Camp Jack Hazard...WHERE EVERYBODY ROCKS OUT!!!

A place filled with the laughter of young children, the warming rays of golden sunlight softly filtering through the dense pine trees, and the smell of red clay dirt and old pine needles permeates the air. The road to camp is marred with boulders and worn ruts that send you bouncing violently to and fro if you dare to drive faster then the 5 mile an hour speed limit. It is humble, and sparse. It is crude by most standards...and yet is it is the most wonderful place on earth. The people, the passions. A love of nature is the reason, but the people are the key. Humble Olive green shacks, lacking doors, with a single light bulb run by generator, filled with 4 sets of simple bunk beds are the basic cabin set up. The walls are covered with names and signatures of adoring children from every session leading back to the beginning of camp that go all the way up to the ceiling. The most beautiful graffiti in the world... art drawn in love by children. This is what I think of when I think of my childhood summers at Camp Jack Hazard. I got to go back this past weekend with my children in tow to the place I left my heart so many years ago. This was a journey of reflection for me, as well as an exuberant embrace of what I have become. 13 years have past, and so much has changed... and yet standing there in my beloved cabin #6 the memories flooded back to me, with over whelming clarity, and I seemed to be transported back in time...only to realize nothing had changed. The most surreal part was that this time I got to share it with those I love the best... my boys. My heart raced as I got to tell the tales of days gone by, of stories told of their mother once young and beautiful, and in love with her Mother Earth. The way my boys listened with bright eyes as I told them of the thunderstorm that overtook the camp one summer day. How it darkened the sky, and the thunder shook the cabin so violently. How the rain came down like buckets dumped from heaven and how I had to stay huddled in the cabin calming the fears of 8 little boys in that very cabin as Joel and Jay frantically worked with pick axes and shovels to make trenches to divert water flow to save the cabin and the camp from flash flooding, and being washed away. It was eating dinner the first night at the Kennedy Meadows Inn and showing them the saloon that I used to love to dance in, and awakened my love of country music, saw dust, hay bails on an old wooden floor, of dusty stinky old pack mules, and real mountain men who work hard, and play even harder. It was standing on the porch of the inn looking out into the meadow and remembering playing in the leaves by the babbling brook with my first love. It was all these memories and more that bring you to the realization that I was in a place of youthful magic. I was back at The YMCA of Stanislaus county's very own Camp Jack Hazard. Their motto is " It will change your summer, and possibly your life." I disagree, it will change your life. There is not a soul that can come here and not be positively altered by the passion, and the people here. The sense of family, and of coming home. I spent much time alone and to myself this past weekend, but not because I was distant, or morose. I was soaking it all in. A human sponge. The sights, the smells, the depth of colors, each footstep on every trail saved back into memory vault. This was the closest I have ever came to heaven in my life. The relationships meant more there. The friendships were weighted in values more meaningful then any precious metal or gold. When life was unjaded by reality, and we knew nothing of heartbreak, disappointment, pain, or sorrow. When your summer was over, and you had to leave your heart shattered because you knew you were leaving it behind on that mountain.

For the most part the camp was exactly the same as I had left it. The natural beauty of the trees, the nature hut all boarded up now, brought to mind visions of mattresses and sleeping bags on the cement porch. I expected to see a beloved wood rat nesting somewhere in someones make shift clothing dressers made from milk crates. :) The meadow was full of sunflowers and how I delighted at watching them turn during the days to keep track of the sun. It was fun to play with my own children in front of the cabin throwing Frisbees, reading stories, and kicking balls. Doing nightly devotions and watching them drift off to sleep in sheer exhaustion from a day well spent. Just to rise at the crack of dawn eager with anticipation for the first melodic ringing of the bells and shouts of good morning from all different directions. The latrines still smelled as you walked past them, and the shower room still had standing water on the floor. The outside wash basins still sputtered out ice cold spring water when brushing your teeth, and the campfires were still on campfire rock overlooking the expanse of tree lined mountain tops. The sky was still a deep azure blue during the day, and the stars still shone so bright there was no need for a flashlight at night. The flying Kazenza's acrobat (family)team from Lithuania were still eccentric, wild, and crazy, and smelled of musty old damp clothing. The acoustic guitars played on the mountain,with the sound of aspen tree leaves rustling in the wind, and the river rushing softly as back up. All of these things brought tears to my eyes and warmth to my heart. I was home.

