Head Cook

I hired a cook. Staff training begins in 6 days, so I’m cutting it close. It’s not that I wasn’t trying- but no one was interested in the job. I finally emailed the camp director across the lake and asked if his cook knew anyone. He suggested a woman who would be a good assistant cook, but not a head cook. When I called her, she was really enthusiastic. She also said she’d prefer the assistant position, but I still didn’t have anyone for the head cook position and so she agreed to try it out.

The other camp routinely cooks for 400 people. If she can assist cooking for 400, she should be able to head cook for 100. I created a menu and while she and I are both nervous about the ordering and portions, I think we will figure it out. We don’t really have a choice at this point- camp is going to be here soon.

She is a character. She said, “oh girl, yeah, let’s do it!” a few times and she’s a little rough around the edges, but I liked her spirit and her willingness to try, so I’m crossing my fingers that it works out.

We’ll see….

Memorial Day

This past weekend, my brother and my aunts came to camp for an overnight stay. My dad lived at camp for 4 years and his fingerprints are everywhere. He had a very distinct artistic touch and I often look around and feel like he’s still here when I see all of the things he made. My aunts haven’t been to camp and they wanted to see it.

As usual, it rained the day they arrived (it seems to rain any time anyone comes to visit) and I was nervous that it was going to be cold and wet the whole time they were at camp. Camp is a great place to be when the sun is out and the weather is mild, but it’s not such a fun place to be when it’s raining.

Luckily, shortly after they arrived, the rain stopped and we were able to walk around and they got to see everything. Dirty, buggy, and deep in the woods, camp isn’t the type of place they are most comfortable, but they were really positive, complimentary of camp, and I was impressed by how many details they asked about- they remembered a lot of stuff from stories my dad had told.

On Saturday night, after we’d eaten and hung out for a while, we headed to Sunset Beach to spread some of my dad’s ashes. My dad often said to let him go to the four corners and into the wind, so my brother and I decided to spread his ashes at camp, and eventually some at our old cabin, Alaska and probably a few other places too.

I was surprised, months ago when I picked up his ashes at his funeral, because the box was bigger and heavier than I’d expected. I opened the bag and the ashes were soft and powdery. Since that time, the box sat in my dining room for a while, in the closet for a time, and when it came time to pack for camp, I said, “come dad, we’re going back to camp” and then the box sat on his kitchen table for a while.

I wasn’t emotional when we spread his ashes. I reached in a took a handful and let the wind blow them into the lake. I thought maybe I should say something or read something or it should be more ceremonial, but I was pretty numb. The emotion has been there on and off, but it usually strikes at random odd times. It also helps that I’ve been at camp for nearly two weeks and multiple visits before this, so it doesn’t feel as raw and painful to be here. We ended up spreading about a fourth of his ashes. Some of them cried a little and I think it was more difficult for them than it was for me. The difficult times will come once camp starts without him here.

It was a nice visit and I’m glad they got to see camp. Staff training is around the corner and the summer is almost here.  

Dad at Camp

Yesterday I was sitting on the couch, checking my email, drinking tea like I do every morning when camp isn't in session. The dogs were next to me, totally asleep (they are not morning dogs). The house was quiet and peaceful and I was barely awake. 

Out of the blue, both dogs stood up and started barking. Both of them were staring at the open area next to the refrigerator, in front of the entrance to the hallway. I hadn't heard any noises and I didn't see anything, and I was a little surprised because my dogs aren't exactly watch dogs. When I get up in the morning (despite hitting the snooze button multiple times), I usually have to shake both dogs and even sometimes pick them up while they are still sleeping to get them to wake up. I'm convinced that a burglar could rob the whole house, stepping over them in the process, without either of them stirring. So it was weird that both of them were so alert over nothing.

I believe in ghosts. Not like cartoon Casper or a ghoul in a horror movie, but I think that there are spirits or ghosts (or whatever you want to call them) that exist outside of normal human life. My dad was 100% convinced that this camp is haunted and over the years, claimed several run ins with spirits. I always joked with him that that being in the woods alone for long periods of time was making him crazy, but I never doubted his experiences.

