Page 18 of Camp Help Falling

“No, not exactly. We want to keep the summer program as is. It’s been running like this for years now. Decades. It’s a finely-tuned machine. But we’ve been brainstorming some ways we could bring more to this camp.” Mom falls silent, fiddling with the ends of her fingers as she mulls over her next words.

“And?”

“What we want to do would require someone of your skill set.” Mom’s teeth flash in a quick smile.

“I’m just a junior. I can’t take on a project like that without my license.”

“Oh, I know, sweetie. I was just hoping you could give us a good referral. Someone you know who could help us take our ideas and turn them into actual plans.”

I shake my head. All of my contacts are back east. I’ve been working with a commercial architecture firm since I graduated with my masters, and upgrading Camp Brower isn’t their usual type of project.

“I’ll have to think about it, Mom. Woolsey-Marshall isn’t exactly the kind of firm that comes out and does projects in the middle of the woods.”

“Just think about it,” Mom says as she stands and steps closer to me, patting me on the chest. “I’m sure there’s someone you know who would be a good referral.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it.” Add it to the list of things I should be doing instead of playing Boy Scout out here. The same list that includes finding another job. Getting back on my feet. Checking in with my landlord about my apartment.

“I’ll let you get back to your groups.” Mom’s dismissal is kind, but clear, and I slip out of the camp office with my head swirling.

The rest of the week follows in pretty much the same manner, except with fewer canoe incidents. I spend time with Sadie around camp on Thursday, and Tyler accompanies me on the second out-of-camp excursion to Minnetonka Cave on Friday. By the time Friday night rolls around, I’m feeling more confident in my abilities to be a glorified babysitter, but in no way am I completely comfortable doing what I’m doing.

Not like Sadie.

Every time I see Sadie in front of the entire group of campers or staff, I am absolutely stunned by how good she is at this job. I’m as far out of my element as she’s in hers. While I know a lot of the ease she has in front of these kids is because she’s been doing this job every summer for ten years, there’s a part of her that goes beyond job familiarity. Like she was born to do this.

I’m no introvert by any stretch of the imagination, but Sadie takes being an extrovert to a whole new level. Her big smiles, easy laughter…she reminds me of my mom.

Is that a bad thing? To compare the girl I’m crushing on to my mother?

But for some reason, I think Sadie would like being compared to Linda Evans.

Chapter Eleven

Sadie

Saturday is always so bittersweet. A gloom that’s not present any other day hangs over the campers during breakfast and afterwards as they pack their bags, clean their cabins, and trade phone numbers and social media profiles with their newfound friends. Some of them might see each other in other places, or back at camp next summer, but there’s an equal chance they might never see these friends again.

Just like I might never see Camp Brower again after this summer.

I shake the thought away and direct another parent to the lodge, where they’ll wait for their child to finish saying goodbye before whisking them away back home, to a summer of sports and other activities. I look across the field and spy Oliver escorting a group of boys with bags on their shoulders from the cabins.

He’s done really well this week. For someone who has no camp experience, at least.

After parting ways after the canoe incident, I let him really take the reins and lead his groups. I never left him in the lurch, though. I was always around. Close by, just in case he needed me. But by last night’s campfire, he didn’t really need me to be his fairy godmother anymore.

He’s not the same man I met Sunday night, when his parents roped him into helping for the summer. He’s more confident with the campers, and I haven’t seen a glimpse of his fancy button ups and slacks since I walked him to his cabin. But a week at camp changes people. I just watched forty-eight teenagers evolve over five days out here in the woods. And I’ll do it again next week. And the next.

And the next.

Participants trickle out one by one, similar to how they arrived. When they’re all gone, I call the staff together for a quick staff meeting, reminding them all that they need to be back at camp by seven tomorrow night, before releasing them for their weekend.

Most weekends throughout the summer, most of the staff will spend the whole weekend at camp—maybe going down to Garden City or Logan on a Saturday, but oftentimes just staying in camp and “playing” the way they don’t get to during the week. Going for hikes, shooting at the archery range, taking the canoes out.

But this weekend is Father’s Day, and everyone—except me—is headed back home to spend time with their dads and grandpas and uncles.

After excusing them from the meeting, most of the youth staff dash back to their cabins to pack their dirty clothes and get the heck out of Dodge. In less than an hour, it’s just me.

And the Evanses.

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