Going to Summer Camp - A Memory of My Mother

I stood next to my bed folding tee shirts and shorts, while my mother bustled in and out of my room bringing me more things to pack into my suitcase to take to Camp Toccoa. We had spent all day yesterday with a marking pen and iron-on labels, making sure my name was printed on every item and labels ironed onto all my clothes. Even my socks had my initials, JLC, printed in black magic marker on the toes.

Mama helped me arrange my clothes in the suitcase, shoes on the bottom, then shorts, a pair of jeans, shirts, and finally pajamas on top. My socks and underwear were tucked neatly in the side pockets. All my toiletries nestled in a brand new pink plastic carrying case, which lay on top of my clothing. My blanket roll contained everything I needed for my bed and shower- sheets, a blanket, two towels and wash cloths,and my pillow, all wrapped up in an oilcloth which would protect my bed and me from the damp ground when sleeping under the stars - a Camp Toccoa tradition - all rolled and tied neatly with a strong rope. We checked off each item from the list from Camp Fire Girls Headquarters as we carefully packed. We didn’t want to forget anything I’d need for my week at summer camp. Finally finished, we left the suitcase unlatched for last minute additions and made sure the bedroll was tied securely enough to stay intact during the two hour train ride from Atlanta to Toccoa.

I was excited about going to camp. I was eight years old, and ready to spend a whole week at camp, even the nights! My sister, Molly, was already at Camp Toccoa, where she was a counselor-in-training for the summer, so I wouldn’t be totally on my own. However, I was a little apprehensive about being away from Mama and Daddy for seven days and seven nights. I decided that I needed a photograph of my mother to take with me, so that I wouldn’t forget what she looked like while I was away. As I searched through Mama’s desk drawer where she stored her keepsakes, I realized how old both she and Daddy looked in the photos stored there. People often mistook Daddy for my grandfather because of his snow white hair, and Mama was what her friends called “salt and pepper” gray. I was the youngest of five children, stretched out thirteen years apart in age, so they really were old compared to my friends’ parents.

Finally, I found what I was looking for--- a portrait of a lovely young woman who looked a lot like my Aunt Lois, Mama’s youngest sister. Mama smiled when I showed her the photo, and confirmed that it was a picture of her and not Aunt Lois. She told me that the picture had been taken when she was a student in nursing school before she and Daddy got married. She said that it would be fine for me to take the picture with me to camp. I carefully sandwiched it between two tee shirts in my suitcase to keep it safe from breaking. Ready for a week at summer camp, with the photo of my young mother going with me, I snapped the latch shut.

The Friendship Chain

It’s funny how an assortment of random occurrences will weave themselves together to become something meaningful in my life. Let me share this with you.

Recently, while looking for a new knitting pattern for a wash cloth to take with me to my Tuesday night knitting group, I found a pattern for a “Friendship Chain” pattern online. I saved it on my Favorites list, made a couple of copies, and began knitting a new wash cloth. It was an easy pattern, one that flowed smoothly as my knitting needles clicked against each other, and within two hours, I had a completed project that I was casting off from my knitting needles. Then I made another one, and another one. There was something about the pattern that I loved – it was symmetrical in its design, and the stitch count was easy to remember, making knitting rhythmic and musical. It reminded me of singing a familiar song, one in which I knew all the words. I was pleased with the end results, and added my Friendship Chain wash cloths to my growing bundle that I hope to sell and give away.

While knitting this interesting pattern, my mind wandered as the words “friendship chain” tumbled around in my mind like a song that hangs on repeating itself over and over as a type of mantra in my brain. Memories began to emerge.

I pictured summer camp at Camp Fire Girls’ Camp Toccoa, where I spent several weeks each summer as a child and teen-ager. In my mind I saw us girls standing in a friendship circle around the evening camp fire, our arms crossed, always right over left, holding hands in a circle, singing the camp’s signature song, “Beneath the Pine Trees,” and then “Taps”, before squeezing hands in release and heading to our cabins for the night. As a Camp Fire Girl, this was a familiar ritual. After each weekly meeting our small group would form a friendship circle with our arms crossed, singing “Make new friends, but keep the old – One is silver and the other gold” followed by “Sing your way home at the end of the day.” This was our friendship chain, and the pattern I was knitting strangely reminded me of our crossed arms, standing in our friendship circle. Singing, always singing.

Yesterday, Phil and I met our childhood friend, Luci, for lunch in Decatur. Luci’s mother has recently died, and we invited Luci to meet us to express our support and friendship. Our invisible friendship chain materialized as we talked, shared common experiences, and enjoyed being back in our childhood hometown for a few hours. The links of our friendship chain were strong as we relived childhood memories, walked down familiar streets, and laughed and cried together. As Phil and I drove home, I thought about Luci and the history of our friendship, remembering our MYF group at the Decatur Methodist Church, remembering similar friendship circles with arms crossed, as we helped each other through adolescence and along our individual faith journeys.

Last night, the final thread in this emerging tapestry completed the picture as I happened upon a PBS program on television on the folk singing group, Peter, Paul, and Mary. As I listened to their songs, I was a teen-ager,back at Camp Toccoa with my baritone ukulele, sitting on a top bunk with my cabin-mates strumming and singing folk songs, including “If I had a Hammer”, “Blowing in the Wind,” “Where Have All the Flowers Gone”, and others that this group and other folk singers had brought into our lives through the magic of radio and long-play record albums. I also listened to these artists as they shared their experiences of singing during our turbulent teen-age years when Martin Luther King was teaching us about peaceful resistance, equal rights, and dreams of a racially unified America. In one of the video clips from a performance in the ‘60s, I saw Peter, Paul, and Mary standing shoulder –to-shoulder on stage with a group of singers and equal rights leaders, their arms crossed, holding hands in a friendship chain. I began to cry as I listened to their song and realized how folk music has been a vital link in my personal friendship chain throughout my life. I also heard an old, old message that had begun with the Camp Fire Girls’ friendship circles, and hadn’t left me, even though it had been buried until the day I found the knitting pattern for the Friendship Chain.

I plan to knit many Friendship Chain wash cloths. They remind me of the importance of my friends, the bonds that the friendship chain symbolizes, the strength of holding hands with friends in an eternal circle of love, and the importance of keeping a song in my heart.