Since my dad died, I've assumed that he would visit me eventually. I have waited to feel his presence or for some kind of sign, but so far, I haven't experienced the spirit of my dad. 

When the dogs started barking out of the blue, staring at the empty space he always used to stand- I can't say for sure that I felt him there in that moment, but that's what came to my mind right way. I said, "hey dad" and asked the dogs if they were barking because they saw their Grandpi. When I walked down the hall a little while later, I was hit with the strongest smell of my dad's soap. I always loved the way the hall smelled after he took a shower and the smell was unmistakable. I hadn't been in the bathroom yet, it was a different than my shampoo or soap, and the smell definitely hadn't been there before. It was so familiar. The smell was the same as it had been every day of the summer for the 5 years we've been here. It was a real smell, and yet, it wasn't supposed to be there, so I wasn't sure if it was just a memory or if it was something more. 

As I go ready for the day, I talked to my dad. It felt like he was there listening.

"Hey Dad. How's it going? Everything is going well here. I think we're almost ready for camp. T (the new Property Manager, who my dad was friends with) is doing well. It's not the same of course, and I miss you a ton, but he's doing a great job. The hot water tank in the health center broke and the dining hall deck is all messed up again. So yeah, same as always. I'm glad you don't have to deal with all of that, although I know you are watching." 

My dad was the best, most enthusiastic story teller. Every summer, when he returned from Alaska, he would talk for hours to anyone who he could corner. He would describe how beautiful  and majestic the land and everything he saw was. He described the characters he met and the daily adventures he had. Alaska was the perfect place and brought him so much joy. Vivid memories of my dad describing Alaska came to my mind and I could imagine him describing heaven in a similar way, although I assume there are less mosquitoes and milder weather.

"Hey Dad, did you see us at work weekend? It was fine- ridiculous as always- I wish you'd been there to roll your eyes and laugh and get annoyed along with me. Oh, hey, I still need a cook- can you please send someone? Also, do you have any influence with the rain? It's fine right now, but let's cut back once the kids get here, okay?"

I talked to my dad all day yesterday. I don't think I was going crazy and he wasn't talking back to me. But for the first time since he died, I felt like he could hear me. It made being at camp so much easier. Which makes sense, because this job has always been easier with him being here. 

"Hey Dad, I'm glad you're here- I hope you hang around this summer, but don't mess with my staff- seriously, you used to scare them with the ghost stories, please don't scare them as an ACTUAL ghost. But stay. Please stay for a while."

The absolute best thing about camp was seeing my dad standing off to the side or in the back of the crowd laughing. The staff always made him laugh and while he never participated, he was always there. He'd paddle out in a canoe while we practiced tipping in the middle of the lake. During the talent show, he'd sit on his four wheeler, just off to the side of the stage and watch. And he'd laugh silently, his whole body shaking. Later, after I finished the nighttime routine with the kids and finally made it back to the house after a long day, he'd be there. He'd comment on the things he'd been laughing about earlier and we'd laugh together. I shared camp with him in a different way than with anyone else. He was there from the beginning, actively working to improve the physical camp while quietly observing as I worked with staff and kids. 

 The challenges were easier when divided between us and the successes were so much better when multiplied by two. I know that I can run camp on my own this summer, but it will be a different experience now that I'm the crazy one talking about the camp ghosts.

Hummingbird

5 years ago, I arrived at camp, high on possibility, fueled by the realization that I was living out my dream. I was a CAMP DIRECTOR. My dad was by my side and nothing was going to hold me back.

Every day was a new adventure with a new story. I started this blog so my friends and family back home could keep up with my new crazy life. On May 30, 2008, I was sitting in my office when I heard a noise and was all of a sudden, face to face with a duck http://betweencosmosandgranola.blogspot.com/2008/05/duck.html (5 years later, I still remember that was a BIG bird). Hilarious. Magical. My college fears of growing up and getting a job in a stuffy cubical- forget 'em! A duck was in my office! I was living the dream!

