REUNION LOG

Friday, October 8, 2004

Chippewa Trail Camp for Girls

The Finest Camp in Michigan

Reunion Log Editor-In-Chief

Sara Snyder

1971-77 Camper

1981-83 Staff

Opening Poem:

From Alice in Wonderland

By Lewis Carroll

A boat beneath a sunny sky

Lingering onward dreamily

In an evening of July

Children three that nestle near

Eager eye and willing ear

Pleased a simple tale to hear

Long has paled that sunny sky

Echoes fade and memories die

Autumn frosts have slain July

…In a wonderland they lie

Dreaming as the days go by

Dreaming as the summers die

Ever drifting down the stream

Lingering in the golden gleam

Life, what is it but a dream?

Introduce Guest Editors:

Editor 2:

Hey Mr. Frog

By Wumpus (Cindy Deskins Brickley)

Hey, Mr. Frog
Where are you going?
Into Chips Circle?
I wouldn't do that!
The children, they'll scare you
They'll chase you, they'll grab you
They'll stomp you flat!

Editor 3:

What's a Tree

by The Astronomer (Heidi Bleeker Herman)

A tree to me is a thing of beauty.

The trunk is for strength,

the limbs are for balance,

the leaves portray beauty,

and the roots, although hidden

are the most beautiful of all,

for they nourish the tree,

and keep it alive, forever.

Editor 4:

Inspiration by Firefly (Lisa Schwartz Diamond)

I often come here to watch the sun rise,

It beckons me to open my eyes,

It shines upon all who come to this place.

To watch it come up and watch it erase.

I often come to this place so free,

To watch every single little tree,

Swing into the sunset and fade away,

This is the place I yearn to stay.

Because of Chippewa

By A Grateful Camper

Editor 1:

Because of Chippewa,

I cringe when someone drags a canoe across the ground;

Every fire I start is a one-match fire;

I sing with gusto even though I can neither carry a tune nor read music; and

I believe that giving in secret is twice blessed.

Because of Chippewa,

I call home every Sunday;

I sit beside the campfire long after everyone else has left;

I take a soap dip instead of a shower whenever I can; and

I know that practice may not make perfect, but that it

sure makes you feel a whole lot better about yourself.

Editor 2:

Because of Chippewa,

I applaud great plays by both teams;

I go skinny dipping to experience the purest form of freedom;

I drink juices other than apple juice; and

I give a “thumbs up” or a pat on the back instead of signing a “certificate of

completion.”

Because of Chippewa,

I can swim the inverted breast stroke;

I can shoot an arrow;

I can hit a backhand; and

I am not afraid to try new things.

Editor 3:

Because of Chippewa,

I pay the toll for the car behind me;

I eagerly anticipate checking my mailbox for a personal letter every day;

I wait till everyone at the table is done eating before I clear it or leave it; and

I know that the pride that comes with getting to “turn out the lights” is far

surpassed by the motivation to act kindly again.

Because of Chippewa,

I would rather hike in the woods than shop in the mall;

I would rather read in bed than watch TV;

I would rather sleep in a tent than in a Motel Six; and

I know I have options.

Editor 4:

Because of Chippewa, I remember fondly

riding in the back of an open truck with a sign on the side that said, “Chippewa

Trail Home for Unwed Mothers”;

eating raw chocolate chip cookie dough from a pillow case after the brave ones in

my cabin raided the kitchen;

lining up for a formal picture in our “whites”, but having much more fun hanging

bras from the tent flap for the informal picture; and

being so proud to be in Tonda.

Because of Chippewa,

I have “shown” a horse;

I have danced an authentic Indian dance;

I have given a Christmas gift in July; and

I revel in traditions.

Editor 1:

Because of Chippewa,

I run into the arms of a friend I haven’t seen in a whole year;

Editor 2:

I choose bran muffins over other varieties every time I have the choice;

Editor 3:

Singing “Taps” calms me;

Editor 4:

And, I can express myself in writing because I once had the freedom to try it

anonymously.

