We as humans are incurably curious. Whether there is a storm brewing, a

traffic accident, or a big, fluffy dog, we will gaze out of our windows with great

curiosity. However, if there is one thing that we love even more than looking out of

a window, it is looking into one. We try to learn the secrets of other people’s lives

by peering into shop windows, judging the cluttered interior of a stranger’s car in

the parking lot, or watching people sweating it out on a treadmill behind the glass

of the gym window.

This incurable curiosity is an enduring part of our humanity, and life at camp

is no exception. We have a big interior kitchen window at Camp Chippewa that

offers a tiny glimpse into the forbidden land of cookies and commercial equipment.

The boys come to this window to pick up their meals. In my nine years as a kitchen

staff member at camp, I have watched countless little campers arrive at the window

to peer wide-eyed into the mysterious workings of the kitchen. Their eyes bulge as

they take in the bright lights, clanging equipment, and the strangers behind the

Window.

But as these little campers grow up, the allure of the kitchen diminishes. The

window seems to shrink in height as these 8-year-olds turn into 12-year-olds, and

then into first-time Canadian trippers, and finally into men who enter the Chippewa

Leadership Training program as the oldest campers at Chippewa. Their world

becomes bigger than camp. The kitchen becomes a place that supplies their trip

food. They lean on the counter at the window and tell us their trip stories with

gleaming eyes. They have an air of mystery that is built from their experiences on

the trail; experiences that stories can only sketch in faint lines. Their wonder of the

unknown has long moved past the kitchen and is focused on much bigger, more

beautiful things.

I would be deceiving you if I didn’t admit that watching the boys from my

place behind the window is bittersweet. I wish that I could go out on the trail and

see what they see: the roaring rapids, the sweeping sunset, the giant fish caught

from a remote river. I imagine that I could endure the relentless bugs and burning

muscles if I could only experience the wilds of Canada as they do. The same little

boys who gazed wishfully into the kitchen grow up and leave camp for experiences

far away from the window. They are in an open world of water, wind, and weather;

a world where the rhythm of normal life falls away, and the window into a kitchen

is far away and inconsequential.

I’ve longed to see what they see, but this year at camp, I had a sudden and

clear epiphany: I will never be a Camp Chippewa tripper, but my place behind the

kitchen window is a precious one. I’ve watched the boys come back to the window

year after year, growing taller, stronger, tougher, and kinder. I’ve come to

understand that looking out of that kitchen window is as interesting as looking into

it. I see campers who grow not only in height but also in spirit. I see eyes gleaming

with excitement and accomplishment as they tell trip stories. Most importantly, I

see the brotherhood that is built on the trail: the hugs, the jokes, and the kind

gestures.

The campers may never know, but I see the little things through the kitchen

window. I’ve come to realize that my window gives me a glimpse of the trail that is

rare and beautiful. I don’t see the canoes or the pines, but I see what is truly

important: the character that these men build year after year as they learn important

skills and lessons at camp and go out onto the trail and beyond. Every visit they

make to the window gives me this look at their true selves. I may not see all the

little moments that have created these strong, independent young men, but I can

see the results. I am so fortunate that I have been able to work behind that window

year after year, learning to know the campers and watching them grow. It is a

privilege that I will treasure for the rest of my life. The kitchen work at camp

certainly isn’t glamorous, but I feel like one of the luckiest people at camp because

the view out of my kitchen window is the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.

-Tori F.
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