The boys and I are home from our two week jaunt to Santa Cruz for a change of quarantine scenery, and the deceptively easy process of transfiguring zombies back into boys.
This summer was supposed to be our very first week of overnight camp with cabins and campfires and crooning. But given the global pandemic and the fact that all of those things involve being covered in other people’s spit, we settled for a two-week session of day camp.
Those two weeks in the redwoods of my childhood were unequivocally deemed “Amazing” and “The best.”
Nate’s counselors for the blue group were Zack and Leah, just like our neighbors. Zack was British and might have been 6’6″. Jacob’s counselors for the silver group were Conner and Simeran, similar to Cinnamon.
There was swimming, axe throwing, riflery (with bee-bee guns), archery, outdoor cooking, something called Monkey Palace, ball sports, and lip-syncing. They built forts during “Outdoor Adventure”– which has a special place in my heart as a former counselor specializing in Outdoor Adventure.
The boys did the Thursday night Outpost where they made foil stew and s’mores. They excitedly declared they’d made new friends– Cole and Raymond (or Raymonde) as Jacob brought me up to speed on his nickname. And Nate’s friend Logan, who I’m told, “Has blond hair and an older brother. And he likes sports like me. He’s almost as good as me at soccer,” he adds oh so modestly. Jake came home with a riflery badge and a number of stories about the antics of baby foxes. Nate came home with a spot of poison oak and a lot of stories about Zack. We safely avoided the Coronavirus. Morning temperature checks, regular mask-wearing, hand-washing, and sunshine all made for a successfully adapted summer experience. The kids easily forget they’re even wearing masks. No different than wearing seat belts and bike helmets.
When they weren’t at camp, there was evening swimming. Brownie-making with Grandma. Sneaking the pointers dog cookies. Marianne’s green tea ice cream. A crawlspace-filled train wonderland. Peanut butter mice from Mackenzie’s (Jacob has requested a subscription). Lamb chops and pie for Grandma’s birthday. And a morning billiards lesson. Bry Bry declared the emphatic shunning of his baby name for the regal and all powerful: Bryan. I’m going with Jefe. And a final night with pizza and a pirate ship kite at the beach. All-in-all, two weeks was a long time away from home for the boys, but they powered through after a mid-trip visit from Dad.
At Kennolyn, things deemed kid-friendly are “k-rated.” This blog does not aim to be kid-friendly— our first almost overnight camp was kickass.