I've Got Summer

I’ve got a Nikon DSLR camera that I carry just about everywhere.  I have named it  Henrietta; a solid name for a solid piece of gear.  I’ve got a bag full of all my gizmos -- , lenses and cleaners and filters and remotes -- that spends most of its day splayed open on my bed so I can dig around it’s insides, rearranging and moving stuff as I see fit.  I’ve got a tripod that, then when I extend it all the way, is taller than I am and much more sturdy.
I’ve got a view from my porch at camp this summer that words can’t quite do justice too. Mountains and hills in more shades of brown and green then could be found in even the biggest Crayola crayon box.  Sunsets like cotton candy—light pinks and blue, or like fire—vibrant orange and red. Clouds and trees and beams of light.
I’ve got a room with three beds, one shower, two roommates and cubby shelves stacked with more camp t-shirts then it truthfully makes any sense for three girls to own. We haven’t been here long—through a day at camp feels like a week in real world time—but the walls are already starting to be covered in signs made out of butcher paper and sharpie ink mixed with a lot of enthusiasm and a minimum amount of artistic skill. It feels homey. It feels nice.

I’ve got about 100 new names to learn and faces to match them that I’m trying to remember. More and more people are getting here every day, 10 or 15 or 50 new lives that are integrating with my own. I’ll get the hang of it as quickly as I can, through repetition and ice breaker games and asking and re-asking to the point of annoyance.
I’ve got 12 days down and 8 weeks left to go. An amount of time that feels all at once like absolutely nothing and all the time in the world. Days behind me of training and watching the camp become more and more full with staff, who like me, are ready and waiting to begin. Days ahead of me full of campers and cookouts and canoes.
I’ve got excitement. More than I know what to do with, really. It manifests itself in weird ways and nervous tics and awkward silences.   It shows when I spend staff meetings simply unable to sit still, cross-legged on the grass making daisy chains and doodling on handouts and making mental lists of the dozens of things that I know I need to do.
I’ve got summer. Every year.  

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