loose change

the first monday piece on eastern standard time! it’s a cheeky tuesday piece. i’ve begun this piece two times between today and yesterday and scrapped both. i’m writing now from my cabin just before dinner–i imagine i’ll finish it up either this evening or tomorrow morning. really stretching the terms of a monday!

it’s surreal to finally be east, and even more so to be back at camp. aside from my short stint last august, this is my first time in maine since 2019. i already feel very much at home.

it’s wednesday now, for full transparency, and it’s a little after 4p. the first storm of the summer just skirted around us, so i’ve been in the cabin by myself riding it out. it’s been another surreal day. we’ve been fed the best of the best since we arrived, and mealtimes have been full of catching up and fueling each others’ excitement for the summer. it’s strange to be here without lucy and faye. while i miss them, i can feel their magic still existing here.

i was talking with kathy about being back after such a spell, and she mentioned how your perspective on camp changes after spending time in the Real World. i’d told her how lucky i felt to be able to come here and stay in my own cabin and see the lake every morning and hear the breezes and be so welcomed. i feel spoiled. she said it’s a perspective that comes with age. and it’s very true–i’ve not been back since i was in college. now that i’m out of college and in the working world, camp feels like a little life hack. it feels crazy that i get paid to be here. granted, the campers haven’t arrived yet, and our work has barely begun. but there’s something in the air here that makes you feel like the luckiest little person in the world.

part of it is the history. not just my history here, but the history of the place. you walk on the mossy, pine-needled ground and you feel connected to so many generations of women who came before. you recognize you’re carrying a torch that has been carried for one hundred years and more. you feel the importance your presence here, the duty to keep the magic alive.

i wonder what it would be like to come here for the first time today. i wonder if i would notice as much as i do without the nostalgia attached to it. this will be my eleventh summer here, but i’ve known this land for seventeen years. there are so many versions of me that exist here. part of coming here feels like coming home to all of them.

part of it is the nature. camp sounds like: lake lapping shores, rain on granite, wooden creaks of cabin floors, birdsongs and bee flights, wind in pines, chipmunks scampering across fallen leaves, loons whispering in the dark, girls laughing and singing, the soft hum of a boat far across the lake. you can hear everything when you close your eyes, something so rare in the real world. you breathe deeper, easier. and it’s the smells: the musty smell of the old cabins, the damp soil beneath the canopy of the trees, the fire smoke coating your clothes every tuesday morning, the cool lake on the warm wood of the dock, the burgers on the grill before lunch, the bittersweet smell of bug spray. your senses come alive here.

and it’s the sisterhood. i feel so known and so welcomed even after five years away. i am surrounded by so many cool people, so many intelligent and strong women, so many people to learn from and grow alongside. so many women to laugh with, to sing with. so many people who are here for the same reason: because they love it, and because it’s changed their lives. it’s so easy to feel a part of something much larger than myself.

we were talking in the car on the way up about the east coast crisp. the west coast doesn’t have it. it’s this kind of higher definition in the air, in the starkness of the clouds on the blue sky, in the details of the branches of the trees. it’s evident in all four seasons, with maybe the exception of those duller winter days, no snow on the ground and no sun in the sky. there’s a robustness to the climes over here. whatever the weather is, you’re gonna get socked in the face by it. california is much duller than that. even on the clearest of days, it doesn’t feel as clear as it does here. east coast weather feels like it’s confident in itself, esteem is super high. california feels a little insecure, little more noncommittal.

i left pretty quickly. there were about sixty two hours between my last day at school and my flight to boston. i spent seven of them driving and three of them fixing parts of my car, five of them wine tasting, five of them packing and cleaning, eleven of them sleeping, one of them getting a beer with my dad, one of them eating lunch with my mom, three of them crying (weeping), six of them staying up too late and avoiding sleep. a lot of hours spent marveling at where the hours were going.

all of those unprocessed feelings i mentioned last week came to a head on friday as my last student left school. i was hit with this wall of relief and grief and pride and joy and my cup overflowed. i cried as i thanked the principal. i cried as i walked to the gate. i’ll miss my little guys so much. i loved being with them and teaching them so much. it was time to move on, but that didn’t make the moving on any easier. archer ran up and gave me a gigantic hug as he was leaving with his dad. i swung him around in the air, like i do with all of his hugs. i cried so fucking hard on my way home! it felt incredible, but also overwhelming, like it wouldn’t stop for hours. it didn’t.

and in regular fashion, i didn’t get everything done that i wanted to before leaving home. there’s a big ole list waiting for me when i get back. i still feel pretty young, you know, but i feel like i’ve gotten to the age of realizing that there’s always gonna be a list from now on.

it’s time for another gorgeously prepared meal from emily morningstar (the greatest last name in the game) and so soon until i write again!! thank you for reading xxooo summer is nighhhhh