i spy with my little... nose...

you ever get a whiff of something and it sends you somewhere else completely? often, i smell rome in the air. but, perhaps that's just the combination of exhaust and cigarettes on a warm day. today i got a really good one, though. while i was searching for a flip flop in the bowels of my closet. on hands and knees, i smelled heart's bend.

heart's bend was a truly magical place. the first summer camp i went to, '91 and '92. six weeks each glorious summer. no parents. no rules, really. tucked into the back roads of newfane, vermont... a stone's throw from my grammy lou's house over on hill road... you know, just before you reach the old round school house. people in vermont talk that way for real, y'all... old trees as mile markers and old so and so's place as play boundaries. magic.

i'm not sure what, exactly, gave me that swirl of heart's bend, but it triggered so much imagery. my blonde bowl cut (modeled after chyna phillips. you know, from wilson phillips. duh), crabapple trees, a sweat lodge, the well we sourced all of our water from (hence the one shower per week rule... awesome at ages 8 and 9), the tiny pond we took baths in with dr. bronner's castille soap (for those weeks when one shower simply wouldn't do) and our outdoor amphitheatre in the woods. man, shit was amazing there.

it was the first place that i was introduced to music beyond the records of my parents... we would lay in the fields near the leantos for hours... wishing on stars and counting firelies, listening to the soupdragons, the red hot chili peppers, the beastie boys and weird al yankovic... i know.

a few years ago, i reconnected with the camp director. she sold the land not long after my final summer there. we reminisced about the magic. it was a place for everyone. truly. we had representatives from almost every continent. people spoke to each other in two different languages at a time. who knows if we ever actually understood each other, per se... but we communicated. you know?

we ate family style - eating what we grew in our garden. we made epic horror films with the college student counselors. we had camp color wars and peace talks. talent shows. overnight camping trips. joni mitchell sing-a-longs. we fed our farm animals and milked cows. composted. we went cliff jumping at the swim hole called indian love call. endless memories.

but, what i am forever grateful for... for the gift my dad and his family tradition of summer camping gave me... storytelling. every night, every day... we told stories. sometimes one person at a time, other times in groups... contributing as a community. magic. magic. magic. instilling a quality of imagination-promotion that was exactly what i needed as an 8 and 9 year old.

if you have time, read this from vermont woman newspaper. the article, about our camp director, nina meyerhof, speaks to the nature of what heart's bend was. pretty beautiful.

newfane road sign from here. that group photo is from heart's bend... but before my time. i found it here.