Camp Bow-Isle: celebrating God's excellence every day!
No matter how fast summer seems to arrive, (and believe me, in this business it can sneak right up on you!) it seems to go past even faster! I cannot believe that we are already half way through Junior Girls, our first session of the summer. We have already had campfires and marshmallows and Cavewoman cookout, and played Pirates and Cargo and been to the beach for swimming and beachcombing and sailing, and had an incredible Wednesday evening testimony meeting! That would be a pretty great session all on its own, but of course, these girls (and their amazing staff) are just warming up! I can't tell you EXACTLY what is next, because even I don't know, but Karin and her counselors will keep spinning the hits, one after another. Senior Girls will come next and then, finally my guys will arrive and I will get out of the office and go to work! I cannot wait!
What a great summer we have planned for EVERYONE here at Camp Bow-Isle, from Junior campers to Family Camp grandparents and everyone in between. And then, on August 21 we hope to see ABSOLUTELY EVERYONE back at camp for our 50th Anniversary Celebration.
This is really a special opportunity to embrace all that Camp has accomplished and all the good it does for each and every person who sets foot on the property. If you have not been to camp for a few years, you are in for a few BIG surprises, and if you have been coming we hope you will come back just so we can see you again!
This Camp family reunion will feature an all-evening BBQ, plenty of time to catch up with old friends and meet the legends of various eras. Kimberley Gatrell will be our guest speaker. Kimberley has been a camper, counselor, cook, board member, and has the unique vantage point of having been Allan Fernie's professional assistant for several years.
All in all it should be a fantastic finish to another incredible year at Camp Bow-Isle. If you have not already done so, please use the "registering" link on the left side of the home page to sign up for the reunion.
And we still have space in a couple of youth sessions as well, so if you or anyone you know is still thinking this may be the summer to have a Camp Bow-Isle experience, give us a call very soon!
Have a great summer!
Jon
A true story illustrating the lasting impact summer camp can have on kids ...
by Camp Bow-Isle Director Jon Heath
“Jon?”
The Big Guy looked like he was born on a snowboard, baggy pants, duct-taped gloves, helmet, goggles.
I hadn’t really noticed him as I was skiing with (and ostensibly chaperoning) a group of middle-schoolers from my church and was speaking with one of them about their family situation as we got off the chairlift. Another boy from our group tapped my ski pole with his.
“This guy is talking to you.”
“Jon Heath!” Said the Big Guy again, with more certainty now that I was looking his direction.
Recognizing your own family can be a challenge when bundled in hats, layers of clothes and goggles. I was at a total loss.
“Who is that?” I blurted, managing the universal bewildered smile of those in my predicament.
The Big Guy was standing now and I glided closer, weaving through my group.
“I was one of your camp-ers…” there was a playful sing-song in his voice. He was enjoying the advantage he currently held. He knew exactly who he was talking to; I was at sea. Faces and names flew past. I had worked at camps since I was 17. Hundreds of faces. Nope, thousands. “…twenty years ago, man.” That narrowed it down. But this grinning, mid-thirties, barrel-chested, born to ride, six-foot tall, MAN resembled no camper of mine in the slightest.
“What is your NAME!” I fairly yelled with a smile growing wider and wider.
“It’s Dan-ny Tha-all” the lyrical voice replied waiting for my reaction.
He didn’t have to wait long; the name struck an instant chord and the Man-hug that followed was genuine. And very large. Both of us well over 6 feet in our boots, and well over 200 lbs in our winter kit, gravity was quickly coming into play -- we were on the move. And now a slightly entwined mass of skis, poles, arms and legs, all more or less piled on top of his snowboard, and gaining speed.
We managed to take out only one other skier and a small section of the rope marking the safety zone around the chairlift. The lifty coming around the side of his warming shack had a quizzical expression on his face, his arms held out wide in the “what-are-you-thinking?” pose.
“That was a twenty-year reunion!” I hollered up to him. “Sorry about the rope!”
We were forgiven, but had little time right then to show our gratitude. Twenty years of catching up had begun.
“Hey, Danny, this is my son, Conrad!”
“Whoa. You have children?“
“I have three!”
Danny’s mouth was wide with awe and disbelief. His carefree camp counselor, who had chased him through the woods at breakneck speed playing capture the flag and chased him faster still out of the girls cabins, was daddy – to a teenager.
“Are you here by yourself?” A nod. “Do you want to ride with us?”
“You bet!”
Old friendships, fresh snow, bright sun, blue sky, Mt Hood as a backdrop. And half a dozen middleschool boys who were most grateful that this “Hallmark moment” was finally over and they could get back to the business at hand – mach 6-ing the terrain park.
What they had not counted on was the old dogs showing them how. A celebratory mood was in the air to be sure. The middleschoolers were high spirited, showing off for each other, boasting, racing, jumping, exclaiming, jabbering, snow flying, photographing and video-taping for fire-side bragging rights.
Danny and I were ahead of them all, laughing louder, jumping higher, skiing faster, and eventually we left them behind, sure that we would lap them as long as they stayed on this run and this lift, and there was little chance of anything else. Teenage boys and terrain parks are bonded more tightly than the glues and resins in the boards they ride.
On the lift we discussed our lives in detail, and the honesty on both sides was humbling. He was into organic farming now, had ten acres near the mountain, a half dozen employees, an accountant, and a girlfriend he loved.
The boy was surely a man, but in my mind’s eye I could clearly see a toe-headed imp who had always been loveable, and a total “Calvin”, constantly in trouble.
On the runs, we were pushing each other, faster still, fewer stops, longer jumps, gaining confidence and control as the magic of a serendipitous meeting covered us both. Back on the lift, wipe the sweat from your eyes, pick up the conversation.
“How old are you?”, Danny asked bluntly as we caught our breath after one run.
My Birthday was in two days. I gave the bigger number. Feeling immortal like I did that day means never having to fear candles.
“Wow. I’m only six years younger than you. We’re practically bro’s now. A pause. You used to be….bigger.“
“We ARE bro’s now”, I quietly replied, quickly adopting the term despite its novelty in my vocabulary. I’d never used it before other than to reference my own brother.
“Nah, no way. I still worship all you guys, my counselors, Mike, and Skip and Bobby” Danny prostrated himself on the snow, his board a natural part of his anatomy, doing nothing to inhibit his act of mock-reverence.
In three runs we had caught up to the boys again. Danny had been on the mountain all day, and the cookie in his truck was “calling his name”. I was feeling guilty about abandoning the guys, who were all perfectly content on their own.
The goodbyes were as heartfelt as the greetings; less intense, more comfortable. Danny cruised down the mountain carving a final beautiful turn in the lengthening shadows, one arm stretched skyward, hand clenched in a tight fist, now pounding on his chest: “Love ya, man”.
I turned back into the mild-mannered “Dad” almost immediately.
“Who was that?” asked one of the boys, as soon as Danny was out of sight.
Silence. How to answer? What words do you use to describe all of THAT?
“That was you … twenty years from now.”