It's summer camp preparation time at my house, which means trips to Target and REI, online orders to Land's End. Every year, my teenagers grow taller, their feet bigger. They need new rain gear, swimsuits, white T-shirts for tie-dyeing, bug spray and sunscreen, sandals and quick-dry shorts. They each have a duffel bag, a sleeping bag and a toiletry kit in their closets. They no longer need to look at the camp packing list: It's ingrained in their hearts.
Going away to camp is a rite of passage for many Minnesotan kids: It's the first time away from mom and dad, the first time sleeping away from home. Overnight camps get our plugged-in kids out of the house and into the wilderness we Minnesotans so treasure — our lakes, forests and prairies.
My children are in love with YMCA Camp Warren near Eveleth. The cabins are almost luxurious: Wood-paneled rooms with built-in bunks, each with little a reading light. Screened porches with comfy chairs. A "hammock village" where kids can hang out after dinner. A well-stocked waterfront with sailboats, catamarans, canoes, rowboats, plus a large swimming area. The camp is built in a long crescent around the beautiful Half Moon Lake. There are woods and fields, and, of course, horses.
Finding the right camp
When he was in second grade, my son got a brochure for a military-style camp, but his father and I cringed at the idea of our bouncy 7-year-old target-shooting with rifles. After some research, we found the activities at Camp Warren fit his interests — swimming, sailing, boating, archery — and he could start with a short one-week session for boys.
Off he went that August, his little face peering out the window of the camp's big blue bus. Five days later, he returned home jubilant. He had sailed and swam, worked on a log cabin, and eaten s'mores. He enthusiastically described the "Mud Walk," an activity involving, well, mud. He didn't take any showers, but he "borped" every morning, jumping into the clear cold lake before breakfast. He was not too sunburned. He was extremely happy.
I didn't have the same fun at camp. Like my son, I felt a yearning for freedom and excitement in second grade. As a Camp Fire Girl Blue Bird, I could go to Camp Cheewin on Green Lake, but I had to raise my own money for the fees. Off I went around the Midway, lugging my cardboard box full of stale chocolates to sell door-to-door to my kindly St. Paul neighbors.
I made enough money to get a full scholarship, but when I got there, Camp Cheewin was not the glamorous escape I imagined. The no-frills cabins were bare wood with uncomfortable leftover military cots. The girls called me Mickey Mouse because of my big ears. I grew bored with it all. One afternoon I wandered down the road to examine cattails, which got me in trouble with the counselors.
Despite my mediocre experience, my travel lust won out. I returned to Camp Cheewin and then later, Camp Ojiketa, also on Green Lake, to explore my independence through swimming, boating and singing around evening bonfires. Though the camp is long gone, I can still sing the official camp song: "We're up at Ojiketa, the camp of our dreams, where Green Lake just twinkles and sparkles and gleams, so come on and join us, for we are never blue, be a member of our happy laughing crew, you too."
Hooked on camp
After his very first camp experience, my son considered himself fully dedicated to Camp Warren, in existence now for over 80 years. His younger sister started going, too. Perhaps the magic comes from the single-gender sessions. Perhaps it's the silly skits each cabin performs at one night. Or the wonderful activities like photography, climbing, theater and art. My kids eventually went for longer periods, "bridging" a pair of two-week sessions into a month and participating in the camp's sailing invitational — five glorious days in the Apostle Islands.
Now nearly 18, my son just returned from pre-camp counselor training. His voice is hoarse from singing and his face tinged with sunburn. The training was fun but quite serious. The typical day brought lessons on safety hazards as well as creating crazy evening activities for the kids. He even got to dig around in the walk-in fridge.
Going away to camp, my kids developed self-confidence and sturdy friendships. They practiced packing up, leaving me and returning home triumphant. Here's to all the camps in Minnesota, steppingstones to independence, an open door to nature, a place for our children to be wild, free and muddy.
Kathryn Kysar teaches creative writing at Anoka-Ramsey Community College. She lives with her family in St. Paul.
ABOUT 10,000 Takes: 10,000 Takes features first-person essays about life in the North Star State. We publish narratives about love, family, work, community and culture in Minnesota.
