Our camp’s lake had a life of its own. In the morning during our instructional swim it was always freezing. In the afternoon, during our free swim it was cool and refreshing. And late at night on those rare times when we’d have a night swim it always felt warm; a lot warmer than the night air outside. We’d take boats out on that lake and go fishing during our elective period. On a windy day everyone would fight over the sail boats, on sunny lazy days we’d take out the paddle boats. Campers would team up for a canoe, a boy might ask out a girl for a romantic ride in a row boat. Often, we’d sign up for a swim across the lake to Camel Rock. It was a mile swim and those lucky few who made it felt like they really accomplished something.

Some of the best adventures came during our waterskiing and jet skiing sessions. We waited for those for weeks. In my book “Summer Sleep-Away” the campers trade waterskiing turns with the same enthusiasm that’s usually reserved for trading baseball cards. In “That Same Summer“, the sequel to “Summer Sleep-Away”, the campers are terrorized by a bunch of bullies in a speedboat. No matter what camp someone attended and regardless of where it is, there’s almost always a lake. And the lake is the heart of the camp. It pumps life into it and supplies endless adventures for its campers. And on that last night of camp when all the campers are gathered around the waterfront, the lake takes in all their floating candles and all their silent wishes and holds them in some secret hidden place until the following summer.