Catching a Moment

The night is hot and heavy, a storm inevitable. The circle we create around the roaring campfire is to say goodbye to the end of another summer – an incredible, life-changing summer.

But for now we’re desperate to get to the bar in town.

The fire crackles, piled high, spitting precariously – a fire built with purpose. With no children around the challenge could be accepted. There’s little wind on this night, though the weather had swung over the weeks. It’s a moment we’ll all remember through a haze, recalling the giddy emotion rather than any words actually spoken.

After ten weeks of ‘the hardest job you’ll ever love’, as the role of camp counsellor has been dubbed by many, we’re running on fumes. Weeks of nights spent consoling home-sick campers, days spent sampling various, utterly ineffective, bug sprays have taken their toll. We sing songs, swaying alongside our camp family – those who have seen us at our best and worst throughout the summer. The relationships we’ve formed, varied as they are, will remain longer than many others – they’ve probably gathered enough blackmail material after all – a comfort that we share, even if we may be ready for a break from one another.

The tears flow easily – largely from those facing the prospect of a plane ride back to reality – though there’s a loud sense of relief too. Perhaps we’re saying goodbye for the last time, or maybe, finance willing, we’ll see each other next year. There’s one more night at least, and as we leave the circle behind after the fire finally dies down to a manageable level, we’ll leave the doubt along with it.

It’s been a long season and we’re ready for the next adventure.

We are.

Right after we’ve had that drink.