “too much sand in the cabins” and “there’s a leak in cabin four’s roof.”
Other notes highlighted potential problems that thankfully didn’t occur such as “I lost a child” written by the children’s program director, and “the new mixer fell in the lake” written by the baker. Still others highlighted favorite moments from the summer, reminding me of the cookies I would always sneak from the kitchen, the music played with my friends, and some of the inside jokes shared amongst the staff.
Even more post-its were hidden in the pages of my book, my fiddle case, under my pillows, and nearly everywhere I looked. The staff was quite aware of my dislike of post-it notes. I hated nothing more at camp than coming in my office during a frustrating day and discovering half a dozen new post-it notes stuck all over my desks with more problems that needed attention. While I was in town for the morning they snuck in and decorated. To see the post it notes on my wall, highlighting many of the challenges we had overcome, noting challenges we thankfully avoided, and reminding me of all of the memorable moments was about as good of an end-of-the-summer salute as I could imagine.
After 13 weeks living on an island, you might think a person would be ready for a change of scenery. I thought that would be the case three months ago when I moved to the island. In hindsight, however, I think I would have been quite content staying another 13 weeks.
My summer ended early this year, as I packed up my belongings once again and moved to Des Moines, IA where I am returning to school. I am thankful for the opportunities I have had with different jobs in different locations, however, loading up the car and moving someplace new every three months begins to wear on a person after a while. Camp Olson, Yellowstone National Park, Caledonia, dude ranch, St Paul, Cass Lake, and now Des Moines reads the litany of locations I’ve lived in the past two years. Don’t misinterpret this utterance as dissatisfaction with the things I’ve done, but rather as contemplation about the age old paradox of trying to get out and experience the world but wanting to put down roots at the same time.
“Will you be back again next summer?” was the question I fielded the most each week from campers. I got good at dodging the question and giving a noncommittal answer, leaving open the possibility of giving it one more shot or taking advantage of another new adventure. I’ve been only a few days gone and I already miss the socialization, the isolation, the homemade food, and the simple lifestyle inherent in living on the island. In air conditioned classrooms the daily forecast holds little value to me. My sandals and camp t-shirts don’t blend in with the collared shirts and dress pants. Camp was a nice escape from the realities of oil spills, flooding, a struggling economy, and a fast approaching Election Day.
Despite the nuisance of moving yet again, I imagine packing up the car for one more summer at camp won’t be the last thing on my mind during spring finals.
There ends another chapter. Thanks for sharing it with me and as always, happy trails.
Greg
