Plenty of Nothing

Saturday night our gym was loud enough to feel it in your belly. Sunday afternoon the landsports field had music going, a sprinkler spinning, and the whole camp in team jerseys running between game stations. In between those two, on Sunday morning, everyone walked down to the chapel clearing and sat quietly on log benches, and one girl after another stood up to talk about a breeze on her cheek at bedtime, or the sound of the birds at dawn, or the way it feels when a friend hands you something small. Three all-camp events, each with its own rhythm and feeling of togetherness, punctuating the last few days. And in the middle of them, a story about a gift that was supposed to be nothing at all.

So Hot in There

Saturday night we had a dance with Camp Carolina, or I should say, “dances” because we ran two at the same time, so that the girls could be with boys their own age. Our Juniors and Middlers stayed home and welcomed the younger CCB boys into our gym, where our friend Marcus, DJ Dawg, had his sound and light system ready. The kids jumped and bopped through familiar pop songs and the line dances everybody knows, Cotton Eyed Joe, the Macarena, and such. When the gym got too hot, girls spilled outside for gaga ball or tetherball, hula hooping and jumping rope, until they’d cooled off enough to go back in. Partway through Sarah and Lauren passed out chocolate chip cookies. More fuel for the dancing fun.

Meanwhile the Seniors and Hi-Ups loaded onto buses and vans for the trip to the Camp Carolina gym. Some with glitter on their faces, a few in costumes, for the silly fun of it all, they arrived with true girl-power energy that I think surprised the boys a little. Setting loose a group of 100 teenage girls, dressed and ready to dance, is quite a force. A solid hour of dancing, stopping only for water, sweaty and thrilled the whole way through. On the ride home I heard “so hot in there,” (It was!) and from more than one girl, “still really fun!”

Tiny Threads

Sunday mornings run slower here on purpose. We sleep in a little, eat breakfast in pajamas, clean the cabins, put on uniforms, and walk down to the chapel clearing for our weekly gathering, a time to slow down and reflect together on one shared idea. Over the years the name has grown into an acronym we’re fond of: a Celebration of Happiness, Adventure, Peace, Earth, and Love. Campers do the speaking. They volunteer, they write their own remarks, and the adults mostly sit and listen. This week the theme was gifts and gratitude. Each age group took turns stepping up, one camper or pair of campers at a time to speak about what they were grateful for. Between groups we sang songs about gratitude, like the old Shaker song, “Simple Gifts.”

Camper after camper mentioned little things about life at camp that made them feel grateful. The kitchen staff that makes our delicious meals, the strong bonds of friendship they’ve found at camp, small acts of kindness from people they don’t really know well, wonderful moments in nature, the fun of the activities, and the sense of belonging they feel while at Rockbrook were all mentioned.

A senior camper stood up and told everyone she sometimes struggles with anxiety. She described sitting with a friend on the hill and opening up about this. That friend said she had it too, then wrote down the name of her therapist and handed it over. That was the gift she chose to talk about. A name on a piece of paper. A small thing, but also a really big moment where she felt the love and support of camp deeply.

One senior reached all the way back to the night before, and described being grateful for the cars whizzing past the bus on the ride home from the dance, harmonizing with her friends, and just chatting. Then for the katydids that sing everyone to sleep, and the birds that wake her just before the bell so she has time to say good morning to her cabin mates. Tiny threads in a bracelet, she called them. “Gratitude,” she said, “means caring about the small things in life.”

We finished with Sarah reading The Gift of Nothing, by Patrick McDonnell, a lovely short story about true gifts not always being something material. It describes Mooch, who wants to give his best friend Earl a present, but Earl already has what he needs, so Mooch settles on giving him nothing. The trouble is finding it. He walks every aisle at the store and learns that “nothing” is not for sale. So he goes home, puts nothing in a box, then decides Earl deserves a bigger box. “Now that’s plenty of nothing,” he says. When Earl opens it he says, “there’s nothing here.” “Yeah,” says Mooch. “Nothing but me and you.”

One Step Back

After rest hour the landsports field turned into a festival. The girls had been told to pack a jersey and most had taken it seriously, so the field filled with basketball and soccer and football colors and numbers from every team you can think of. The inflatable skill games drew the longest interest, each one a different challenge: kicking a soccer ball through a hole, threading a frisbee through a slot, hitting a wiffle ball at a target. The two space-themed basketball goals were the hardest of the bunch, with the hoops set about fourteen feet up, which turns a free throw with a regulation ball into a full body effort for most of us. The “sandwich relay” run stacked up hula hoops, a sack race, “ingredients” to gather, and a sprint to the finish.

The water balloon toss perhaps pulled the biggest crowd, partly because it moves fast and partly because everybody knows how it ends. A pair of girls toss, both take a step back, toss again, step back again, and the balloon holds and holds until it doesn’t, usually right in the hands of whoever was reaching out to catch it. At the face painting table the stencils were out, and girls walked away with elaborate geometric designs in three and four colors running across their cheeks and down their arms.

What the girls like best about an afternoon like this is being able to wander. Nine square in the air for a while, then over to the craft table to make a foam finger, then back out to something loud. Plus stopping to pose whenever a camera came by, which is its own event at this point.

By evening the field was packed up and the light was going long across the hill. Somewhere in a cabin tonight a girl will lie down and count the day backwards, and the list will be short and specific. A cookie. A breeze. A friend’s smile. The katydids helping her drift off. Gratitude all the way down.