Camp Robin Hood

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Water Pumps, Saxons and Tubing

They say you can survive without food, but not without water. We have now survived just about 18 hours without water at our lake house and all is well (or is it water well). The water for the lake house is pumped from a well and the motorized pumping sound is sort of like an air conditioner hum – you know it’s working well – until it’s not. Around midnight Monday, the pump kept cycling through with the “contractions” getting closer and closer until I knew something was wrong. You see, at that hour, no one was using water, so WHY would the water pump be operating? Turns out there was a crack in the housing and water sprayed all over the basement creating a 1/4 inch deep pond. Our attentive house owner was contacted and he arrived around breakfast time to begin cleanup and let us know the plumber was on the way.

The day was not lost. Even without a shower (we showered before the pump had broken), we managed to brush our teeth with bottled water, ate breakfast at a nearby diner, then packed up the boat for Doug’s treat for the Camp Robin Hood Saxons- a jaunt in the boat and tubing. I had decided to treat the Saxons to pizza so the day became a lunch-time, afternoon event.

The Saxons at the Friedman's camp on Lake Ossipee

After picking up $125 worth of pizza, I drove to the home of Jack & Jane Friedman and their son, Myles and wife Virginia. Jack is a cousin of my mother-in-law. Jane’s family has owned the Lake Ossipee property for well over a century. I arrived with the pizza just as the Saxons arrived at the dock. They were hungry and grateful and dug right in. I spent nearly two hours talking with the Friedmans about family history and listened to stories from the past.

The weather was hot, with a light breeze. The Saxons swam and tubed for a while, then collapsed in the beach area outside. I ventured back to our cottage to check out water pump progress. The owner was continuing to wet-vac the basement and dry out belongings that were soaked. Rich, the plumber from Federal Piping in Freedom was just about finished by 3:30 p.m. We had water and a new pump once again.

Doug was exhausted from the Saxon jaunt. I prepared a simple grilled chicken and vegetable dinner with a salad. I watched the Phillies get clobbered by the Dodgers (though they tried to claw their way back), and it was lights out by 11 p.m. Another day at the lake with an adventure in water pumps.

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Letters to Camp

It would be GREAT to write about the wonderful, creative and informative letters I’ll be getting from my 16-year-old son who is safely ensconced in the fantasy world I call “summer camp.” After nine years of this summer adventure and countless reminders to him to “please write;” not to mention printing out personalized stationary, address and return labels, providing stamps and just about everything but actually writing a few words on the notecard, I am giving up.

Adam is now away until August 12 in the bucolic place called Camp Robin Hood. It is known as “The Realm” where the 325 or so boys and girls plus dozens of staff experience “the magic in the trees.” We’ve already enjoyed seeing him in several photos during the first days of camp. Adam leaves behind (most of) his electronics; there’s little, if any, texting, no regular TV or recording his “shows,” and most of all, no mom or dad to daily remind him to do things like – clean up his room, brush his teeth, set the table or take out the trash.

He’s 16 and on the brink of being responsible for not only doing his own laundry come September, but getting his driver’s license and being aware of the awesome grown-up task of driving a car and taking care of that vehicle. (Bless us all.)  For now, Adam is a CIT. Throughout his camp experience, his group of boys was almost the largest group in camp totally a little more than 25 boys at one point. Funny that now that the 16-year-olds have to partly

The inaugural splash into Broad Bay off Lake Ossipee.

“work” at camp, the numbers for his group are down to about 13. Granted, some of the boys may have found paying jobs elsewhere or other programs to enrich their lives. Adam won’t make any money this summer – he gets to go to camp for half-price in exchange for CIT work. My hope is that he’ll come back from camp more mature as he usually does and has a few “ah-ha!” moments. Those moments could be that he will or will not apply to be a full-fledged counselor next summer; found something he’s passionate about and will pursue in the coming years or that maybe mom and dad aren’t so nuts when they urge him to take care of his belongings and keep his room straight.

Back to the “letters TO camp.” I sent my first of what will be MANY letters to our son. We have just one child and despite the rough and tumble teenaged years, I realize we will only “have” him for maybe another year-and-a-half or maybe two years. He’ll be 18 soon enough and pushing the envelope of adulthood. Knowing this, I send him a page or two recapping a few days-in-the-life back on the home front. I do wonder if he reads my letters; since I send with them the Sunday comics and comic books and magazines. I even go so far as to punch holes in the letters so he can neatly place the letters in the stationary/letter writing loose-leaf he’s been taking to camp for years. Fat chance, right?