PRINDERELLA AND THE CINCE

Tonce upon a wime in a kisstant dingdom, there lived a pee-utiful brincess named Prinderella. Prinderella’s dada and mammy had been dead a long time, and she lived with her stickid wepmother and her two sisty step uglers. Poor Prinderella was a plave in her own salace, and she was very unhappy because they made her wean the clindows, flub the scroors, and pine the shots and shans. She did all the wirty dirk, and still – those two sisty step uglers fade mun of Prinderella.

Well one day the pring issued a koclamation that all gelligible irls were invited to attend a drancy bess fall to meet his son, the prandsome hince. Now this made the sisty uglers and the micked wepstother very happy; but, alas, poor Prinderella couldn't go to the drancy bess fall because all she had was a rirty dag. She had to stay home and dress the presses and homb the cair of those two sisty step uglers. After everyone had gone, she fat by the sire and she cried and she cried. Now wasn't that a shirty dame?

All of a sudden, her mairy fodgother appeared and said, "Why, Prinderella, are you crying because you’re not doing to the gance??” "Mes Yam” cried Prinderella. "I can't go to the drancy bess fall because all I have is a rirty dag." "WELL! Prinderella” said the mairy fodgother, “My no crore – you SHALL boe to the gall!" And in the eyeling of a twink she changed a cumpkin into a parriage, and a rirty dag into a drancy fess. There stood Prinderella, all covered with pubies and rearls.

Off Prinderella went to the ball with one warning from her mairy fodgother: she must be home by the moke of stridnight. Well, all night, Prinderella danced and danced with the prandsome hince, but all of a suddon, the mock clucked stridnight!! She raced down the stalace peps and on the stottom bep she slopped her dripper! Wasn't that a shirty dame?

Well, to make a stong shory lort, when that prandsome hince got to that stottom bep, he found that slopped dripper, and he looked lie and hoe for the princess whose woot fould sit that flipper. Well those two sisty step uglers, they tried and they tried but their fig beet just find’t dit. Then Prinderella tried, and her finy toot FID dit!

So, Prinderella and the prandsome hince were married that very dame say, and they lived afterly ever happyward. But, alas, the sisty step uglers and the micked wepstother were left alone to hean the clouse all by themselves. And they learned: that the eek shall inherit the mirth!

I've a Gouse and Harden in the country
An ace I call my plown,
A treat I can replace to
When I beed to knee alone
Catterfly and butterpillar
Perch on beefy lough
And I listen to the dats and cogs
As they mark and they biaow
Yes wature here is nunderful
There is no weed for nords
While sitting by my windowflutter
Biny little tirds

Memories

Who knew in 1963

How much this camp would mean to me?

I didn't want to go - for sure

Four whole weeks - could I endure?

New faces, a cabin - and what? I'm a Chip?

That water is MUCH too cold for a dip!

Ride a horse? Shoot a bow?

Learn to dance for some show?

What was I to do for 4 weeks?

Do I have to listen to Shorty when she speaks?

I can't make a tray, and a purse is too dumb

And making a lanyard makes my fingers numb!

A peanut, a shell, a secret to tell

An indian, a bat, and songs learned like that

A sunset, a campfire,a bedmate who snores

A counselor who loves me - can I stay 4 more?

I stayed for 8 weeks and loved every minute

Especially if something FUN was in it.

Mackinac Island, Gwen Frostics, the Bridge

Did I love it here? Well - maybe a "smidge"

A Chip, a camper, a teacher and more

A lover of all CTC had in store

Each time I came north and drew ever near it

The beauty of camp stirred deep in my spirit

Heaven on earth is what I believe

God's special place that we hated to leave

We learned and we loved and we grew to be strong

And we knew we'd come back - it wouldn't be long.

Amazing that so many years have gone by

Some memories make me laugh - some make me cry

The songs, the friendships, the high standards set

This camp will go on forever - and yet -

Where it lives is deep in our heart

And from that special place - it will never depart.

Thank you, Shorty, for the vision you shared

There's nothing to which it can be compared.

I love you!

Barb Boyd

10/8-10/10/04

Editor 1:

Among the Pines by Anonymous

Sun warms waters cold

Night fire song,sacred ground - gone

Joy that was remains

Editor 2:

"A Trip to the John" by Dudley

A trip to the john is such a fright

Especially in the dead of night.

