Being a part of this camp in Maine has provided me with many blessings, not the least of which is this: for the first time in my life, I actually feel like I have two homes. Having a sense of home at all was something that I lacked for many years... my family moved a lot when I was a kid (21 locales in my first 20 years!), so I do not have that sense of 'place' that many people have. Take my wife, for instance... she always has the lodestone of that little town in southwest Missouri to look back upon, full of memories all emanating from one epicenter.
My memory map looks more like a Seurat painting when you get too close. Little dots all over the place-- you have to step back to really make any sense of it all.
In my adult years, as my marriage blossomed and produced a passel of sons, we did set down some roots, and I began to build that sense of a 'core place'. You know the feeling.. returning from trip and beginning to see the landmarks that let you know.. home is not far away now. As Kevin Costner said to Morgan Freeman in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves, "I would know blindfolded; I'm five miles from home".
This year, as we drove the final miles to camp, I began to realize that I had the same deep-in-my-bones feeling; we ticked off the landmarks on the winding road through New Hampshire that leads to the border crossing into Maine... 4 miles from camp. I realized just how much this place feels like home. That same sense of expectation, of familiarity ushering you down the road.
Allison, who was driving the last leg of the trip, even had me notify her mother with a landmark. My instructions were to make a video as we passed the "Almost There" restaurant in Albany, NH. As we rolled by, the family yelled out "Almost There, Gramma", and I texted it her.
Once into Maine, we passed through the small town that we know so well. And then, at last, we came upon the most important landmark of all. It is a camp tradition that, when campers return from a trip, as they enter the totem poles they do a chant. On cue, our boys started belting out the mantra: "I-A, I-A, I-N-D-I-A-N-A-C-R-E-S, INDIAN ACRES!"
We pass the Thunderbird, helpfully giving directions that we don't really need, and are welcomed by the visitor's dugout on the baseball field. Then we pull around to the front of the field office, and inside are warm greetings, hugs, backslaps, and all the joy of seeing friends again that you have not seen in some time.
And last, but not least, we pull up in front of our assigned cabin. It matters not that the actual cabin may change for us each year. It is here, and they all look comfortably similar and familiar. We settle in and set up our little domicile on the Saco River.
And this morning, as I sit at my desk to type this missive, I look out my window, and see the fog rolling over the upper field. The river behind me is shrouded in mist. I smile, because that alone is a sign that "I'm not in Texas anymore, Toto!"
All the signs confirm it. I am blessed. As the pine trees in their white raiment welcome me to a new day, I know that I am home. In my summer place. As a man who once felt he had no place to really call home, I now have two. How cool is that?
My memory map looks more like a Seurat painting when you get too close. Little dots all over the place-- you have to step back to really make any sense of it all.
In my adult years, as my marriage blossomed and produced a passel of sons, we did set down some roots, and I began to build that sense of a 'core place'. You know the feeling.. returning from trip and beginning to see the landmarks that let you know.. home is not far away now. As Kevin Costner said to Morgan Freeman in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves, "I would know blindfolded; I'm five miles from home".
Allison, who was driving the last leg of the trip, even had me notify her mother with a landmark. My instructions were to make a video as we passed the "Almost There" restaurant in Albany, NH. As we rolled by, the family yelled out "Almost There, Gramma", and I texted it her.
We pass the Thunderbird, helpfully giving directions that we don't really need, and are welcomed by the visitor's dugout on the baseball field. Then we pull around to the front of the field office, and inside are warm greetings, hugs, backslaps, and all the joy of seeing friends again that you have not seen in some time.
All the signs confirm it. I am blessed. As the pine trees in their white raiment welcome me to a new day, I know that I am home. In my summer place. As a man who once felt he had no place to really call home, I now have two. How cool is that?
