The Goodbye Girl

Last year, my summer at Appel Farm passed by so slowly I could count the hours. This year, it was a zip line I flew down in a delirious rush. Nine weeks may as well have been nine days. It felt as if I arrived at camp one day, pale-skinned and buzzing with anticipation, only to leave the next day with a tan and the weary look of an old woman who has been living in a bunk surrounded by 16-year olds for the last nine weeks.

How another summer has so quickly come and gone is beyond me. As I type this from the seat of a plane soaring over the dirty landscape of New Mexico, I feel slightly bemused by the thought that camp is over. Nine weeks of classes and counselling and telling the campers not to squirt ketchup straight into their mouths is over. It feels like it was just a figment of my imagination which, for one beautiful moment, became something tangible. Then it disappeared like all figments do, back into the abyss.  And I carry on forward.

It would be lovely to fool myself into believing I will be back at the farm next year, but I know it wouldn't be true. I have sucked the place dry of everything it had to offer me and I have offered it two very willing summers of my life in return. I've come to realise that I'm ready for new adventures, which means no more escaping back to the USA each June. As I drove away in the rain on Sunday, I turned around and took one last look at the place where this whole rollercoaster first started in 2010. I remember that day now like a bunch of images flashing from an old film roll– catching the yellow school bus from New York, pulling into the Appel Farm parking lot, the first time I stepped into the bunk, the first time I even spoke to the people whose arms I cried into when I left.

Had anyone told me this is how it would all turn out two years after first deciding to apply for a summer camp, I never would have believed them.  That I would have a great time, yes. But that I would be so in love with Elmer, New Jersey that I would return for another year? That I would find a crazy kind of salvation? That having to say goodbye to those friends is like no heartbreak I’ve ever known? I don’t think that hopeful yet naive version of myself would have believed that.

There was much that happened between leaving Appel Farm on Sunday and boarding my plane to San Diego this morning, but the only part of it that I can remember is crying. And when I wasn’t crying, I was blinking back tears through bloodshot eyes and sniffling like a crack addict. The last 24 hours has just been one big blur of ‘lasts’. I looked into my best friends’ faces for the last time and I cried into their collar bones as we held each other for the last time. And in the glow of the Philadelphia lights, I had to ignore the unspoken fear that maybe these are summer flings, just like any other. Maybe our love will suffer in the lonvegity. Maybe we will become lazy with writing emails or making dates to call each other despite the time difference. Maybe the overwhelming sense of friendship which consumes me now will be reduced just to photos and anecdotes shared at the family dinner table. As untrue as I know that will be, the thought of it makes me want to vomit.

But as my eyes well up all over again, I feel no relief in the unsatisfying consolation that my friendships with these beautiful people are not in fact ending. Being best friends but in different countries is not enough. iPhone apps and email and Skype don’t create the same memoires. Seeing someone’s face on a computer screen is not the same as walking to the coffee shop with them. A letter in the mail is not the same as a conversation in person. The friends I left in Australia would vouch for this, which makes me the constant in this equation. I am the foolish masochist who continues to knowingly put oceans between herself and the people she loves.

And I know that I should be grateful that we found each other at all – kindred spirits are not easily stumbled across. But I can’t be a member of the Pollyanna Club on this one. I am handing back my badge and just being plain old down in the dumps.  

Think I’ll go cry some more now.

Ciao for now. xo

To Making It Count

The first two weeks of Second Session have flown by and I am staring down, quite blankly, at the last two weeks of camp. Ever. I know this will be my last summer at the Farm. Maybe not forever, but for now. It is time for new adventures. So as tired as I may feel after seven weeks of camp, I know I have to make this last fortnight count.

Week Seven at camp is often referred to as ‘The Wall’, something the counsellors hit with full force. We get tired, grumpy, burnt out and we start looking towards the end with growing anticipation. That’s easy enough for the counselors to feel after seven weeks of camp life, but compared to us, the Second Session campers just got here and they want and deserve the same memorable month that First Session had when our energy was at its best. Our lack of energy inevitably ruins the Second Session experience.

I hit ‘the wall’, a little prematurely, about a week ago. One too many difficult camper-related situations which required intense communicative problem solving on behalf of my co-counselor and I, left me ready to bow out gracefully.

