My home town wasn’t big enough to need a whole lot of creativity when it came to naming things. The hotel was called the Lund Hotel. The Community Centre/Gymnasium/Theatre was called the Lund Hall.
The school, Lund School. The students of that school, forever the Lund Kids.
And the Lund Highway was the only way out if you didn’t have a boat or dreams.
When commerce eventually swooped in on my teenie tiny town of 200, more thoughtful branding began to happen. Nancy’s Bakery. Pollen Sweaters. Tug Ghum Gallery. It’s positively booming now as the population nears 300.
In the 1970’s when our parents were looking for ways to keep us out of summer trouble, we were enrolled in Camp. Aptly named “Lund Farm Day Camp.” I don’t remember who the people were running the joint but for a girl who wanted to climb trees and was proud of her bruises, this was my Muskoka Woods.
It was a twenty-minute walk along the highway to town. Originally known as the road to town but was eventually paved so thusly renamed highway because of the speed one could now travel on it at.
I speak only with love when I speak of my camp experience, as words about camp should be. This was a camp without safety standards, accreditation or any real degree of supervision. Exactly how I liked to run my life. You didn’t go to this camp. You survived this camp.
Talk about speaking directly to your ideal customer. What savvy entrepreneurs! These people knew, just knew, that flying way out over a road on a boat rope with a knot at the end was what kids loved. That the pile of sticks below made us feel like adults were involved and it was safe to be that high up. That having a hammock woven right into the apple trees, so you could stick your little heads and arms through the holes, was about access to daily fruit servings, not potential strangulation by hanging.
What it comes down to is this. Camp is where the most basic composition of childhood bravery can be piloted. It’s a selection of outside summer ways to experience danger away from the worried eyes of parents. No matter what a kid has going on in their lives, they need to be let out into the field. Free range. Equal parts scared of and thrilled by the dark.
Camp Trillium, Camp Ooch and Camp Quality are not camps that run without our help and our fundraising. They are, however, heavily supervised, carefully monitored and skillfully staffed because of the special needs of the campers. They are in no danger. The last thing in the world you do though is tell a camper that. Not before they find their own chosen danger long enough to forget about the danger they are in.
Cancer sucks. Camp is the opposite of sucks.
To donate to my ride: Tour For Kids