5 years later, I still love this camp. But all the day to day challenges that seemed like wonderful adventures and whimsical stories to share with gusto have begun to take their toll. The problem with running a 65 year old camp in the middle of the woods is that something is always in need of repair. We are better off financially than we were when I began, we're still on a tight budget. Overall, my awareness and understanding of everything that goes into running a camp is deeper and I feel less swept away with adventure than when I began.

The bulldogs and I arrived at camp this evening after a long day of last minute errands and packing. This is the fifth time I've moved to camp, but this time around, I come into the summer a little bit wary and a little bit anxious. I feel the weight of responsibility and I know that camp is more than making s'mores and singing  songs.

As I sat down to dinner, the doors and windows were open and the breeze was blowing pleasantly. I was peacefully settled in when I heard the buzzing sound and thought a big bee had flown in. I looked up just as a hummingbird whizzed by. I was shocked into silence until the second, closer-to-my-head fly-by, at which point I screamed and dove for cover. My screams alerted the dogs, who promptly started freaking out. The hummingbird was still zooming around the dining room as I shouted, "everyone be cool" and silently thanked god no one could see the spectacle that was going on around me.

Eventually the hummingbird zoomed out the door and the dogs calmed down and I went back to eating dinner. 5 years later and the birds have gotten smaller, but continue to bring a little adventure into my day to day happenings. I am ready to give myself over to the experience of summer and lose myself in the magic of camp. I'm a little less carefree than I was 5 years ago, but I'm still living the dream and I would still prefer birds over cubicles any day.

Summer is here, let the adventures begin...

Grief

I had no idea what to expect with grief and maybe you can't truly understand until you go through it, but I wasn't prepared.

Right after my dad died, it was the feeling of being in a really bad dream that you can't wake up from. It's a combination of shock and dread, with utter terror at the realization that this really happened. It was awful.

But that stage passed and then I was filled with rage. Like, uncontrollable-I-could-be-violent-at-any-moment anger. I think some days I was a danger to the community around me, but other than a few inappropriate outbursts at the post office and the bank, I managed to make it through that stage without doing much damage.

I thought that the rage stage was bad until the next stage which was just utter and complete sadness. I cried constantly at every commercial and every song on the radio. I was just so sad.

The next stage, was the "caught in a traffic jam" stage. You know that feeling when you are stuck in bumper to bumper traffic and you can't move because you are surrounded by cars on every side of you? THAT is how I felt for months. I would sit in my office with a long to-do list and even though I was physically and intellectually capable of sending emails or taking care of business, I felt stuck, unable to move. I felt the same way at home, everywhere I went, actually. I thought the earlier stages were bad, but I was incredibly frustrated with myself during this stage. I took the semester off from grad school, gained 25 pounds, cut back on my volunteer positions, learned to live with a dirty house, stopped writing, watched a lot of tv, and did my best to function when I didn't feel physically unable.

Two weeks ago was work weekend. I cried the first hour and a half of the drive to camp. I drank a bottle of wine the night I arrived and I spent a lot of the weekend taking deep breaths and focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Up until that weekend, I was doing my best to separate camp and my dad. Even on the trips to camp since he died, I've managed to forget that this place has been ours for the past 4 years. But work weekend was always our greatest collaboration and I didn't think I could get through it without him.

I'm not sure which stage I'm in now. I think I'm in the "discomfort" stage. Because grief is uncomfortable- like wearing clothes that are too tight. Have you ever worn a shirt that was too short or pants that were too tight and you spent the day pulling and re-adjusting and just so uncomfortable you wanted to scream? You want to rip everything off and put on sweatpants. It's not crippling, but it's distracting enough that it ruins your day... THAT is how grief feels. I feel uncomfortable and ready to scream and I just feel a little "off".

I think the summer is going to be difficult. My dad is everywhere, in every project he did in 4.5 years. I think someday when I have the advantage of hindsight, I will look back on this summer and know that facing grief by immersing myself in it is probably the best way to move forward, but right now, I'm unhappy at the thought of being there the whole summer. I alternate between rage, sadness, and feeling stuck. Camp is my great love and I can't imagine any other job or life, and yet, the idea of moving to camp in a few days is making me feel heavy with dread.

But I will go. I've started running again, started writing again, and I will go back to camp. Life will go on and the grief will subside eventually.