1Welcome to Woodlands
Iplaced my iced coffee in the cup holder, glanced at the directions one more time, and checked the side-view mirror. I clicked the blinker and pulled out into New York City traffic—ready or not. I was certain I was more nervous than my kids, who would be joining me next week. Even though I was thirty-nine, I felt unprepared for my first ever sleepaway camp experience.
An hour later I pulled into a gas station and filled the tank. As I waited to pay, I stared at the cigarette display behind the cashier. I hadn’t smoked since before I married Ronnie, but I had a sudden urge to buy a pack. A cigarette would calm the nerves I felt driving into the unknown. I looked around the store. No Ronnie, no kids—no one I knew was there to judge me. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other just as I had when I was a child and couldn’t make up my mind. The woman behind the counter looked at me expectantly.
“Can I have a pack of Winstons?”
“Anything else?”
I grabbed some Trident gum and tossed it on the counter. Back in the car I stared at the cigarettes, but instead of lighting up I reached over and shoved them into the glove compartment. It was enough knowing they were available, if needed. I popped a piece of gum in my mouth, rolled down the window,and felt the wind on my face. I turned the radio to my favorite station and belted out top forty hits off-key, with no one back seat complaining about my singing—or my driving. My definition of freedom.
Two hours later, as I made a left turn onto the dirt road leading to the camp, Cyndi Lauper and I were singing “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”
I passed under a rustic sign hanging between two ancient oak trees.
CAMPWOODLANDS
ESTABLISHED1929
I continued up a narrow craggy lane shadowed by towering trees. When I reached the top of the last hill, rays of sun broke through the canopy of leaves. I pulled over to a welcome banner flying above a log fence that overlooked an expansive, lush lawn. A path led down the hill to a lake that glistened in the late June sunshine.
The aroma of fresh-cut lawn and the crisp, clear air brought me back to my childhood at the bungalow colony in the Catskill Mountains. I smiled, remembering,Summer camp for families.
The colors—greens, blues, whites—were vivid. The sun, high in the cloudless sky, made the powdered lines on the baseball and soccer fields shimmer.
I parked across the road from a blond-wood log cabin. An old-fashioned placard that read OFFICEhung above the door and swayed in the breeze.
This would be my home for the next nine weeks.
2Over the Hill
Inside, the foyer was piled high with duffel bags that I sidestepped to reach the three women sitting at desks crammed together in a small room.
They were so intent at tapping away on computers while talking on phones that no one noticed me. Everyone wore a uniform, white polo shirts with Woodlands stitched over their hearts and a name tag pinned above the embroidery.
Nicole, one of the women, introduced herself as the executive administrator and said she’d be right with me.
While I was waiting, an attractive, tall man with shoulder length, wavy brown hair walked through the door. He was about my age and decked out in Camp Woodlands garb: white and green hoodie, shiny green soccer shorts, and green and white Converse All-Star sneakers—no socks.
“Good day ladies, always a pleasure to see your cheery faces.”
The ladies were far from cheery, but they stopped what they were doing, looked up, and gave him big smiles. He had a British accent.
Nicole said, “Good morning, Sir Theodore. I’m processing our new division leader, Lori Kramer. This is Theodore Mooney, the head soccer coach and assistant director of Boys Camp. Can you load her bags into the cart?”
“Sure, Lori, was it? This way.” He led, holding the door open.
“How does a Brit find his way to a camp in the States? Is it because it’s in New England?” I thought I was being clever, but as I said it, I heard how ridiculous I sounded.
He stopped and a wry grin crossed his face. “Heh, heh, haven’t heard that one in a long time.”
“But seriously, I’d be interested in hearing how you ended up here, Theodore.”
“Oh, no, that will not do. Please call me Ted.”
“But didn’t Nicole just call you Sir Theodore?”
“She thinks because I’m from the UK that I’m posh and likes to tease me. I told her if she ever curtsied, I’d thump Bob, her husband, even if he is my best mate.” He broke into a cockney accent. “But the truth is, well, I’m just a regular bloke.” Then he threw out his arms. “Look around you, it’s breathtaking. I can’t think of any place else I’d rather be at this moment.”
