Camp Stone. Mmmm…
There may be nothing more wonderful than an empty Camp Stone. David and I raced up this afternoon to meet an Amish man about building some stuff (how do you know your trip was an epic fail? I took out my laptop to show him some pictures and he commented on the “nice apparatus” that was my computer.). In time honored tradition, David is grilling something and Yehuda is no where to be found so I get quiet camp.
You may think it is a sad place without kids and energy and excitement, but you would be wrong. It is so peaceful (it is also so so clean). I hear birds. And nothing else. I also get to remember all the incarnations of myself that were in this camp. I love 18 year old me. And I love 18 year old me in this camp. It was then that I met David — though I would not date him until years and years later. I met some of my most cherished lifetime friends. We were young and idealistic and, for the most part, kind and thoughtful and passionate about all the things that we deemed important at 18 (note to self: I may have been mostly wrong about many many things). I stayed up too late. I think I may have been at the helm of several hilarious raids. It was good. And it remains so good in my memory.
I was here as a young mother with two small kids who got to bask in the love of Morah Ellie and chase after farm animals, which is the recipe of a perfect summer.
My kids go here now. Yael and Yoni will be back here this summer ending what has truly been a wonder of a year. I’m glad my mascara is waterproof (I’ll go on record to acknowledge that it is slightly ridiculous to even have mascara on) because I’m a little choked up coming full circle round. I’ll sit here for a few quiet minutes until one of many random camp vehicles (tractors! vans! diggers!) comes to find me.
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