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.
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
Excellent blog and very helpful information.
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