Some people say I am too happy, but this place oozes it from every nook and cranny of every piece of matter up here. 7000 ft up in the Sierras. It is impossible not to be infected. The fists pounding on the tables, chanting camp songs, in unison as the children stare on in sheer amazement and wonder. Their expressionless faces were truly priceless. Like every parent, and every adult, had not just lost their mind, but had morphed into some total stranger, and was possessed with vitality, youth, and transformed by boundless amounts of pure excitement and energy. They were visibly stunned.

Little had changed... Just the staff. Seeing how everyone grew up and has children, and families of their own was delightful. Who the staff have turned into. When growing up and life takes the reigns... Most of us were generations from the 80's and 90's... but there were those as far back as the 50's, 60's and 70's as well. We all grew older, and had families of our own. To watch and see who married whom, what camp families were created and thriving both under the banner of true camp spirit... pure in love... high in loyalty,... and raised in honesty, and strength. Marriages unlike those of the real world... guided by the foundations set by the ragger's creed. I delighted in watching them, the creativity, and personal strength of their children. One who was rock climbing at the age of 2 was doing the high ropes course at 6. I am not so sure I would do the high ropes course at 19 or at 35 let alone 6. I was impressed by their imaginations, and their sense of wonder that has obviously never been stifled. These are the best of parents, and the kids are the next wonderful generation of soon to be campers, kitchen crew, leaders in training and staff. What a blessed legacy we are so fortunate to get to leave them.

My favorite part of the weekend was watching the evolution of my own son...George in the course of just 3 days at camp. As many know, George has Asperger's, and is rightfully very serious and shows very little emotion. So let me tell you taking him camping I knew he was excited because he packed himself without much prompting. And not a single argument or peep from any of the boys on the 6 hr car ride there. It was peaceful. Upon arriving at the camp a new high ropes course had been erected since my years at the camp. It stood looming 20 to 30 feet in the air high above what once was the lower parking lot where the camp carnival was once held. He looked at it staring up in amazement that first day and said "I am going to do that." Still a mother, and no longer a counselor, I diverted his attention to other less challenging adventures. I mean, this was my bookworm child, the solitary, quiet, soft spoken little giant. The child that needed his little brother to coax and prod him to go to the top level of the playhouses found at McDonald's or Burger King. There is no way he would ever really do anything like that. And that was OK... We all play a role at camp... but this one was not for George. Problem was George didn't know it. Over the course of the next two days we did the low ropes course, we swam in the pool, we did so much arts and crafts that Michael's would be proud... and yet my 9 year old son still burned to do the high ropes course. Finally the last open program time came. While his brothers and I packed for the trip home he proudly got into pants and a long shirt, and declared he was ready and asked if he could go. I chuckled to myself... yeah sure go ahead... it was not like he would ever do it anyway. George, my George, would take one look at someone else doing it, get scared, watch a dozen people, and chicken out as he finally got the courage to put on the harness. My George was safe. "Sure you can go... we will be down in a minute when we get the car packed up." I told him. And with glee in his heart he ran off to program. We finished packing, and took a load of sleeping backs and frame packs full of clothes all the way down the mountain to the car... Colton, Dustin and myself. We wasted no time, and made our way back up the hill to the lower portion of camp where the high ropes course was set up. Colton saw him first... "Is that George?" he asked me. "Where" I said scanning the horizon searching the ground not even thinking to look any higher. "Up there on the pole" Colton both laughing and speaking, amazed at his little brother. Jovial gloating with all bets against him. Mentally delighting in the fact he just knew George was going to have to be rescued by the ropes course director and how he was not going to miss this for the world. I looked up and stopped. Oh my God, it was George. Climbing nearly at the top of the 20 foot tall pole. Strapped in a harness, breathing so hard, and scared to death that I could hear him panting from 100 feet away. I dared not call out to him. Fuzzy, the ropes course director spoke calmly to him. "Now put one knee on top of the pole." And Georgie did. "And now the other one" And George did again. the crowd grew silent, and you could hear a pin drop. "Now put one foot on top of the pole." Fuzzy told George. Always the serious child he commented in his normal monotone " You know this would be much easier if the pole would stop swaying" George projected down to Fuzzy. Fuzzy and the crowd laughed, and Fuzzy told him" You know, I think you are right." With that George lifted his foot and caught his balance and the whole crowd erupted with applause. This was the hardest part. And now the second foot. His eye on the bell. He stood a moment erect and fell in a wild leap for the bell. It rang out and I saw him gently caught by his belayed rope. And watched him gracefully lowered to the ground. I stood there stunned. He did it... George, my George did it... I can't believe it... he really, really, really did it. I must have looked dazed because an old, once deeply cherished, friend asked "Mom, are you OK??" A pause filled the air... was I OK? Was I OK? "Yeah, Oh yeah, I am OK..." I stammer out, as I watch them take the harness off of George. And then I see it, the most beautiful, most amazing sight in all the world... he smiled. Not a grin, but an ear to ear, beaming full of pride and accomplishment smile. George knew he wanted to do it, he set his mind on his course and without hesitation he took the bull by the horns and conquered the beast he called fear. The strength of a man is not the absence of fear, but it is the ability to go on in the face of it. I expected this lesson to be learned from watching my oldest, Marine Corps driven son... but instead I was pleasantly surprised to be taught it from my book worm, solitary, silent, quiet son George.