I’m glad I’m continuing to try to reinforce the old-fashioned and valuable skill of letter writing. There’s something about reading about someone’s life and understanding their thoughts that certainly a text or even a phone call can’t express. The generation we’ve seen zip by us has become one of technology verses emotions; Instant gratification versus understanding the value of waiting.

The other thought is, no matter what, I DO miss my son during these seven weeks. I’m a little jealous he gets to enjoy the “magic in the trees” while I plug away at my business as does my husband. But we look forward to hearing from Adam anyway, no matter what the form. He’ll probably write two or maybe three notes to us. The grandparents will get a note from him and he’ll probably call us once or twice.

It’s summer – he’s in a special place he loves and somehow we know he’s appreciating how hard it is to raise children – as he works with other younger boys at camp this summer. Maybe he’ll have to help the younger ones write a letter home!

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Loons, Beavers, Red Squirrels and Nudists (now that I have your attention..)

The magic in the trees of Camp Robin Hood, may never look the same in my mind’s eye after seeing how one group visiting camp spent their leisure time.  More on that later..

Katherine Hepburn stands on the cabin porch “On Golden Pond” crying, “The loons, the loons are welcoming us back” (Or something like that). Once you hear the call of a loon, you have experienced lake-living in New Hampshire. Sometime after five this morning, I heard that solitary call. I heard it just once so far. Loon are solitary birds. Unless they are nesting or training their young, they swim by themselves. Their sleek bodies are longer and flatter than a duck, therefore their bodies are just about below the surface when they swim with their long necks and black beaks showing.  Unlike ducks, they don’t want to come near you for a morsel of food you might toss off the canoe. You just watch; the loons watch you back. Then you move on as do the loon.

Last night after ice cream, Doug heard a rustling in the trees next to our cottage. He also heard something gnawing on the trees. He tried to silently move toward the end of the porch to peer into the black night to see an outline of whatever animal was so close. The noise Doug made bumping a chair spooked the animal which then hustled down the slope and splashed into the dark lake. Doug determined it was a beaver. Across Danforth Bay, there is a small waterway, large enough for a canoe or kayak to maneuver in. Follow that creek and along the way, you’ll see beaver lodges. We’ll make that trip this week.

Right now, I hear a rustling in the trees. A red squirrel with a whNHMonboating_20090817_07ite belly has been very busy this morning. He was chirping and pecking at the trees. Now, he’s chewing something that’s about a third the size of him. It appears he’s chewing the bark off a small limb. OOPS, he dropped it. He’s looking down as if to say, “Aw, crap.” Doug thinks he dropped it intentionally because he’s done with it.NHMonboating_20090817_47

This is boating day on Lake Ossipee. We pick up the 18 foot speed boat at Lakefront Marina this morning. Cousin Barry and Joan from LA joined us for a morning of water skiing (Doug) and tubing (Adam and Andrew) on Lake Ossipee. We decided to pay a visit to Camp Robin Hood and have some lunch. We approached camp’s waterfront on Broad Bay as we have many, many times before. But as we got closer and the people visiting camp for a private event seemed somehow, different. Just as Doug or Barry made note of people in the nude I looked over as a man dove into the lake, au naturale. OK, folks, I’m no prude, but it’s broad (pun intended) daylight. This camp has been in my husband’s family history for decades (1927). The Friedman brothers who founded camp are surely chuckling in their graves today.

Andrew has another "first" experience..tubing

Andrew has another "first" experience..tubing

We got off our boat on the beach at camp and decided to go ahead toward the dining hall for lunch. We wanted to track down some of the camp brass to let them know we were visiting. First, we met a woman who was part of the artistic group that had rented camp for several days. She made a very big deal about US visiting and invited us to join them for lunch. She introduced my husband to the group as a whole, telling them Doug’s grandfather had founded Camp Robin Hood (along with his three brothers). The group applauded. I was mortified. We said hello to the camp owner and a few others we knew, then made our way into the dining hall. The artistic group had a special menu..all vegetarian and vegan. Very interesting, healthy and full of fiber. After a quick walk back to the waterfront, where people were still sunning themselves where the sun don’t shine, we sped away over Broad Bay (really, that’s the name of the bay, not another pun).  I am certain my 15-year-old son and his friend, Andrew will have stories to tell from the open and free way these folks so easily lived for some time. I feel as though I was in a time warp and was in my own little Woodstock. I don’t think I’ll ever see the camp waterfront in quiteNHMonboating_20090817_22 the same way again. By the way, I could have taken photos, but that would have been just wrong.

Our day of the lake was full of splashing, floating, sightseeing and eye-popping spectacles. Another dinner on the grill back at Danforth Bay..amd maybe out for ice cream. It’s oppressively hot, but the sun has set and it will certainly cool off. Sweet dreams from Danforth Bay.