6:00 am.

The alarm sounds, and I reach over to silence it. Before I even open my eyes, my mind begins to churn with all the tasks for the day ahead of me. I think through each meal and its many components: “Did I get the bread out of the freezer?” “Has the meat been thawed?” “Oh yes, I need to communicate with that trip leader and ask if he needs a frozen dinner for the first night of their trip.”

I enter the kitchen and almost methodically open the various windows and doors and turn on the lights. I start a pot of coffee, knowing that Phil will be in around 7:00 to start the fire, and he’ll be joined by Joe and Stephen a little later. I turn the ovens to the correct temperature, grab my ingredients from the cooler, and begin prepping breakfast. If I’m lucky, I’ll have 15 minutes to sit and enjoy coffee with the guys by the fire before the breakfast prep begins in earnest.

At 8:20, everyone floods into the dining hall. A mass of sleepy-eyed, tousle-haired boys lines up by the serving window, and we exchange “good mornings” as we give them their breakfast. Mild chaos ensues and continues throughout the meal as various people appear at the window asking for ketchup, another spoon, or a new pot of coffee, The meal concludes, we begin cleanup, and the rest of the day falls into a familiar rhythm: wash dishes, prepare food for the next meal, sweep the dining hall, set the trays, stroll to the Rendezvous to see what’s happening for the day, chat with Jesse as he stops in for coffee midmorning, answer a question from a trip leader who’s preparing food for the trail, say hi to a kid who stops by the window on his way to the rifle range.

After lunch is cleaned up, I have free time before dinner, so I head down to the trip house where Muir Cabin is packing food for their canoe trip. The boys are busy measuring oats for breakfast, dehydrating veggies, and vacuum sealing mozzarella and pepperoni. Alec walks around giving orders, and I smile. Seven years ago, I sat in this same spot, watching him and his cabin preparing for their Level 3 trip, and now he’s leading a trip of his own, sharing his knowledge and love of the trail with the next generation of voyageurs.

This is definitely my favorite part of Camp: watching boys grow from campers to counselors. From teenagers being taught about life in the wilderness to men who bear the responsibility of the lives in their care. Our friendship growing from the days of drinking sweet tea while they told me stories of rapids and rain and funny moments, to conversations after staff meeting where they talk about the weight of making the big decisions and navigating the various relational challenges of leading a group of boys.

Many before me have written about how important it is for kids to do difficult things in order to develop character. About how taking risks builds resilience. About how working hard brings rewards, and accomplishing things together creates community.

Chippewa provides all these opportunities for its campers and staff. For the past 10 years, I have watched campers come back from the Canadian wilderness. They stand a little taller. Their eyes shine with the joy of accomplishment, while at the same time bearing the weight of the experience they’ve gained. Many of them share how these trips have birthed in them a deep awe of nature. With shy smiles, some of the braver ones also admit that they’ve had a kind of rich spiritual experience, even though they often find it difficult to put into words.

I’ve never experienced the thrill of the trail or the feeling of accomplishment at the end of a long and difficult portage. I’ve never had to make a judgment call on whether to shoot a set of rapids or wait out a storm. But I don’t have to experience those things to know that they change a person.

Because for 10 years, I’ve been there to welcome groups back from the trail.

For 10 years, I’ve been watching campers grow up.

For 10 years, I’ve been listening and observing.

Chippewa builds good men who go into the wider world and DO good.

And being a part of that has been one of the greatest gifts of my life.

Katie Martin

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