|The Nature Center at 4H Memorial Camp|
THIS MORNING I AM REVISITING A SCENE FROM MY CHILDHOOD. The 4-H Memorial Camp. I am here for a retreat. The cabins have been rebuilt since my time, but the arrangement is the same. I slept last night in Cabin 3, Girls' side. The bunks, I believe, have the same cornhusk mattresses from 30 years ago—petrified now, and covered with a plastic ticking that crunches and squeaks every time you roll over. The cabins are arranged in pairs and I'm sitting at a picnic table between 3 & 4. The table is covered with graffiti drawn with gel pens and sharpies, which we didn't have in my day, but the messages are the same. Confessions of love, names and dates, and to my right, “Showers are cold.” Come to think of it, I might have written that one. The yellow bug light between our cabins is still on this morning, and a spider has built a skillful web, catching the sunlight and casting elaborate shadows.
|Here I scared up a flock of|