Last night I could hear the Cubbies finishing up their game of Mafia after a lively and adventurous Division Day. Division Day is when the divisions spend their afternoon together, playing games, tubing, hangin’ out, etc. They always end their day with hotdogs and marshmallows around the fire. Now, I’m not sure exactly HOW to play Mafia, but I know it involves one guy being the “mafia,” one guy being a doctor and one guy being a police officer. They all put their heads down, then the mafia guys lift their heads and designate someone to “off” and then the doctor lifts his head and designates someone to save, then the police officer gets to accuse someone – or something like that. I say this because I’ve never actually SEEN it played, but last night I HEARD it loud and clear.
One of the great things about being in the north woods is that there is almost NO noise pollution. Which means, on a beautiful clear night like last night, with no wind and a gorgeous sunset, I could hear everything those Cubbies said, even all the way over on the Point across the lake; which is where they were. And they were having a blast.
Funny thing about a campfire; it can make something as seemingly simple as lifting your head and trying not to giggle and pointing at your cabin mate seem like the greatest thing in the world. Whether it’s watching a marshmallow burn to a crisp, or gazing deeply into the embers of a dying fire, there is something magical about that time.
My son just returned from his three day hiking trip in the Porcupine Mountains. At this point in the summer, many of your guys have been out on their trips and have returned. His report post-trip was bubbling with excitement and pride; though most of the stories were of the zany misadventures and goofy things that happened. They always remember the goofy things – like when Jackson’s shoe got stuck in the mud, and he then accidentally sank his socked foot deep into the same mud; or when they all woke up in the morning piled in a heap in one small corner of the tent, with Eugenio’s feet in his face and Caleb’s head on his chest – and plenty of space in the other half of the tent.
One of the insights that my son relayed to me was a really cool realization he had one night, as they were all gathered around the fire. He looked around him and exclaimed, “There are FIVE different languages sitting around this fire!” And he was right. Two boys were from Mexico. One counselor has been preparing for his year abroad in China, and he speaks mandarin. One boy lives in France. And one boy speaks sign language. And yet here they were, this motley crew, gathered around the fire laughing at their misadventures, giggling about muddy socks, scheming how they can swipe the sweet campsite from the other camp tomorrow, having the time of their lives.
One of the greatest things I ever learned to do here at Camp Highlands is to make a one-match fire. A skill I still practice whenever my daughters beg for s’mores; and now that I think of it, a skill I will add to my resume. Because when you make a fire you do more than just spark a heat source. You invite imagination and laughter and thoughtful contemplation. And that, my friends, is a pretty awesome gift to share.
Better. Worthwhile. Highlands.
Andy