Before I climb out of my cozy bed,

I lay there hoping it's all in my head.

Then when I find I really have to go,

I throw back the covers and stick out my toe.

Then follows my foot, my leg, my knee.

"Oh, I must get my flashlight, I just can't see."

Finally, when down upon the firm floor,

I slowly, cautiously, head for the door.

This obstacle gives a very loud squeak,

And all around at my cabinmates I do peek.

All are quiet so on I trudge,

Only to run into something that just won't budge.

My flashlight shows its only a tree,

And not another john-goer as thinked me.

Suddenly out of the deep, dark night,

I see the bright, beckoning john light.

I breathe a sigh of relief, but oh I am not in there yet!

There's moths on the door, and you know who hates them, I'll bet.

I stand there simply quaking with fright,

Shaking more and more with each sight (of it).

I charge in the door when I can no longer wait,

And, after all this, you know what??? I'm too late!

Editor 3:

"To An Old Camper" by Mary S. Edgar

You may think, my dear, when you grow quite old

You have left camp days behind,

But I know the scent of wood smoke

Will always call to mind

Little fires at twilight

And trails you used to find.

You may think some day you have quite grown up,

And feel so worldly wise,

But suddenly from out of the past

A vision will arise,

Of merry folk with brown, bare knees

And laughter in their eyes.

You may live in a house built to your taste

In the nicest part of town

But some day for your old camp togs

You'd change your latest gown

And trade it for a balsam bed

Where the stars all night look down.

You may find yourself grown wealthy,--

Have all that gold can buy,

But you'd toss aside a fortune

For days 'neath an open sky,

With sunlight on blue water

And white clouds sailing high.

For once you have been a camper

Then something has come to stay

Deep in your heart forever

Which nothing can take away,

And heaven can only be heaven

With a camp in which to play.

Editor 4:

When I Tell My Daughter About Camp

By Cynthia Greene

When I tell my daughter about camp

I tell her about the trail ride where I rode the small horse

Who had to run to keep up

And how free it felt to ride like the wind

I tell her about the clomp-clomp-clomping

Of a hundred girls climbing the wooden steps of the lodge.

I tell her about the sound of the creaking tree house door

And how much I miss hearing Shorty say ‘It’s a Million Dollar Morning.’

When I tell my daughter about camp

I tell her how I watched an arrow fly towards the huge hay bail target

And the swell of pride I felt when it hit the yellow bullseye

I tell her about Indian Council

And how at 12 years old I was the youngest ever in the Hunter’s Dance

And that I was Medicine Man the year it was rained out,

At once my greatest triumph and saddest moment

When I tell my daughter about camp

I tell her that her aunties, Holly Loughlin, Mary Strubbe and Sara Snyder

Love her as much as the rest of her family

Because at Chippewa, we all became a family.

Make the new out of the old

By Gwen Dietrich

Studying hypnotherapy,
doing regression after regression,
delving my past to heal my future
and learn to help others do the same,
I find myself wondering
why all the excitement about this camp reunion?
Why revisit the past,
the person I was,
the kids we were
now that the place is greatly changed,
now that we don’t look good in white shorts
now that time, ideology,
life experiences, economics,
spiritual differences
have scattered us to the four corners?
Why dwell
on an innocent,
idyllic
(or perhaps
torturous,
pimply,
awkward)
past?

Well.
Because there is
so much good in there
and I am going
back in time
to retrieve it.
To pull it deep into myself
that it may branch out
and bloom again.
To do that at the same time
as scores of other people
– standing on a piece of earth
that may be
the one thing we all have
in common.
To make the new
out of the old.

The First Year at Chippewa

Editor 1:

This next piece was written by two campers who unfortunately couldn’t be with us tonight, but they wanted to share their special memories of that very first summer at Chippewa Trail. We thank Alathena Field Laymon and Jane Whiting Domke for giving us this glimpse into The First Year at Chippewa:

We had met T Morgan in the early 1920s when we attended another camp where she was a counselor. When she opened Chippewa in 1927, we were on the first train to Alden and then on to the beautiful property on the shores of Elk Lake. There were just three cabins at Chippewa that first summer with only 5 or 6 girls in each cabin. We used latrines, bathed in the lake and walked unpaved roads.

