Honeyrock Camp Narrative

“Goal!” My heart sank as I took account of what had just occurred. I took a deep breath and lifted myself out of the warm lake water and onto the steel dock, bracing myself for the inevitable. “One, two, three!” A giant cracking sound blitzed my ears and before I could flinch, watermelon juice and chunks of the grainy fruit splattered onto my head. My campers cackled as I suffered the punishment of losing the camp-wide “Greasy Watermelon Soccer” tournament. Every session, the winning team of campers got to dump the contents of the jostled up fruit upon the counselor of the losing team, and it was my turn to be the victim. As a counselor at HoneyRock Camp, I relished silly moments like these. I had acquainted myself with songs about dancing mangoes, taken canoes of campers to spot the northern lights, and spent countless hours in the nurse’s office caring for open wounds. I started a wetwood fire, found true north without a compass, and perfected the art
Cuddled up around the heat of the fire, we chuckled while sharing stories about unruly campers. As we chatted over s’mores and hot cocoa, I recounted my experiences. Looking back upon my periods of apprehension, I realized that my worries were small. Through the madness, I found that the community I was immersed in taught me more about myself than I could have ever imagined. I learned that through my own resilience I can conquer any task, handling struggles with grace and resolve. I realized that I was my best self when I was surrounded with supportive people. I came home from HoneyRock with a Chaco tan and lots of bug bites, but more importantly with memorable adventures and valuable lessons. Glancing around the circle of firelit faces, I was assured that this had indeed been the summer of a