camp

[ocean]

Here is a thread that I am starting where you can put poetry, song lyrics, quotes and so on about camp. I will start out with a poem I wrote.

CAMP

When I walk Through,

I know that I am at home.

I breathe the fresh air,

and listen to the beautiful sounds of nature.

When I just sit down,

On one of those big rocks,

I imagine what my life would be,

without this wonderful place.

When I look out onto the lake

I feel free and cheerful.

When I am at this place,

I know I can call it home.

This lovely place is my freedom,

This place will always be my love.

[Flukie]

I wrote this for my CITs...


Everything I need to know, I learned from my CITs.

I learned that camp is a place where you can meet someone very different from you, live in a tent with them for two weeks, and leave knowing that somehow, something about what you believed is now changed.

I learned to sail (in theory, at least) a Sunfish.

I learned that you have an amazing sense of what is right and what is wrong.

I learned that it is a constant struggle to find your place between camper and counselor.

I learned that sometimes when things don’t turn out the way we expected we can still make them work for us.

I learned just how much fun a prim (and a cat hole!) can be.

I learned that sometimes the topics that aren’t camp topics are the ones that help us learn the most about each other.

I learned that fire-building can be a whole lot of fun (and really scary with your dreams of being campfire pyros).

I learned that bringing together a very diverse group of fantastic young women can change lives – not only your own, but the also those of the campers we work with.

I learned that when all is said and done, I can’t wait for next summer and your return as Interns.

[who_stole_my_loofa]

This song reminds me of camp hardcore!



In this diary-- Ataris

Here in this diary,
I write you visions of my summer.
It was the best I ever had.
There were choruses and sing-alongs,
And that unspoken feeling of knowing
Right now is all that matters
All the nights we stayed up talking
and listening to 80's songs;
quoting lines from all those movies that we love.
It still brings a smile to my face.
I guess when it comes down to it...

Being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up:
These are the best days of our lives.
The only thing that matters
is just following your heart
and eventually you'll finally get it right.

Breaking into hotel swimming pools,
and wreaking havoc on our world.
Hanging out at truck stops just to pass the time.
The black top's singing me to sleep.
Lighting fireworks in parking lots,
illuminate the blackest nights.
Cherry cokes under this moonlight summer sky.
2015 Riverside, it's time to say, "goodbye."
Get on the bus, it's time to go.

Being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up:
These are the best days of our lives.
The only thing that matters
is just following your heart,
and eventually you'll finally get it right.

[ocean]

Flukie, that was a good poem, and whostolemyloofa I love that song.

[Melk]

ok so some of these are inside jokes but I love this list:
Things you can only do at camp

see your boss dress in drag
get a free car wash
paint people in charge of you
throw someone in the lake without legal repercussions
have regular mud fights
get paid to sleep and lay on a beach
walk around at night serenading other people
wear your underwear outside of your pants
use a giant slip-n-slide
paint graffiti on ceilings
act like you’re eleven years old all the time
get a real breakfast most mornings
you get children to set the table for you (and do other random stuff for you too)
lanyards are a form of art, as are friendship bracelets
when you hear an air horn, you start ripping off your clothes
you get really happy when you hear “Love Me Do” and “Wannabe”
if you don’t shower for three days, you’re still relatively clean
you can steal mattresses from other peoples beds and not get in too much trouble
shaving is way overrated
you can blatantly lie to children, and it’s okay (and they believe you)
you start writing notes to your friends again, just like in middle school
you can take pop away from children, and drink it in front of them
you get way too excited about chicken patties
you sing songs that make absolutely no sense, and have absolutely no point
boys can wear nail polish
you make up songs about everything
“your mamma’s on the roof” is the best comeback ever
throw flour filled socks at children
capture the flag becomes WWIII
you have ten secret boyfriends (or girlfriends) again, just like in grade school
Wednesday night is hospital night
you can wear the same clothes for a week at a time, and no one notices
Reading is FUNDAMENTAL!
confusion is an acceptable the only state of mind
you can call yourself a tripper in public, and not get in trouble
toys are the best gifts to receive (especially if they’re Barbies, and you’re a boy)
toilet-plunging is a necessary skill for survival
watch tans are so in right now
bigamy is ACE!
have pillow fights at work
naptime is the best part of the day
we hate snacks (unless the word “staff” proceeds)
everyone is a winner
Meijer is a cause for celebration
you can have hot dogs for every meal
you suddenly find that your entire wardrobe is not camp appropriate
you can get the plague and find a dollar all in one day
5 o’clock is quitting time (6 at outpost)
you start dating other peoples boyfriends
Horse pooh is a commodity
being licked by a small child in your sleep is not that unusual
leader in training really means slave labor
the Village People make regular appearances
yell at boys for touching girls
you can wear tie-dye, camouflage, and Hawaiian all at the same time
make friends with strange people in boats while teaching a class from a canoe
sit on a bed eating ice cream while the CIT watches the kids
Teddy Grams in frosting is the funniest suicide you’ve ever seen
sky diving squirrels are the norm
threats of turtlenecks are the best dress code enforcer
your tan washes off in the shower
funny and obscene quotes are written on walls, and this practice is encouraged
someone gets fired every time Maggie leaves camp
three or more counselors spooning in a bed is not seen as strange
when you hear a Disney song, the whole camp starts to sing along
the Sound of Music soundtrack inspires dance parties during meals
during the only nice, all-staff, meal (that does not involve hot dogs), two campers puke on the table
you can color people’s ears purple
nobody does it (or me) like Richy think the number is coincidence? think again (# 69)
for us the purpose of life is to fight maturity, screw everything else!

