A CAMP STORY

On the Way to Breakfast

I like to take a morning stroll before the day begins.

I tiptoe past the sleeping Littles; all but Early Riser, who’s patiently sitting up in her bed.

“You can lay back down,” I whisper. “It’s not time to get up yet.” She nods and lays down, but I know she’s fully awake.

All my tiptoeing was for not once I open the squeaky cabin door, but I know they’ll sleep on.

I take the path neighboring the woods, where the dusty, rocky trail leads to Morning Star Chapel. Some days, I like to visit this sacred place, but on this day, I feel like walking.

I breathe in the fresh air, trying to catch the obvious hints of cedar, but my nostrils are filled with sulfur.

The sun splashes warm yellows against the cool blues of the beaten path.

I smile with gratitude and walk in peace. What a day it will be.

A fawn scrambles away at my approach, a cardinal flutters, and a roadrunner takes the right-of-way. And through them, I feel my family walk beside me.

I feel the playfulness of the fawn and remember my sister.

I see the brilliance of the cardinal and say hello to my mom.

I grin at the raucous roadrunner, and listen to my dad share from my heart: “Mornin’! We are here with you. Now go have an awesome day at camp!”

I will, I smile back.

I am filled with light and heaviness at the same time.

I follow the curve and wind my way back.

Stay in the present, I remind myself.

I take a deep breath and slowly push the cabin door open.

But I needn’t bother. There is movement inside. The morning bustle has begun.

Sweet One gives me a hug before I shut the door.

“Good morning,” I say. “Did you sleep well?”

She nods and scampers off.

I walk by Late Riser without waking her, and say good morning to Early Riser, who sits atop her neatly made bed, fully dressed and ready to go.

Two groggy Littles in pajamas shuffle by me to the bathroom to change, dropping clothes on the way like breadcrumbs.

I hear one of my co-counselors suggest they brush their teeth while they wait for an open stall, where giggles echo off the curtains.

“Where have you been?” Inquisitor asks me.

“I just went for a walk.”

“Were you getting coffee?”

“Maybe.”

“Excuse me, pleeeease,” a voice commands behind me, and I obediently move out of the way for Worker Bee, who is sweeping the cabin floor in her pajamas.

“Thank you for helping, but why don’t you get ready for the day first and if there’s time, you can finish sweeping?”

Worker Bee shrugs her shoulders and drops the broom.

Stepping over it, she goes to change, and I set the broom aside to be forgotten.

Comedian and Helper are gleefully waking up Late Riser.

Getting seven eight-year-olds ready for the day is like herding cats. It is chaotic, messy, repetitive, and repetitive s’more. Yet it is also sweet, adorable, gentle, and silly. It is truly a whimsical gift to experience a morning at camp.

“Who hasn’t put on sunscreen yet? Who needs bug spray?” we ask, waving them around like magic wands.

“Whose sock is this?”

No answer.

“Does everyone have their swimsuit on?”

No answer.

“It has to be someone’s!”

No answer.

Half are out the door and on the porch. Success.

“Got your nametag? Water bottle? Backpack? Swim Towel?”

And now they’re back inside.

“Who’s hungry for breakfast?” I ask, watching Sweet One put an enormous amount of sunscreen on her tiny face.

“Me! Me! Me! Me!” Chirps back, and four Littles burst outside in a heap.

Comedian follows, yawning and dragging her feet as she exits the cabin.

“Got your nametag?” I ask, spotting its absence.

She reaches for it, but it’s not around her neck, and she pauses, eyes wide.

And then it clicks.

“Oh, yeah!” she says, and runs back inside.

Early Riser is halfway down the path to the Dining Hall when my co-counselor calls out for her to stop. “Wait for the rest of us, please!”

Early Riser comes to a stop as if the path suddenly ended, but doesn’t turn around.

Works for me, I think, counting campers. She’s been awake since 5:30. Ready since 7:15. She’s hungry. She’s done.

Although I counted seven campers just a moment ago, now there’s only six.

I glance at my co-counselor, but Inquisitor has the answer ready.

“She forgot to put her shoes on,” she informs, just as Late Riser pops out of the cabin, shoes in hand.

This reminds Inquisitor that she herself has forgotten her water bottle.

Helper follows her back inside.

“And where are you going?!?”

“I forgot my goggles!”

Worker Bee taps me on the shoulder, her eyebrows furrowed. “I could’ve swept the whole cabin by now.”

“I know.”

At last, we are ready to leave. A few dash ahead to catch up to Early Riser, still frozen in place.

“Wait a second, girls!”

They all turn and stare at us in indignation.

“Comedian forgot her backpack,” my co-counselor informs them, as she flies by us.

But their patience is gone, and they start walking.

Launching herself back out, Comedian rushes to catch up as I count heads one last time.

They’re easier to count now, five crowded together and giggling. Late Riser matches our pace, and Comedian almost catches up to the others, but drops her water bottle.

She bends down to get it and her backpack falls off her shoulder, spilling an oversized flashlight, lip gloss in a pink plastic lip-shaped container, and a stuffed unicorn onto the brick path.

Helper runs back to help Comedian as we catch up.

That’s when I noticed her shoe was untied.

I glance at my co-counselors. They see it, too.

But we’re all in agreement. Let’s just get to breakfast.

I can’t help but smile. It’s going to be an awesome day.