I left camp yesterday at noon, blessed on my way by hugs from both campers and counselors, and spent a couple of hours with my daughter before getting in line for the 5:30 ferry.
Once on the boat, I wandered upstairs and found an old friend from Shaw, and we sat in companionable silence, smiling as the ferry passed this sweet little boat on our way out of the harbor.
It was a wonderful week -- I even got to teach one quilting class -- but I am delighted to be home again, to rest and recover from the rigors of camp life and cuisine.
There were lots of opportunities to be challenged and to reflect over the course of the week, but I think the most significant learning (and I know this will probably sound odd) is that I must never have learned to let my feet do the work of walking.
I am a person who watches the stairs she climbs -- and there are lots of stairs and rough paths to be climbed at camp. I kept watching the children run up and down the stairs and paths like nimble mountain goats, and I noticed they never had to look at their feet. So I decided to try to let my feet do the walking for me, practicing on simple and familiar ground, and ... well ... I liked it. My feet liked it too, and never took a false step (perhaps because I was a bit slow at this). So I'm planning to give them some more practice.
It really is wonderful to be taken out of our comfort zones from time to time; to raise the sails of wonder and set out for new horizons -- especially if we pay attention to what challenges confront us and how we are reacting. But it's nice, also, to have a base to return to. Which makes me ache for all the refugees in Africa right now, torn from their homes and bereft of the familiar. Will they ever be able to return?