There are signs all around camp that summer is coming to an end.
For most of the season, our bunks have been filled with overflowing cubbies, wet bathing suits hanging on the outside hooks, baseball gloves tucked into alcoves, and sneakers scattered across the floor. This afternoon, duffle bags appeared and the packing began. Slowly, the bunks that have been home to your boys for the last six-and-a-half weeks are beginning to look a little different.
But before anyone was ready to think too much about going home, there was still some unfinished business.
Yesterday, our Juniors and Seniors completed their Olympics with the Whacked-Up Relay, and this morning it was Warrior Camp’s turn. Our youngest boys raced across the campus, moving from one event to the next as Green and Grey teammates followed the action and cheered one another on.
Last night, we also gathered as an entire camp for our Closing Council Fire. There is something particularly meaningful about sitting in that ring at the end of a season. The same place where we gathered at the beginning of the summer filled with anticipation and possibility now feels completely different. The boys sitting around that fire are different, too. They’ve spent a summer learning how to live with others. They’ve won and lost, succeeded and struggled. They’ve been pushed outside their comfort zones, formed new friendships, strengthened old ones, and discovered that they’re capable of more than they may have believed when they stepped off those buses in June.
This evening, we came together again for our Final Banquet. Our dining hall was filled with boys who sat surrounded by the friends and counselors who have become their summer family. After dinner, we remained together to watch our end-of-season photo slideshow. For weeks, our photographers have captured thousands of moments: boys flying off the end of a waterski rope, standing proudly beside a woodworking project, covered in green and grey warpaint, embracing a teammate, laughing with bunkmates, climbing mountains, performing on stage, and simply sitting beside a friend. There were cheers when familiar faces appeared on the screen and laughter as boys remembered moments they had almost forgotten. Every photograph seemed to unlock another story.
And then, after dark, we made our way down to the beach. There, along the shores of Long Lake, we watched the burning of the “26.” For six-and-a-half weeks, that number has represented this summer at Camp Takajo. Tonight, surrounded by friends and counselors, our boys watched as it burned against the darkness and reflected across the lake.
Soon, the fields will grow quiet. The boats will be pulled out of the water. The bunks will empty. And the energy that has filled our campus all summer will disappear.
But for now, your boys are still here. They’re still surrounded by their bunkmates. They’re still sleeping beneath the same Maine pines. They’re still part of this remarkable all-boys community that has spent the summer living the values that have defined the full-season summer camp experience at Takajo for generations.