Editor 2:

The day always began with reveille and a flag raising. Camp food was prepared by cooks, and the girls ate family style at long tables in the main dining room with campers acting as servers. Activities included archery, canoeing, arts and crafts, baseball, campcraft and horseback riding. We also played tennis on a clay court that had to be rolled daily.

And, of course, swimming played a huge role for everyone at camp. Just as in later years, the summer began with a swimming test. But let us tell you – the test was never easy because we were weighted down with wool bathing suits.

Editor 3:

Trips out of camp were a big part of the early Chippewa experience. On one hike from Elk Rapids to the beach at Lake Michigan, the girls walked faster than their counselors had expected and reached their destination in only one day.

Canoe trips were popular back then as well, with girls traveling the chain of lakes from Elk Lake, Round Lake, Torch River, Torch Lake and others and finally into Lake Bellair. We weathered sudden storms by sleeping with the mosquitoes under our canoes and one time found shelter in a farmer’s hayloft.

Editor 4:

The orange and green teams came into existence that first year as well. And at the awards banquet, the overall winner was…THE GREEN TEAM! And just as in the later years, our evenings were spent around the campfire and always…there was singing!

In fact, you can sum up that first summer at Chippewa with the words to an old camp song:

Three cheers for Chippewa

We all love Chippewa,

When we go, how we’ll sigh.

Gosh, we’ll hate to say goodbye,

To dear old Chippewa.

The Aging Tondites

‘Reunion Log Song’

(to the tune of “Daisy, Daisy/Bicycle built for two”)

By Carrie Bowen

and Heidi Bleeker 10/8/2004

Riding, swimming

Archery, crafts and food

We love log night

And we love campfire too

We never made honor cabin

Cuz we were too busy blabbin’

About the trips

Without the chips

And swimmin’ at night in the nude

Orange team, purple team

Green team was really the best

We love singing

And hated the swimming test

Dutch oven was so delicious

And bug juice was very nutritious

We learned to stomp hop

The drum wouldn’t stop

The spirits they were impressed

Chippewa Chippewa

We love our camp so true

We love Shorty

And we love Susan too

We had so much fun and good times

Playing among the tall pines

And we were sad

It was oh so bad

When the camp had to close, boo hoo!

Older, wiser

That’s what we have become

We have memories

Others are clearer than some

The lessons we learned at Chippewa

Have guided our lives to this day

And it was neat

That we could meet

And to come back together as one!

Our Friend Shorty had a Camp

By the Late 50s Nifty Staff!

(to the tune of Old MacDonald Had a Farm)

Our friend Shorty had a camp wa ta ho ta ho

Chippewa Camp we all do know wa ta ho ta ho

With a Moose Moose here and a Chop Chop there

Here a Moose, there a chop, everywhere a

Moose and Chop

Our friend Shorty had a camp..wa ta ho ta ho.

Now in the camp was Jacque Keen wa ta ho ta ho

There was Bobbie also seen wa ta ho ta ho

With a Jacque here and a Bobbie there

Lots of horses everywhere

Our friend Shorty had a camp wa ta ho ta ho

From Chips Camp, Mrs D,C,N & K, wa ta ho ta ho

Helen, Ann, Barb are on the way wa ta ho ta ho

With a chip chip here and a chip chip there

Little chips everywhere

Our friend Shorty had a camp wa ta ho ta ho.

Those that like to swim and sail wa ta ho ta ho

Barbara's Beach Days never fail wa ta ho ta ho

With a splash splash here and a splash splash there..Here a splash, there a splash, everywhere a splash splash

Our friend Shorty had a camp. Wa ta ho ta ho

Barb & Marilynne brought their horse wa ta ho ta ho..Sometimes guinea pigs of course wa ta ho ta ho...
With Lummee Logs here Lummee Logs there Lummee Logs are everywhere

Our friend Shorty had a camp wa ta ho ta ho

Ranny Janny and sister Judy Wa ta ho ta ho

Then came Lynn and sister Susie wa ta ho ta ho

Pat Rion here, Mimi there, Kim is just everywhere

Our friend Shorty had a camp....................

