Auntie Rae

his is my beautiful aunt's beautiful piece that she wrote about Camp.

Breathing Camp
By Raetha-jeanne

I am the ‘Underwater Breath Holding Champion’ of the world.

I can hold my breath from mid-November to mid-April, like a hibernating turtle buried beneath frozen mud, until a puff of spring air thaws winter’s chill. Then, I gush forward and burst open the shutters and breath, breath in the scent of camp.

Camp is the smell of a sweet stale inside April air that promises August. Camp is the smell of pine sap, moth balls, Grampa Winkle’s pipe and sweet fern. Camp is the smell of my mother’s coffee, my brother’s grill and wet towels left on the floor. Camp is the smell of babies and sunscreen.

Camp is the sound of wind rushing across the lake and getting caught in the Pine Barrens. Camp is the sound of a Friday afternoon stillness filled with the anticipation of the arrival of family and friends for the weekend. Camp is the chatter of the voices and giggles of the people I love the most.

Camp is a summer morning that smells like pancakes and bacon with both parents sitting on the porch sipping coffee, diamonds bouncing off the water and blinding me with the happiest feeling I have ever known. Camp is where all my best memories were conceived.

Camp is where I made my babies.

Camp is the place I feel safe. Camp is where every wound I have ever endured has been healed, from a skinned knee cured by lake balm and summer air to a broken heart eased by ancestral shelter and the grounding of familiar earth; sand, golden-brown pine needles, melted glass, blueberry bells and pine cones.

Camp is where tradition is kept. It’s where the language of family is spoken without lyrics, only tone. Camp is where I step down as the ‘Underwater Breathing Champion of the World’ and where Netdahe too has to pass on the crown and where neither of us will ever tell Tommy that he isn’t the underwater King anymore either.

Camp is the breath of my family.