Episode 4: A Summer Memory
Music - Original composition by Jessica Roemischer; Claire de Lune by Claude Debussy; Mozart's C Major Piano Sonata, 2nd movt.
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For three summers in a row in the late 1960's, I attended camp. Come late June, I was trundled off to a parking lot at a nearby shopping center. There I joined a passel of girls on a bus that would take us from the suburbs of New York to a summer camp in the Berkshire Hills of Massachusetts.
Each girl had a trunk that contained the required apparel and equipment—green and white uniforms, a swimsuit, sun visor, tennis racket, riding boots, sneakers, towels, sheets, and green woolen blankets, all with I.D. labels attached. The bus driver—a stout man with glasses—hoisted the trunks onto the roof of the bus, and off we went.
The camp was set amidst pine-treed forests, on the shore of a placid lake. Little cabins dotted the landscape, and I stayed in one, with three other girls. The cabins were simple, with single beds, little pine shelves for our clothes, screened windows that kept the bugs out, especially in the evening.
At night, I'd sometimes go outside by myself. The sky was dark, the stars twinkled. There were no lights shining nearby. I could see more stars than I'd ever noticed before. They were like a vast expanse of sparkles spread across the sky. I'd look up, amazed. As I did, I could hear the wind rustling in the pine trees nearby.
Each girl had a trunk that contained the required apparel and equipment—green and white uniforms, a swimsuit, sun visor, tennis racket, riding boots, sneakers, towels, sheets, and green woolen blankets, all with I.D. labels attached. The bus driver—a stout man with glasses—hoisted the trunks onto the roof of the bus, and off we went.
The camp was set amidst pine-treed forests, on the shore of a placid lake. Little cabins dotted the landscape, and I stayed in one, with three other girls. The cabins were simple, with single beds, little pine shelves for our clothes, screened windows that kept the bugs out, especially in the evening.
At night, I'd sometimes go outside by myself. The sky was dark, the stars twinkled. There were no lights shining nearby. I could see more stars than I'd ever noticed before. They were like a vast expanse of sparkles spread across the sky. I'd look up, amazed. As I did, I could hear the wind rustling in the pine trees nearby.
Night Sky by Luke Taylor
What I also enjoyed about camp were the activities. There was tennis, rowing in aluminum boats on the lake, archery, which I discovered I was good at—earning a little badge for “Junior Yeoman”—and horseback riding. One year, I entered the end-of-summer show riding my favorite horse, Tiger. As I cantered around the ring, following the easy motion of his stride, we were together. After each girl had her turn, I sat proudly on his back as we were called to the center of the ring and awarded a blue ribbon!
In the middle of campus was a gazebo, “The Pillbox.” Atop its octagonal, wood-shingled roof were two speakers pointed in opposite directions. In the morning as we cleaned the bunks, a camp counselor played popular songs of the day—by The Four Tops, The Beatles, Sonny and Cher. My favorite was, “Cherish.” It was about the feeling of love you hold deep inside. Its poignant lyrics and lilting melody became my own private soundtrack.
In the middle of campus was a gazebo, “The Pillbox.” Atop its octagonal, wood-shingled roof were two speakers pointed in opposite directions. In the morning as we cleaned the bunks, a camp counselor played popular songs of the day—by The Four Tops, The Beatles, Sonny and Cher. My favorite was, “Cherish.” It was about the feeling of love you hold deep inside. Its poignant lyrics and lilting melody became my own private soundtrack.
The Pillbox contained a black, rotary-dial telephone placed on a small, wooden bench. That’s where we’d receive calls. It was always a special moment when your name was announced over the speakers. Someone’s phoning for me!
Indeed, I was homesick. I missed my garden, my trees, and my forsythia shrub. I longed to enjoy my home amidst the freedom of summer. I missed all these things in a way I could not express. Most of all, I missed Flora, my nanny.
One morning in July of 1969, an announcement came over the Pillbox loudspeaker. All of us girls were asked to gather at the camp director’s house. What could it be? We were curious.
