May 29, 2000 Processing....

It is the last day of a camp session. It was that weekend of the year, the only one, that I  would attend if I were just a camper. If you need more back ground to understand this rambling, let me know and I will fill you in. I will describe a few basics.

Everyone has left. Where there were forty people making noise and fun in every nook and cranny there now are none. Where there was laughter, there is deadly quiet, dirt, and clutter. 14 buildings on nine acres can be very still, and surprisingly more still in contrast to, and in the aftermath of a busy weekend.

It is like this every weekend. There exists a strange cycle of life for me. This space has become such a home to me, and then, even part of me. In the spring, as I open the camp, and no one is around, I get used to the deadly quiet. I dread the approach of the first weekend, when it is all spoiled. It is sometimes painful to me to hear another voice, and then there are always many more than one. Then I get caught up in it all. I am reminded that I am human and not a tree, or deer. By Sunday morning, I am dreading the inevitably approaching quiet. And Sunday afternoon, I am alone, again.

How many years have I had to get used to this cycle?  And still such an emptiness today.

I have a process now for dealing with the quiet. I find myself doing this now, even before people leave, to begin to deal. There are many little tasks to be done to set things straight for the next week. I find myself in every building. I turn off water heaters. I sweep. I put games away. I clean bathrooms. As I do all of this, I say good bye. When I come into a room it seems almost as full as it was last night. I can hear the background noise, somehow.  I put away the stuff, straighten the cushions and sweep. With each action I remember some moment of the weekend, and smile, and put away the memory. With each memory filed, the room seems quiet, and more, ready to be quiet. When I am done all is quiet, and clean. I have put away the dishes, swept the floor and filed the memories.

As I go through each cabin, I think of the people who were here, just a few hours ago. I can think of each person, and my interactions with them over the past weekend. I wonder when I will see them again and how it will be. This is how I clean the cabins.

When it  is all done, I am ready for a week of quiet.

I notice it all much  more today, after this particular weekend. I am not actually alone. There are people around helping me, and I miss spending the time in each room. I miss the process almost as much as I miss the people.

I know by Friday, I will again feel like I am the only human on earth, and I won't understand where this new group is coming from, and Sunday, I will want them to stay with me forever. And so it will go on...

MiXiM