The Summer of '71

Friends,

When I sat down to pen this year’s Solstice missive, I found myself wandering through many memories of summer’s past and for reasons that are not exactly clear to me I got stuck on the summer of 1971. What follows is the story I wrote about that summer (with some added notes to provide a little context).

I was 24 when I went to my first summer camp in northern Wisconsin.

“Camp Blue Knob” (in reality Camp Birch Knoll) could just as easily be called “Camp Bitch Now” as most campers aged 10 – 18, were (to use the expression they used when dismissing each other) “Jewish princesses” from Chicago or Milwaukee, who complained their parents had abandoned them to jet off to Europe or Israel. It was true and the great leveling bond of how unfair life was. They were stuck in rural Wisconsin with mosquitoes and beds with thin mattresses. There was no television and since this was before cell phones, they had to gossip with each other. For those that loved woods and water, camp was three weeks of offering everything their parents wished they might not take too seriously – dirt and sweat, early morning swims and night canoe paddles.

I was one of five men who worked there. I taught arts and crafts while the other four did maintenance when they were not teaching swimming, canoeing, tennis, horseback riding, and something else. We were consigned to a single cabin next to the lake, separated from the main campus by few hundred yards. We also had thin mattresses and the use of the showers on the far side of the camp before or after the hours they were available to the campers.

It was at best, a variation on a frat house, where the stink of sweat, dirty clothes and beer grew thicker each week.

One night Stacy, a freckle faced 18 year-old senior counselor from Libertyville, IL, invited me to make out in the darkened infirmary. The air smelled of summer heat and rubbing alcohol. We were in the embrace of a careless desire that had led us to shedding t-shirts and shorts without stopping to think “should we be doing this? Here?” when the nurse came in and saw our legs akimbo. How could she not, with clothes trailing from door to the closest bed? She didn’t say a word, turned, left. The release of our anxious breath gave way to parted lips and exploring tongue but the easy passion was gone.

Disentangling myself from her tanned arms, I dressed and went to find the nurse. She was getting a cup of coffee in the kitchen. I apologized for using the infirmary for what was, in my words, an impromptu dalliance. She in turn warned me to be careful about dalliances because nothing remained private at camp, and though she wouldn’t say anything about it, I could be sure that Stacy would. She said, “these girls want to count coup and you’re just that.”

I thanked her for the advice and resolved to be more careful. Stacy remained flirtatious but I thought up whatever excuse was handy to not have another Infirmary situation arise.

A week later we had an afternoon off and went to Rhinelander, WI. to watch Vincent Price in a horror classic, “The Abominable Dr. Phibes”. It was kind of movie best seen in a small-town theater which smelled as much of lake as buttered popcorn. When I put my arm around her shoulder, she nestled in. My resolve wavered as our shared intimacy grew in the darkened theater. I wondered if there might be more between us than a summer’s distraction.

Afterwards we stopped at a bar where they did not ask for I.D.s to eat brats and kraut with a few bumps and beers. We shot pool and sang to oldies on the jukebox. As the afternoon slowly faded to dark a chorus of lovelorn insects called us to join the scrum.

 Here is where the actual experience ends and the fiction for the sake of the story begins. The truth was we went to town, saw a movie, had some drinks and brats, shot some pool, sang a few tunes and went back to camp without further adventure..

On the way back to camp we stopped at a deserted boat landing, close enough to see the lights of our employer another mile down the shore.

She said, “let’s swim.” I had drunk just enough to think this was a good idea.

We left jeans and t-shirts behind, entered the water in our underwear, left the lake without the same.

In the moonlight Stacy looked older then 18 and I, well no matter how I looked, I felt more inexperienced than the man she thought me to be. She lay in the grass and called me over. “Take me,” she said, her hand lightly touching my erection. Though her teasing promised more than sand and mosquito bites, something about the scene was wrong. The nurse’s words came back to me. I realized that this naked girl was a teen movie cliché. I was the naive boy about to be schooled by the fast girl. It was a role with no sequel, one and done.

There was no way I could say why it was wrong, except that I was staff and she was a camper.

“A senior counselor” she replied. “Don’t you want me?”

The six years difference in our age, the roles we played in the small kingdom that was summer camp made me think that no matter how willing she might be, this could only end with one of us getting fired and that would be me.

I lied. “I have a girlfriend. Making out is one thing, fucking is a line I promised not to cross. If you were my girlfriend, wouldn’t you want to know that I keep my promises?”

As Stacy started to say something, I put on my pants and walked to the truck.

Starting the engine marked the end of our flirtation. While she pouted, the only sound on the ride back was the engine’s knock and wind in the pines.

I knew then the end of summer camp could not come soon enough.

That’s the story. What I don’t say but is appropriate to the marking of the Solstice is that when you are at the lake in summer, there is an ephemeral beauty that is more than the smell of the pines, the sound of waves (or loons), the way the heat settles in the cabin during the day and slowly dissipates as night comes. There is a feeling that time is eternal and uncaring of human urgency. The wind in the wood, bears, porcupines, skunk appear when least expected, or the stars in a blue-black sky seen without the scrim of city light are an invitation to wonder.

On this Solstice, I acknowledge this particular memory was long ago. A moment that I have tried to recapture with varying degrees of success. I would also acknowledge how deeply felt that longing is and how difficult it is for many of us to have the freedom to leave the city and go to the (a) lake. It is not available to everyone but I wish it were and that each of you might experience it for yourself. The summer offers a blessing and yes, may you be blessed.

The night is short and so to the season. Be well and embrace the gift of it.