The perfect summer

7:30 pm

Whenever I come home to camp every summer, I am reminded of all the good that surrounds me when I am in this place. Driving down the dirt path road, with the pavilion and girls’ bathhouse coming into view not long after, there is always a breeze of optimism, the hope that good things await at the beginning of any session, and with it the feeling of being whole. There is a feeling quite indescribable at Gravatt. Somewhere between towering pines and decades of paint on plywood walls, all my worries seem to melt away. Between dark and damp cabin corners and 4pm golden light filling the dining hall, there is the conviction that everything must be truly good, that everything is as it should be, that all is well in the world because there is Gravatt and at Gravatt there is me. 

Camp was something I had been looking forward to since before I even had the first surgery. At that moment it was not doubted that I would attend, because surely the procedure would be over by then and all would be back to normal. But when the April x rays encouraged a delay, we awaited May ones, and when the May x rays suggested the same, I began to worry. Over a long series of emails and the habit of religiously checking my inbox, I finally rested with the thought it would be over on June 24th. Still, that was only 6 days before the first day of camp. What more, I would be restrained to crutches for the first two weeks post op until another x ray confirmed I was on a steady healing path; since at two weeks post op I would be at camp with no access to x rays, that meant I could only go if I promised to use the crutches the entire time I was there (until 3 weeks post op).

The camp director advised not to go. He said it would be hard for me to keep up on crutches, that this special two week session was extremely fast paced and taxing on the body. I would not get to go in the lake, nor could I run, nor could I do many other things that involved getting in the lake or running. I knew all of this, but I needed to go to camp anyway. I knew the reason to go did not lie in the lake or in the amount of activities I could participate in. All I wanted was to be there, so I went despite his warning.

And I am so glad I did. Very little is needed to be happy there. The staff members often stress how little Gravatt has compared to camps around the country; there is no AC, the showers are filled with spiders and usually run cold water, every building is old, and the lake is more like a pond overgrown with bushy leaves and pine straw at the shore. They will tell you, if you go, that Gravatt is special because of the people there, not because of the ropes course or the water slide or the ceiling fans in the dining hall. So really I can’t say very little is needed, because truthfully, Gravatt is one of the richest places in the world. I did not need to run or cool down in the lake or walk with less than one crutch, because this place in itself was happiness, and it had an abundance of love so great that it could never be described as “very little.”

I think it helped quicken my recovery too. There is so much to be happy about and grateful for at Gravatt that I had no time to be stressed or to worry. I did not think about when I would get off crutches because here I was, having the time of my life with them anyway. We did so much every day that when night came around I was tired, and so even on a 2 inch thick mattress I rested wondrously, having the best sleep of my entire life at that place. During the day we were always outside or near sunlight, so I was getting all the vitamin D I could have possibly needed. Camp helped me recover faster than any other period in that (almost) seven month long procedure. At the end of the session it did not even feel like I had surgery 3 weeks ago. I had forgotten all about it, thanks to the de-stress, the rest, and the sun. :)

But on the last morning of the session the camp director and program director for Gravatt Explorers (a second session I had planned on attending that involved a hiking trip in NC around 17 miles long over 2 days) called me over and told me I couldn’t come back that summer. They spoke as caringly as possible, but listed several reasons as to why it was not a good idea: I was doing too much too soon, I could get reinjured (right, like I was injured in the first place), and mostly that “camp is not going anywhere” (this I especially disliked, because it seemed to disregard the fact that I was going somewhere, that I was getting older and running out of time). Then there were also the unspoken reasons that we all knew about but didn’t want to talk about: liability and inconvenience. I was so utterly shocked and disappointed that I had nothing to say, but every possible defense flooded me as soon as I got home. Nevermind that they were not doctors and had no idea what the situation with my leg was (they even called it an injury). Nevermind that I got x-rays just an hour later that confirmed I could “walk without restraint” because they looked better than any my doctor had ever seen from me. Nevermind that I had been dreaming about that trip since November. Nevermind that I had the will to be there.

To prove them wrong, I walked 6 miles in one fell swoop on July 16th (the day the Explorers session began, the third day I walked without any assistance), with no pain at all and only growing anger at my being left out. Then, on the next day, I walked 11 over the span from dawn to dusk. Still no pain, even at carrying a decent pace of overall less than 21 minutes per mile. Anyway, I tracked our mileage last year. It was 4 miles the first day and no more than 10 the second. Now I was thinking: there is absolutely no reason I could not have gone, only the overconfident conviction of the camp director and program director who did not know anything about what actually was happening with my leg. It was, and still is, very very frustrating. Around this time, I believe, five of my friends and some counselors I really really love are in the mountains now, perhaps eating backpacking meals out of bags or stargazing. It seems that missing out on this trip feels worse than missing out on an entire season of track. I would not have wanted to miss Gravatt for the world.

Still, I have to be positive and focus on good things. There is a line from a poem (by Paul Laurence Dunbar) I read once that goes, “We count our joys not by what we have, / But by what kept us from that perfect thing.” I hold onto that line because it seems unfair that we do it. It only hurts us more, even when there are so many positive things surrounding us. It also seems unfair to treat our blessings like they are not enough, when usually they are more than we ever could have wished for. For the past few days, I feel like I have not been appreciative enough; I have focused only on what kept me from the “perfect summer” that would have included Gravatt Explorers. But I have never been lucky enough to be at Gravatt for more than 10 days per year before this summer, and in hindsight it really was perfect enough to have 2 weeks there with the most amazing people. It really is perfect, to me. I can walk 6 miles without hurting! I should not be hung up on the fact I didn’t get to do it in the mountains with my friends and Gravatt family. I can walk, and it doesn’t hurt! I realize now that that in itself is perfect, and it is happiness and achievement and progress. So I am writing this blog now because it is helping me realize that even though I did not get to go to Explorers, I am living a perfect existence now. I am writing to count my joys by what I have, not by what kept me from the “perfect” thing.