In an attempt to return, or at least remember, what life is like outside of camp, Caitlin and I spent out day-off last week, walking around the Grounds for Sculpture park in Pennsylvania. It was nice to feel cultural again and to discuss art in a way which two adults could. Rather than asking leading questions and prying the answers out of the campers like you pry flesh from a stubborn oyster. After that we disappeared into the rainy-labyrinth of Philadelphia. We got, what Caitlin refers to as ‘fancy coffee’, ie. a latte, and read The New York Times in a cafe in Bella Vista. We went real-estate snooping for Caitlin’s new apartment. We went to our favourite Mexican restaurant on Morris St and we saw Crazy, Stupid Love at the cinema. After a day of doing what normal people do with their free time, we returned to camp, where I felt like I had finally scaled ‘The Wall’.

The two-week campers of Second Session left on Sunday, leaving a large six-camper hole in my 14-camper bunk. Saying goodbye to them made me feel like a parent sending her children off to college. I had taught and counselled them as best as I knew how in the two weeks they were mine and now I could only hope that I had somehow brought them up right. The first two weeks had held some special memories – the rainforest-themed camp dance, the scavenger hunt where my bunk dressed up as my co’s hairy, English camp boyfriend and all the random, sometimes serious but most ridiculous conversations we had before going to bed.

 And then there were eight. I can finally count them all on one hand. After feeling like I was living in an episode of Big Brother, it’s now strange having so few campers left in the bunk. But I’m looking forward to the next two weeks with the eight girls I have left.

It’s not about counting the days, but about making them count.

Ciao for now. xo

The Kids Are Alright

It's been a week since the kids arrived at camp and this is the first opportunity I've had not only to sit down and blog, but sit down and write my unloved mother an email. I've been a little side-tracked by all things camp.

After spending seven days with the 2011 staff, it can feel like camp is just going to consist of the counselors and no one else. But once the kids arrive, the whole camp suddenly comes alive and it feels like the summer is really in full swing.

The girls in my bunk are an absolute riot and a completely different batch of girls from last year. Most of them are returners and feel more comfortable at camp than they do in their own homes. They like to talk about boys and Justin Bieber and their favourite brands of make-up and they try to unsuccessfully pry details about our personal lives out of us. They've created a completely different bunk vibe from my girls last year, which has helped in distinguishing one summer from another. Sometimes, they're so on the go that just watching them, let alone counseling them, sucks the energy right out of me. But for the most part, I love each of them and  will be very sad when they leave me at the end of the first four-week session.

This week has been all about the bonding. Having campers move into your bunk is like giving birth to a baby. You have to spend as much time as possible with them in those first few days of camp  in order to truly establish a relationship. Because my girls are desperate to know every single thing about me, that hasn't been a problem. We've made music together, talked about boys together, braided each other's hair and talked about the economical benefits of buying cheap nail polish versus the physical benefit of using expensive nail polish when the cheap nail polish cracks your cuticals.

But this first week hasn't just been about the campers. In my downtime, those couple of minutes where I find myself suddenly free, I head straight to the baby-grand and let some of the summer stress loosen on the ivories. I played in the counselor concert and despite having played so many gigs in the last eight months, I felt strangely nervous about being back on the Appel Farm stage, playing my own music. Somehow, that stage represents so much more to me than any other stage I've performed on this year.

After two weeks of being at camp, I finally had the day off today. A few friends (some old, some new) and I went to Philadelphia for the night, a trip which has left me more tired than when I left. But it was nice to be back in the city and feeling like a person with her own life, rather than being immersed in the lives of her campers.

Almost makes me a little homesick for Sydney.

Ciao for now. xo

Return To The Farm

In my wildest dreasms, I never expected to be back at Appel Farm as a member of their staff. I thought I would get tangled in the yards and yards of immigration red tape or I wouldn't have a dollar to my name or someone in Australia would be willing to employ me and I would be on the first flight home. But somehow, the cosmic planets aligned and I find myself right back where I started 12 months ago.

It's strange being back in the place where my elongated journey began. It was the place where I first became a 'traveller', where I remembered what it was like to be a teenager - to be 13 and have Matt Eaton call you 'weird' and know that he was right, where I rediscovered talents I'd left to rust from lack of use. The summer of 2010 set me up for the year that I've had. It prepared me to embrace opportunity and to not cower in the shadows out of fear or the distance from familiarity.

