The Magic of Traveling from Washington to Washington
By
Maisy Bockus
I feel a sharp bump on my head as I try to stand in the attic and reach for the purple, Hawaiian-print suitcase that has been in my possession since I was a child. I struggle to make it through the disorganized mess of our endless sleeping bags, cardboard boxes, and luggage, but I am motivated to travel through the mountains, pushing away some sticky substance, for it means only one thing: camp.
I reflect on my first time going to camp. I was eight, young, afraid, and joined by the hip to my twin sister Madison. From the moment we were born into this world we have been separated by only eleven minutes. Eleven minutes that tend to mean the world to a child. Our parents decided …show more content…
Surrounded by New England saltbox houses with white paneling, the deciduous forests now vibrant with green hues, and muggy summer breeze caressing my cheek, I grabbed my sister's hand and began to mentally prepare for what camp would be like. As my family pulled onto the camp road, I saw a green and white sign, paint peeling, at the entrance of the camp. Behind it lied and old, red trolley and a building reading camp office at the top of a small hill. A woman smiled as she held a clipboard and asked for our …show more content…
The class continued. I made a pillow intricate enough for my tiny, clumsy hands. Maya and I chatted, and I made a new friend without the help of my sister.
Needless to say, we have been close friends ever since despite living across the country from each other. And to this day, all my friends at camp have important roles in my life.
To simply prove this point, back in the attic, see a picture from camp of my cabin in my luggage bag. We are sitting together on the grassy field with content smiles with hints at laughter in the light of the glowing sun on our checks. This reminds me of my task. As on a cue, my sister calls in a slightly irate tone from bellow, “Hello? Have you found my bag yet?” causing me to wake from my daydream. I respond by dropping her blue-Hawaiian print bag, obviously matching mine, onto the soft carpeted floor with a nice thump.
“Do you need anything else? I think we might not need any of these things..” like vast quantities of ultra strength bug spray that are by my feet ”...anymore, so we might as well use them up.”
Then it hits me: this summer home is where I found myself and developed as an individual. Camp has given me independence despite mandating what I do for a summer. Trust me the irony is very