Remembering camp

When I was growing up, summer camp was considered a luxury. Even local camps were barely within our means, and sleep-away camps were not even a discussion. But somehow, just once, when I was fifteen years old, my parents sent me to camp for three weeks. Although I can no longer remember the name of the camp or the names of my friends, I can remember what a great time I had there and can even conjure up images of some of their faces. So although we miss our grandchildren who are off with their Mom for four weeks at Camp Ramah in Palmer, MA,  I am elated that they have this wonderful opportunity.

If not for summer camps, the quaint tradition of sending post cards through the mail would be entirely lost. But fortunately, these days, there is much more the parents and grandparents can do to keep up with their offspring at summer camp. It does require a fair amount of daily effort to scan through the hundreds of pictures that the camps post on their web pages, looking for your own special faces. I have a feeling that our grandchildren go running when they see the photographers milling around. I say this because we also have a niece attending the camp and I have seen far more pictures of her, all with big smiles, which is certainly quite heartwarming.

Somehow, last Friday, when Dina and family (Aaron has been coming up to camp for the weekends) had a moment together before the start of Sabbath, someone snapped a great picture that made it to the camp web site. This one is surely worth many thousands of words!

Love,

Rebecca