But this is no longer 2010. This is 2011. The staff is not the same staff I shared so many memorable experiences with. The campers will not necessarily be the same campers I taught to write haikus and who told me about their temporary boyfriends. The buildings are the same and the grounds are the same. Everything is exactly the same, but yet completely different.

I knew this feeling would flood me. It was my greatest fear in returning. How could anything possibly trump my 2010 experience? How could anything come close? What if I made the wrong decision? What if the new and returning counselors couldn't meet a middle ground? What if I couldn't find the place where I belonged in this new cohort of counselors? What if everything goes pair-shaped and my perfect 2010 is ruined by a miserable 2011?

As the new counselors clung together and the returners tried to work out where they belonged, I realised we were equally intimidated by each other. We each wanted the same thing - a memorable summer - and it was equally up to us to make that happen.

It doesn't happen overnight, but it does happen. Somehow, during the training and the workshops and the never-ending meetings and the social activities held during Staff Week (okay, and the alcohol-induced karaoke at Steakouts where I unintentionally won myself a position in the Steakouts Karaoke Championship), we came together. We worked out how to free ourselves of our high expectations and we bonded over the most obvious thing - camp.

It's the day before the campers get here and I remember exactly how I felt in 2010 - hungover from the previous nights' staff party, overwhelmed with information, terrified one of the children was going to hot glue their hands to the art table while under my lack of watch and absolutely, positively exploding with excitement. This year, I'm cool, calm and collected. If not still a little hungover.

I guess some things don't change.

Ciao for now. xo

Off With His Head!

There are a few great things about being a counsellor at a performing arts camp.

1. As an artist, you are continually inspired by the young creative minds around you.

2. As an artist, you are continually terrified that when the young creative minds around you become older, they may kick you out of a job.

3. There is a constant supply of arts and crafts to be consumed (a creative station like none other)

4. There are constant opportunities to wield one’s creative abilities with the arts and crafts supplies

5. Everyone flaunts their eccentricity

6. Nothing is done by halves

And when you add all these things together you get Saturday night’s Dinner Dance, themed ‘Fairy Tales’. Not since college (and even then, this barely compares) have I seen such gusto and detail applied to the costuming and decorations behind a party. But what do you expect when you put 50 of the world’s most hopeful artists in one place and ask them to throw a dinner dance no camper will forget.

We had Little Red Riding Hood and her Grandmother Wolf. We had the Gingerbread Man, Peter Pan, Rapunzel and Belle. We had Sleeping Beauty, the Fairy Godmother and enough dancing princesses to probably make up the 12. And then me – the Queen of Hearts – in a costume made courtesy of Appel Farm’s Art Barn.

I’ve got to admit, playing the role of the Queen of Hearts does come with certain perks. There’s really no other character you can play who gives you the opportunity to run around screaming “OFF WITH HIS HEAD” and just genuinely be a lofty, snooty, ‘heart’less bi-atch.

Saturday night’s Dinner Dance was followed by Sunday and Staff B’s last day off of camp. Feeling a little nostalgic, we decided to return to Philadelphia – the scene of our first time off together – where we once again crammed 12 people into our camp director’s studio apartment. After a very comfortable night’s sleep on the wooden floor directly in front of the toilet (which is a great place to park yourself after 12 people have just drunk a few cartons of beer), we enjoyed our last day in Philly by shopping and eating and later slumming it in the car park of Tokyo Mandarin as we stuffed ourselves with Chinese.

On the trip home, it started to occur to me that this was the end. The five people I was squished into a car with and who I had seen every day for the last 8 weeks would soon be going their separate ways, heading off on their grand adventures. Some of them I would see on my own travels, but others, I may never see again. This world I am a part of, this family I am a member in, only exists over the summer and soon the summer will be gone.

Until 2011 that is.

It’s tempting....very tempting.

Ciao for now. xo

Staff Week (in photos)

I was never much of a photo journalist, so if you have high expectations for these photos, you best drop them down a few notches.

Nevertheless, here are some photos from Staff Week at Appel Farm. These photos are from the Staff Concert on Friday and are an example of some of the seriously creative people I am lucky enough to be counseling with.

Ciao for now. xo