Ah.  Camp!  Such a loaded small word.  First and foremost, there is camping with family and friends.  Even though my parents owned and operated two campgrounds and a canoe livery, I didn’t grow up camping much in the traditional sense.  Even if we didn’t camp much, the overnight canoe trips we took with Dad (Mom was one and done!) were legendary.  I think about the planning that went into our trips and how we broke the “rules” and threw a tube in with our gear – Erica and I taking turns tubing for a bit; Dad pretending to leave me in the dust when it was my turn, waiting for me around the next bend.  Mrs. Taylor would be waiting for us at Cedar Springs with ice cream cones.

Over the years, I attended the National Turner Syndrome Camp, memorized Bible verses at church camp, spent endless hours playing with cousins at deer camp(s) (there were deer camps on each side of my family), helped run 4-H day camps for elementary students, and ended up with my picture in the paper participating in a local Vacation Bible School day camp.  I also attended Camp Oak Hills as a Brownie, my first time away from home aside from spending the night at my grandparents’ house, and the Broad Business Student Camp (BBSC) at Michigan State, which led to my decision to attend the Eli Broad College of Business (hence the name) at Michigan State University to study supply chain management.  Quite simply, much of my life as a child and young adult – indeed, some of my best memories – involved camp in some way, shape, or form.  I would not be the same person without it.

Each August, Grandma and Grandpa Buttrick would take us grandkids to Kenton in the Upper Peninsula (almost to Watersmeet) for a week, the site of a hunting camp passed down on Grandpa’s side for generations, the land originally homesteaded by my Forward ancestors.  We spent the week visiting waterfalls, riding the hills around camp, swimming in and hiking around Tippy Lake, traveling into the tiny village of Kenton itself to visit the grocery store/library/post office, and holding target practice with Grandpa using a pellet gun.  At night, there were hot games of Uno and Spoons around the living room table.  As a kid, there is nothing better than sharing a bunk room with your siblings and cousins!

So many camp memories stand out.  As a child attending church camp at Bayshore Camp in Michigan’s Thumb, I first experienced tipping over in a canoe.  As a tween, I paired up with a boy I didn’t know well.  In spite of explaining that I had years of canoeing experience as my parents’ owned a campground and canoe livery, he insisted on steering.  Inevitably, we ended up in the lake, the coolness of the lake hopefully camouflaging my rising anger.  I have never forgotten.

Years later, as a teen, I attended the National Turner Syndrome Camp at King Mountain Ranch in Estes Park, Colorado.  I met other teen girls who faced the same physical, emotional, and social challenges as me for the first time.  Words fail me other than to say that those experiences at King Mountain Ranch filled me with a confidence that I would not have had otherwise.  One of my favorite memories is of how my friends and I scared ourselves silly watching The Shining after learning that the movie was filmed nearby.  It is still my favorite horror movie and my favorite Stephen King novel.  Those two years attending the National Turner Syndrome Camp still mean so much decades later. Most of all, I hope children of all ages have the opportunity to experience camp in all its forms.  Those varied experiences not only added to my education in invaluable ways, but they shaped the person I am today in countless ways.