Camp Conclusion

After three years of waiting, two failed applications attempts, one year of employment struggle, a very long plane flight and nine glorious weeks with the most talented American kids and artists I've ever met, my camp experience has officially met its end. And it was all worth it.

On the 20th August, I waved goodbye to my second session campers and began the mass clean up of camp and Bunk 22. It felt like a bitter sweet ending. One half of me was relieved to have my life back and my sense of personal space. The other half ached for the experience that was coming to an end and the fear that I would never see some of my, now closest, friends ever again. But endings are inevitable and I know they will be a huge part of my traveling adventure.

Once we'd cleaned the camp from top to toe, the Appel Farm staff came together for the Staff Banquet on Saturday night to celebrate the nine weeks we'd spent together. We drank, we were merry and we saw the last few hours of each other's company were the best we could make them. My staff superlative (the 'award' you are voted for by the staff) was the person most likely to surprise you with another hidden talent.
I think that summed up my Appel Farm experience. I knew when I started this international adventure that I would be challenged and pushed. I knew camp would change me, but I didn't know that I would come out the other end feeling more like a writer than ever. And not just a writer, but an artist. I have spent nine weeks utterly submersed in the arts - visual, performance and literary. I have rediscovered passions which have long been in hibernation, not to mention igniting new interests. I have dabbled in ceramics and learnt the sheer pleasure of throwing clay on a wheel. I've learnt how to intergrate typography into my creative writing and become addicted to a whole new art form. I was employed by Appel Farm but I got so much more out of camp than just money and the counselling experience.

As the rain poured down on the 22nd August, I could not have dreamed a more dramatic way to say goodbye to my friends and the farm. We stood in the carpack, the rain soaking through out clothes and luggage, tears soaking through our cheeks, utterly unable to say goodbye to each other. It felt like a surgeon was removing something from me I never knew was there until the scalpal was slicing through. As the bus to NYC drove away and I sat cold and wet from the rain and tears, shivering from 'the fear' that I would never see Appel Farm again,  it seemed surreal that this was the end. After everything, after what felt like a lifetime of trying and then nine amazing weeks, a bus driving through the rain was marking the end.

And as I type this from a Starbucks on West End Ave, NYC, my throat closing over at the memories and the friendships which have redefined my sense of self, I can only hope the road that eventually got me to Appel Farm would eventually lead me back.

Ciao for now. xo