Camp Jack Hazard changes lives... it enriches lives... and it promotes strength... it infects your heart...it is a place of pure magic, endless beauty, and time stopping grace. I wish I could share this place with the world. I wish I could see every bed filled with vast amounts of children and not enough weeks in the summer to accommodate all of the future dreamers and doers of the world. So few places in this world can you see, feel, catch, and bottle inspiration. Camp Jack Hazard is one of those places. In humbleness comes greatness. My story is merely one of many, George had 3 days here... I had summers, and summers, and summers here. Someday I would love to write a journal of all my memories on this sacred ground. The story of my first real love, the golden unbreakable friendships, the journey of my respect for this planet, and how the flame that started here, flickered deep within me when my life took its darkest turns... How Camp Jack Hazard is more then a place... More then a time... More then a story. Camp Jack Hazard is a shared experience. A life altering trek to self awareness, strength and pride.

I love you guys, and I thank you all for your hard work, dedication, devotion, inspiration, limitless, and timeless love. Every generation, every person leaving their foot print on my life, and within my heart. I am blessed to have experienced it with you.

Thank You,

Desiree Marie Sylvia

The Blessing of Angels...

I have always wondered about Angels... I think most of us have.

There are those that believe in guardian angels who watch over us and protect us from stepping from the curb when a distracted car is carelessly zooming by our location at break neck speeds totally oblivious that we are there. Some think of spirits, such as of old family members who speak to us via a medium like Silvia Brown, or John Edwards who are in limbo, or in paradise, but need our help to cross over because of some unfinished business here in this world. Some believe in something darker like in the movies "The 6th sense." or Beetlejuice. Where there is an evil or scary feel to the haunting of a house or possession of a human host. There are as many sides to the equation as there are grains of sand within this desert.

I for one have always entertained the thought of angels... beautiful, protective, light, and loving.

I remember in the mists of my mind, of years long gone, as a child... wishing, praying, or simply day dreaming about angels. They were beautiful in my mind, cloaked in brilliant white rays of cleansing light, with fantastically airy fabrics of billowing white. Men and Women, alike, so beautiful and fair, of all colors and skin tones, all shades of hair and eyes. They would be surrounded by clouds so soft and welcoming I thought I could reach into a foggy night and almost touch one. A place of warmth, peace, and tranquillity. The perceptions held by that little girl no doubt delivered by countless hours in Catholic Mass, or CCD classes. Possibly from a bedtime story book, or an after school special movie long forgotten. Where ever the image came from, I , as an adult, in all my dreaming have held it close to my heart, even as a painting could never begin to capture its fullness of essence for me. A richness, a fullness of embodiment... my vision of what an angel might, could, or should possibly be.

I think I knew it, until I knew, what I knew, was wrong. OK, maybe not all wrong, but definitely not all right.

As an adult, I found angels, real angels. Lots of them. Disguised in plain clothing, hidden in familiar faces all around me. From the beginning of Dustin's tragedy to now, I have been very reflective on the people I have been blessed to know.

