Zoar Valley Camp

When I was very small -- 5-6ish -- one of my playmates went off to summer camp with the Girl Scouts. I thought this was the best idea anyone had ever had, and I began counting the years, then months, then finally weeks, until I could join the Brownies and head off to camp myself. I think I was about 7 or 8 when I went off for two weeks of overnight camp at Zoar Valley, about two hours away from my home. I was an only child, and really very young -- I cannot even imagine how difficult it was for my mother to leave me there. As for me... I never even turned to watch my parents walk away. I was *so* excited to be there! I have almost no memories of my childhood - but almost every memory of camp appears surrounded by a warm glow of happiness. First year -- Jungao. (I think the name had something to do with Kipling.) The youngest campers, in large, solid cabins. Oddly enough, I have only one specific memory of that first year... walking on the trunk of a fallen tree, and falling. The resulting cut should probably have been stitched, but I was just bandaged up and sent back. Still have the scar on my right knee, many decades later. Then Sherwood (smaller cabins), then up a hill for Indian (substantial wooden lean-tos), then up a much steeper hill as a Pioneer (platform tents). and finally up a longer, more gradual hill for smaller tents and lots of camping in the wild as a Trailblazer. When I was too old to be a camper, I went back as a counselor - my name was Dee.  At 17, fresh out of high school, I was a counselor on Indian.  After college, at 22, I spent  good summer as the unit director on Pioneer. I loved it all.