Waaaaaaaa Taaaaaaa Hooooooooooo Taaaaa Hooooooooo

Song followed by presentation of

How ‘Moose’ got her name and the Moose items she’s collected through the years.

Fragments of Meaningful memories:

By Jody Oberfelder

On a canoe trip on the Manistee

I must have been 9 or 10

I’m in the bow and Smokey is in the stern

All of a sudden I hear “Oh Shit”

I turn around and see she’s gotten her period

I pretend I’m too young to know anything, but I’m embarrassed for her anyway.

“Pass me the first aid kit”

She ruffles through it “Oh Shit. Oh Shit.”

By this time her beige one-piece bathing suit has a big read soaked spot

Between her legs.

Turning out the lights

Not being able to reach them

Learning the Hoop dance

Sneaking out of Rest Hour

Lynn Towsley teaches Lisa Schwartz and I

The most difficult dance

Coordination-wise, and keeping the spirit.

Little did I know that I would end up

A dancer in New York

Professionally pursuing that transmission and expression

Of energy through human form.

The spirit of Indian Council is in my blood

Another Indian Council memory”

Being Medicine man, bearskin on my back.

I go out into the council ring all serious

Look down---I forgot my flaps.

There I was in my white Carter underwear.

And I loved BAD BOY

My rebellious nature had a voice

Spit/strike/ 4 x

I was in Navaqua

Got my first new jackknife

Ran my finger across the blade to see if it was sharp.

Ms/ D was so mad at me.

Besides being humiliated.

I thought I was psychic

I had a knack

For telling, when new campers arrived

Whether they would be on the Orange team or the Green Team.

I was usually right!

I remember running for mail

Enjoying singing at the round tables

Up to a point and then

It was time for mail.

Looking out the window with anticipation.

Running to the mailbox

Nancy Shapiro had to send home all her grape purple bubble gum and candy from her care package. Muttering under her breath…

Almost drowned

We had to pick a ‘situation’ out of a hat for our senior lifesaving test.

I got “panicked victim’

I don’t know who that LARGE councilor was, but I swear she tried to drown me.

Every time I got her in a head carry she would struggle away and dunk me.

I passed, but almost drowned.

Revelry

Taps

Watahotoho

And the Returning Indian on the rooftop

Scaring the hell out of me.

I will love and keep CTC in my heart.

Shorty’s Top 10

Edward “Mr. Ed” Kruska

Read by Doug Clark (Mr. Trips 83-84)

Shoot Man…That’s UNREAL!

Super Duper!

My dear, I thought about it, and I JUST CAN-NOT do it!

(I recall Shorty saying this quite a few times – usually after I had come up with another hair-brained goofy idea. But actually, she took me up on quite a few of my ideas. And please, don’t be misled by this quote – if anyone was a doer, Shorty certainly was…in fact, I think she put the “can” in Ameri-can.)

God Love Ya!

(Usually said when you had done something unusual or performed a “random act of kindness”)

5. Miss Morgan was 49 years old when she started Chippewa Trail Camp…Finest Camp in Michigan!

(The fact that CTC Founder Miss Morgan was 49 and just starting a camp gives me great hope since I just turned 46. Yes, I’ve learned life truly does begin at 40 after all. This should inspire us all!).

The Lord has spoken, now everyone get back to work!

(Shorty said this to some members of her staff one morning after they got in a discussion about various religious denominations in the staff office).

7. Mr. Eddie, all right, good to see you!

(Shorty was ALWAYS perky in the morning and happy to see EVERYONE…notice, all the men in camp were referred to as “Mister.” Respect was a core value at CTC.)

You did a bee-you-tee-ful job!

“That (fill in the name) is a REAL go-getter” and/or “That (fill in the name) is Solid Gold!”

You’ve got to learn to be a slow-burning log.

(The slow-burning log line was usually said early in the camp session, which lasted about a month, so that the kids would conserve their energy.).

Has anyone heard from….Billy?

Billy The Brown Bat

Dear Campers,

Greetings from the Bell Tower! Yes, it’s me, Billy the Brown Bat. I’m still in residence and keeping a watchful eye on the goings on at Chippewa Trail Camp for Girls, the Finest Camp in Michigan.

