It’s July in the Midwest.  Its hot.  102F and dry.  Usually we have humidity, but the wind has been blowing and there has been no rain.  The grass is sad in it’s little brown bag dress.  The squirrels and the chipmunks have resorted to climbing into the bird baths for long drinks.  The gardens are wilting before the end of a day after watering in the morning, but the sun is glorious.

I remember days at summer camp when the heat dragged on day after day; the smell of the red clay dirt of southern Missouri baking in the heat.  During the brightest part of the day, swimming in the lake felt delicious.  Even the fingers of the grass grabbing at our toes as we paddled about close to the dock couldn’t convince us to leave the cooling green water.

We were allowed to only buy one soda during our week of camp.  I remember how wonderful that cold soda tasted coming from that chilled glass bottle as we sat on the long shaded porch of the dining hall.  The long days that ended with sing-a-longs in that same dining hall, gleam with golden light in my memory.

I loved going to summer camp. I loved it when the weather was perfect.  But I really loved it when I was able to escape the heat of a city block, for the warmth of summer camp.  At camp, the best part wasn’t cola, or lakes, or sing-a-longs.  It was my friends.  Old friends, new friends, some made for a lifetime and some just for a week.  But they are still a part of my life because they shaped my love of outdoors, and camping, and summer.  And they gave me so much more.

They made my childhood special.  So yes, they actually gave me so very much more.