[softballkid019]

one of my favorite camp directors gave this to me my second summer at camp! just thought i would share...

What is a Resident Camp Counselor?

Phyllis Ford, or the University of Oregon, supplies a poignant answer to this question. We think it will hit home to most every person involved in camping.

Somewhere between adolescence and adulthood there occurs in human development an age which is physically and psychologically impossible. It is that unfathomable stage known as the camp counselor, a creature undefined by psychologists, misunderstood by camp directors, worshipped by campers, either admired or doubted by parents, and unheard of by the rest of society.

A camp counselor is a rare combination of doctor, lawyer, and a chief. She is a competent child psychologist with her sophomore textbook as proof. She is an underpaid babysitter with neither television nor refrigerator. She is a strict disciplinarian with a twinkle in her eye, a minister to all faiths, with questions about her own. She is a referee, coach, teacher and advisor. She is the example of womanhood in worn out tennis shoes, a sweat shirt two sizes too large and a hat two sizes too small. She is a humorist in a crises, a doctor in an emergency, a song leader, entertainer and play director. She is an idol with her head in a cloud of wood smoke and her feet in the mud. She is a comforter in a leaky tent on a cold night and a pal who has just loaned someone her last pair of dry socks. She is a teacher of the out-of-doors, knee-deep in poison ivy.

A counselor dislikes reveille, waiting in line, inspection and rainy days. She is fond of sunbathing, exploring, teaching new games, an old car named Henrietta, and days off. She is handy for patching up broken friendships, bloody noses and torn jeans. She is good at locating lost bathing suits, fixing axe handles, playing the guitar and catching fish. She is poor at crawling out of bed on rainy mornings, remembering the salt and getting to bed early.

A counselor is a friendly guide in the middle of a cold, dark, wet night on the long winding trail to the biffy. She is a dynamo on a day off, exhausted the next day, but recuperated in time for the next day off.

Who but she can cure homesickness, air out wet bedding, play 16 games of lemi sticks in succession, whistle “Dixie” through her fingers, carry two packs, speak Pig Latin in French, stand on her hands, sing 37 verses of “You Can’t Get To Heaven” and eat four helpings of Sunday dinner.

A counselor is expected to repair 10 years of damage to Ashley in 10 days, make Taylor into a woman, rehabilitate Jenny, allow Brooke to be an individual and help Emily adjust to the group. She is expected to lead the most prized possessions of 30 adults much older than she. She is expected to lead them in fun and adventure…even when her head aches; to teach them to live in the out-of-doors…even though she spends nine months of the year in New York City or Los Angeles; to teach them indigenous activities…when she can’t even spell the word; to guide youngsters in social adjustment…when she hasn’t even reached legal age and to ensure safety and health…with a sunburned nose, a Band-Aid on her thumb and a blister on her heel.

For all of this she is paid enough to buy the second textbook in psychology, some aspirin, some new socks, two tires for Henrietta, and some new tennis shoes. You wonder how she can stand the pace and pressure. You wonder if she knows how much she is really worth. And somehow, you realize that you can never pay her enough when, as she leaves at the end of August, she waves good-bye and says, “See ya next year!”