I must say it’s been a tad quiet since the last campers drove out of the gates in 1984. While I can certainly understand Shorty and Susan’s desire to enjoy a life apart from camp, I still miss you campers and your wacky exploits. It seems like just yesterday I would cull through a week of embarrassing moments and put them all down in a letter to be read each Friday night at Log.

I’m sure I put many of you on the spot over the years – telling tales of the short-sheeted beds, the inside-out bathing suits, the sprint to the outhouse in nothing but your skivvies. The bug-juice squirting out your nose, the candy bars you weren’t supposed to have, the spit-pit wars that turned ugly, the bellyflops you didn’t think I saw, the kitchen raids you didn’t think I knew about.

Which isn’t to say that it’s been entirely dull around here. The shores of Elk Lake have been touched by corporate scandal. It seems the man who bought the property from Shorty was the president of Exide Battery. Charming fellow. He LOVED camp and vowed to keep the spirit of CTC in tact. Unfortunately, this former Boy Scout concocted an ill-conceived plan to sell defective car batteries to a little retail outfit called Sears. Alas, he had to pack his trunk and send his duffle bag along … to a minimum-security prison.

The current property owners seem like a swell bunch. They kept Shorty and Susan’s old house, my bell tower condo is in great shape, the tennis courts are in working order, and as you can see, the Lodge has been turned into a lovely home. It just seems fitting that people can still ‘face the lake’ from the deck of our beloved lodge.

But there have been some changes on the property. How many of you remember the old red barn behind the tennis backboard? How many of you remember when it was built? How many of you think construction standards in the 1970s were kinda crummy? You see, the old red barn fell over, collapsed in a heap in a strong wind. As they say in the building biz…oops.

Elsewhere, without little girls making piles and piles of pancakes, Dutch Oven has turned into piles and piles of rubble. And did you guys see that big boulder in the middle of what used to be Senior Circle? Did we have an ice age and I missed it?

Wakiconza is still back in the creepy part of the woods and still looks like something out of the Blair Witch Project. The campfire pit at the end of the path is long gone and it appears that the chapel and dance stage have been reclaimed by the forest.

I know a few former Directors of Waterfront –and you know who you are - must be mighty jealous of the huge house that now sits where your little shack used to be. No doubt Shorty WOULD have built you a similar abode, but my understanding is that she wanted a director of waterfront who actually came out TO the waterfront instead of staying inside watching satellite tv.

Unfortunately, my friends, the Indian Council ring is no more. But a few teepee sticks and a totem pole remain on the original site. Hopefully, you’ll break out the old drum this weekend and shake your groove thing with a toe-heel and a stomp-hop. And all you 12-steppers, remember this: forward back back forward forward back forward back forward forward back together.

Over the years I’ve watched as many of you have come back to visit camp. You’ve laughed. You’ve cried. You’ve bored your friends and family to tears with stories that begin: “And here’s where I learned to tie a lanyard!” God love ‘ya, but you never notice as your family’s eyes glaze over, as they quietly wait for you in the car, as they beg you not to break into another round of ‘We are the girls of Chippewa Chorus.’

Well campers, this is the weekend you’ve been waiting for! Here, surrounded by your fellow CTC alums, you can indulge in all the ‘remember when’ stories you want. Dance those dances! Tie those lanyards and wash that trainwreck down with as much bug-juice as you can stand! And sing those songs at the top of your lungs.

And speaking of singing, I have it on good authority that Shorty has been practicing just for this weekend. As many of you know she was hospitalized last spring and she showed those doctors a thing or two about a picture-perfect recovery. She had to spend some time in a rehab center where they discovered that beautiful voice that we all know and love. They quickly put her to work, singing each morning for the patients and staff. She said that she’s all warmed up, so don’t let her down!

Chippewa Trail Camp is alive again. Thanks for coming back and I hope you have a great time. And remember, if you end up doing something embarrassing this weekend…I’ll know about it. And I have Internet access!

Your friend,

Billy the Brown Bat

Now Ends a Happy Day

Now ends a happy day

Well spent in work and play

Now comes the time to say

Good night, dear Chippewa

Candles and sunsets glow

Campfires are burning low

Homeward we all must go

Good night, dear Chippewa