Have you ever felt drawn to a place before?
Since I started at my current job in the summer of '06, I've taken essentially the same route to work each day. A fairly straight shot from Waldo to Mount Vernon, with a few curves, towns, and hills along the way to break it up a bit.
Apparently, after four years of this, my brain was looking to break up the routine a bit and I started daydreaming (I do this a lot, btw) of alternate routes. Eventually I recalled a path that allowed me to hop on a highway closer to my home and take it through Cardington.
Even if it is shorter in distance, it makes up for it in stops.
However, I really felt compelled to give it a shot. So, one day I headed out that way instead of my normal drive. About halfway in, I realized why I was drawn to this new way to work: the Lutheran Memorial Camp.
This is actually kind of weird, considering I've only been on the property a handful of times, including a recent visit (we'll get to that in a minute).
Yet, the first time I saw the sign, I was instantly transported to a different time. Oh, time travel does indeed exist, both forward and back. We make plans, projections into the future, right? Similarly, we can cast our minds back to a time long past, as if it just happened.
I thought of the first time that I was there as a camper in sixth grade. Our school, like many others, took all the sixth graders out there for a week, while recruiting well-behaved seniors to serve as counselors. What could go wrong, right?
Of course, there was some late night drama, lots of laughs, and a great experience in the wilderness (I actually learned some things), all in an idyllic setting. I remember the senior counselors, how I thought they were so much older (and cooler) than us.
I went back six years later, for I was then a well-behaved senior. I realized why I thought the seniors were cool when I was in sixth grade; as seniors, we were cool. I took an acoustic guitar and the latest RATT cassette, I had it going on. Again, I had a great time, wonderful facility. The camp is perfectly suited to the purpose for which it is used.
Back to the current day. After taking the new route for a few months, I finally detoured into the camp on my way in one day.
I forgot how long the driveway is, and how the whole camp is set in a wonderful woods. My dream driveway would look a lot like this.
Once I got into the camp proper, the waves of nostalgia began. I flashed back to memories of playing basketball and kickball, chasing girls (both visits), making candles, making rain sounds one night in the lodge with everyone (snapping, clapping, slapping our thighs) as it poured outside. Johnny Appleseed stories, wading in the creek, identifying different plants, and team building.
That was a week or so ago. Today, on my drive home, I wanted to get to the root of why this place called to me, after only a couple substantive visits.
That's when I remembered: I had actually been there a couple other times.
Once, when I was a seventh or eighth grader, I went to visit a friend who lived really close to the camp. He was one of my best friends as a kid, and our families spent a lot of time together. He and I walked back a trail where a railroad track once lay, and wandered through the woods of the camp. We chased crawdads in the creek; I tried snuff for the first (and last) time, and it made me sick.
The other time was with the same friend, only a few years later. I think I was a sophomore in high school, and I was invited to his younger brother's birthday (I was actually between the two brothers in age). I showed up to the party with my girlfriend at the time, and spent hardly any time at all at the party before bailing with the older brother and his girlfriend back the same trail to do some necking (ask you parents, kids) at the camp. Sorry, KD for being a big ol' schmuck - I've grown up a little (ok, quite a bit) since then.
Thinking about spending time with my friend eventually led to memories of losing him when I was a freshman in college. I was home on Christmas break, and ran into him early in the week. We exchanged contact info (as much as we had in 1987) and made plans to get together soon. It felt as if no time had passed between our last meetings, although it had been a few years.
A few days later, he was killed in an accident.
Yet, he is still alive for me, at least as long as I hold onto those memories. I can travel in time. I can hear his voice, hear him picking on me in a good way.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I cried a little bit.
But it wasn't a bad thing. This seemingly random release of emotion is an indication of how powerful memories can be in our minds.
Thanks, Lutheran Memorial Camp, nostalgia can be a wonderful thing.
D
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