Some are angels for the moment or the minute...like the nurse who shows up just when you need her to, to tell you her story and give you the faith to carry on. How when she was 6 years old, just as old as my son, she too had 2nd degree burns down her arm, and how it healed in 2 weeks. And how she can barely see the scars today. An Angel with a gift...A simple story, a moment of time, a gallon of hope.

Some angels come for the day... like the paramedics, the firemen, the sheriffs, or even the neighbor that showed up with dinner that fateful day when the world stopped spinning if only for a moment. Angels that show up unexpectedly at the most critical moments of our need, ...there solely for us. They came and took the reigns when I no longer could. When parenting is not enough. And as quick as they came, they were gone... but what they brought to my house, to my son, to myself... These angels in the blink of an eye, brought needed strength in our time of weakness.

Some Angels come for the month... like the wonderful burn nurse, Mrs. Frances Williams, who neither talks down to us, nor pities us on our journey to recovery. How she encourages us, and praises us, when she knows how hard it is to have to hurt your child to clean a wound, for their own good. How she takes the time to give step by step instructions, and is equally gentle with Dustin's physical state as she is with our emotional states. She is an angel and we were put in the right place at the right time to have the blessing of her healing hands, and healing heart. An angel who dresses in smocks, and simply heals.

Some angels are here for a lifetime... like the beloved Aunt who shows up at the door to stay for the week because she could hear in my voice, over a telephone line, that I, while strong for everyone else, was truly weak and falling apart. A woman who saw a need, and dropped everything to address it. No money, no thanks needed. Just to be there. To help with laundry, meals, children, and dishes. Her life is crazy, her commitments are many, her need is great at home... and yet she is here with me. She shoulders my load, bares my burdens. My angel of sanity she brings on her wings a gift for me... a gift of much needed rest.

Some Angels are here for however long they are needed with no set times or limitations... like this amazing guy from work. Carl Baccus. A guy who just shows up, who is not smothering or imposing. He just is...there. There at the hospital when I had no idea how I was going to get home. Just there to call and vent to... just there to pop in to check on us. Just there to come by and say hello, if by telephone, instant message, or in person he just is there. A shoulder to lean on, an arm to hold you up. A badly needed pair of arms to just hug me. A battery of strength in which to glean from when I am running on beyond empty. He is my angel and his gift to me is a friendship, a gift of diversion, a gift of peace.

There are angels that surround us so numerous and vast that the sea of faces turns into a blur of lines and colors. And yet there are still more. Those angels that stand quietly, motionlessly, in the backgrounds of ones life. The ones that get little to no credit for the roles that they play. The ones that are faceless, and often nameless. Angels who donate their money, when they so do not need to, but just did unknowing that my need was great. How at the perfect time an angels card with $20 allows me to pay the co-pay I did not know how I was going to swing, to get Dusty to the burn center that week. Or co workers that collected money and gave it to me literally moments before already paid co pays from the ER were about to bounce in my account. One handed me the money and told me not to cry... I did anyway. How groceries were taken care those few days remaining before payday. How dressings, tapes, over the counter pain meds, and special burn creams were funded by the gifts of faceless angels. The weight it lifted from my shoulders. The blessings of scores of angels. They gave me money, but what it brought was more then what money can pay for. It was the gift of caring, support, and family...that I did not realize I had.

And so many more still. The angel who in the mist of this medical drama found out my washing machine broke, and who knew I had no vehicle to transport it to get it fixed... and came to dropped it off for me. The angels who offered up their washing machine so that Dustin could have fresh linens for his dressing changes. The angels who shared their burn stories with me to better allow me to cope and assist my son. The angels who called just to hear the tale and know that we were OK for themselves. The angels who sent Dustin care packages with things to do on his tummy while he recovered. The angels who cleaned their rooms and did their chores without being asked because they could see I was over my limit. The angels that I called, and who's heart broke along side mine... with me.

I have seen angels, I have know angels, I am surrounded by them every moment of my days. I thank my Lord for sending them, each one of them to me. For lifting me up, for carrying this family, for blessing my son. For the prayers, the support, the hope, the strength, the healing, the caring, the strength, the peace, the friendships, the diversions, for all the moments of knowing how truly loved and blessed we are. As well as for all the wonderful good things that have come from this is.

For all of our many angels... All I can say is... with the most sincere of heart... Thank You.