Speaking of camping, I was listening to my favourite podcast "Cast On" with Brenda Dayne http://www.cast-on.com/ , which begins a new series this week with scouting as it's theme. It brought to mind my memories of summers at Camp Ouareau and I wrote an essay about my camp experiences "back when":
Memories of Ouareau
The clarity of a french horn soothing me to rest with "Taps" is the strongest memory of Camp Ouareau for me. Each evening, after lights out, some of the camp counselors would sit on a hill above the cabins and tents and sing sweet songs to help us wind down from a busy day of swimming, crafts, canoeing, sailing and beading. Some of the songs I sang to my own child originated here, in the memories of hot summer nights, buzzing mosquitoes and the warmth I felt, lying in my sleeping bag, in my home away from home. Every night’s serenade was finished with a rendition of "Taps". It seemed the last note would echo through air forever.
My feelings about summer camp are bittersweet. I never wanted to go, yet by the end of summer I was crying as I boarded the bus to the airport for the flight home. My parents wanted to send me away from our small mining town in northern Labrador for the summer. From 11 to 16, I was sent to Camp Ouareau in the Laurentiens of Quebec. Years one to three along with my sister, and eventually alone, I went there for five years, at first for one month and then for the whole summer.
Every summer, I arrived at camp resentful and unhappy and suffered miserable homesickness. The letters I sent home to my parents were heart wrenching requests to return home. Yet, mixed in with the sadness, I have memories of learning to build campfires, canoeing across the lake to Blueberry Island for a weenie roast over an open fire, warm "bug juice" (Kool-aid) and oranges once a week, the "Sunday School Picnic" when everyone dressed up as their favorite hillbilly, the pride I felt at finally achieving my black bead and could swim in deep water.
The camp had a spirit of it’s own, called Bymph. Unseen, yet felt throughout camp, Bymph was the bringer of sunshine and laughter, and embodied the cheerful camp spirit. Each session had a tableau play, when the campers acted out skits about camp life. At some point in each skit, the players would "freeze" while the girl playing Bymph would skip and play around to the great enjoyment of the audience.
The camp director, Madeline Ferguson, known as Ferg, was a remarkable woman. I respected her as a strong female role model. Ferg was tall and square-built, straight talking, wise, and compassionate. Her energy and enthusiasm for the outdoors was infectious. She represented to me everything that was good and solid about Camp Ouareau.
In my first year at camp, I was caught stealing gum from a councilor’s cabin. I had been sneaking in and stealing packs of "Big Red" chewing gum from the councilor’s stash for some days when I was caught and brought before Ferg. She sat with me and listened to my tales of woe at having been sent to camp against my wishes, of my longing for home, of my loneliness and feelings of rejection from my sister (who was thoroughly enjoying her camping experience and had no time for me), and my difficulties making friends. She made an exception and let me call home, which made a world of difference. She didn’t punish me, she just listened. Ferg passed away in 2003. It’s hard to imagine her not being there, as she always is in my memories of Camp Ouareau.
It’s been 30 years since I walked along Lake Ouareau, yet it feels like yesterday. My own Emma is almost 12. She would love Camp Ouareau, and Bymph and sailing and the weekly picnic. I’d love to send her but it’s beyond my reach. Sometimes we lie on my bed with my old camp songbook and I sing her all the songs. I tell her all my stories about camp and she knows all the words to "Those Silent Hills", "Barges" and "Taps". After all this time, the happy memories of Camp Ouareau definitely outweigh the sadness. Once in a while, just for a moment, I catch a whiff of camp - an unmistakable smell of water, and trees, and campfire and I am transported back in memory to beautiful Lac Ouareau and all the people I knew there.
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1 comment:
I cant wait to go back to Ouareau just like you did and I hope I get boat house like you!!!
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