We made our way to Mrs. Shapiro’s white colonial-style home. As we approached the front door, the counselors instructed us to enter and proceed to the living room. The sofas and chairs had been moved so we could gather on the floor, sitting side-by-side. A black-and-white TV was placed on a coffee table in the center.
Mrs. Shapiro said that we were going “to see something special, something historic.” Then, in front of a fuzzy monochrome image, we watched mesmerized as the first man, in a white space suit and over-sized boots, stepped onto the dusty surface of the moon.
Indeed, I was homesick. I missed my garden, my trees, and my forsythia shrub. I longed to enjoy my home amidst the freedom of summer. I missed all these things in a way I could not express. Most of all, I missed Flora, my nanny.
One morning in July of 1969, an announcement came over the Pillbox loudspeaker. All of us girls were asked to gather at the camp director’s house. What could it be? We were curious.
We made our way to Mrs. Shapiro’s white colonial-style home. As we approached the front door, the counselors instructed us to enter and proceed to the living room. The sofas and chairs had been moved so we could gather on the floor, sitting side-by-side. A black-and-white TV was placed on a coffee table in the center.
Mrs. Shapiro said that we were going “to see something special, something historic.” Then, in front of a fuzzy monochrome image, we watched mesmerized as the first man, in a white space suit and over-sized boots, stepped onto the dusty surface of the moon.
That summer was significant in another way.
Several days later, my camp counselor came from the mail room.
“Jessie, a letter’s arrived for you,” she said cheerily.
“Really?” I exclaimed.
She handed me a white envelope. I went into the cabin, and sat on my bed. None of the other girls were around. I held the envelope with delight. Looking at the front and then the back, I touched the scalloped edges of the stamp and read my name, inscribed in bold letters. It gave me a warm feeling. Someone’s written to me! I opened the flap, trying not to tear what was inside. As I did, I discovered a note, folded carefully. Who could have written this, I wondered? And then, as I opened the letter, I found a ten-dollar bill.
Oh, my! I gasped.
I began to read. The message was penned in uncertain script, the words fashioned in broken English. It was from Flora.
My nice girl how are you? I wish you have a good time today and every day of your vacation. I hop pass the time first because I miss your ha-ha-ha. Please, Jessi, excuse me because I don’t buy any precen. I se you have every things and I don’t know what you need. When you come back you buy with this money what you want. Ok my heart. I hope you understand something what I wrote.
Yours, Flora
As I sat on my bed holding Flora’s note in my hands, I ran my fingers along the handwritten lines, reading them, over and over. The wind blew softly through the screens. I imagined Flora in her room, sitting quietly at her desk, trying to compose her message to me, word-by-word. As I did, I heard Flora’s voice in my mind, as if she were speaking her thoughts to me.
Several days later, my camp counselor came from the mail room.
“Jessie, a letter’s arrived for you,” she said cheerily.
“Really?” I exclaimed.
She handed me a white envelope. I went into the cabin, and sat on my bed. None of the other girls were around. I held the envelope with delight. Looking at the front and then the back, I touched the scalloped edges of the stamp and read my name, inscribed in bold letters. It gave me a warm feeling. Someone’s written to me! I opened the flap, trying not to tear what was inside. As I did, I discovered a note, folded carefully. Who could have written this, I wondered? And then, as I opened the letter, I found a ten-dollar bill.
Oh, my! I gasped.
I began to read. The message was penned in uncertain script, the words fashioned in broken English. It was from Flora.
My nice girl how are you? I wish you have a good time today and every day of your vacation. I hop pass the time first because I miss your ha-ha-ha. Please, Jessi, excuse me because I don’t buy any precen. I se you have every things and I don’t know what you need. When you come back you buy with this money what you want. Ok my heart. I hope you understand something what I wrote.
Yours, Flora
As I sat on my bed holding Flora’s note in my hands, I ran my fingers along the handwritten lines, reading them, over and over. The wind blew softly through the screens. I imagined Flora in her room, sitting quietly at her desk, trying to compose her message to me, word-by-word. As I did, I heard Flora’s voice in my mind, as if she were speaking her thoughts to me.
My favorite song was "Cherish." It was about the feelings of love you hold deep inside...