The Arrival: You’re how old and you’re going where? Camp, really?
When people found out that I was going to Squam Art Workshops at RDC in NH on Squam Lake, the reactions I received were quite varied and not always properly censored.
Some creative and artsy friends said, “Oh my gosh, that sounds like sooo much fun!”
Those who had been to RDC before said, “You’ll love it! The lake is beautiful and the cabins are rustic with gorgeous stone fireplaces and big screened-in porches overlooking the water.”
For my non-artsy and non-camping friends, the reply was “Huh, so you’re going to knitting camp, really? Can’t you just knit here?”
My answer to all three was a resounding “I’m taking my Inner Child to camp!”
That’s right. Four days of creative bliss with like-minded people taking classes in quilting, mask making, block printing, knitting, embroidery, woodworking, sewing, yoga, photography, etc. In other words, cool stuff I don’t normally get to do because I feel like I should be cleaning my house and going to work. Eat, sleep, drink, laugh, craft. Come on, don’t you remember how much you loved arts and crafts in kindergarten? It’s cutting, pasting and smiling for everyone. Still not allowed to sniff or eat the glue, though.
Never having been to camp as a child, I didn’t quite know what to expect of the whole campground experience. The message board (yes, there is a message board where people talk about this stuff) was full of veteran campers with advice to bring flashlights, lots of bug spray and to stop at WEBS yarn store en route. Being one to heed advice, I packed 2 flashlights (in case I lost one) and a huge package of batteries for my flashlight and camera and made a stop at the yarn shop. Upon seeing, the all-important, can’t-be-missed back room of WEBS, I asked for smelling salts. Oh, yeah. It’s that good. 
The unassuming blue canopy outside gives no hint of the madness of fiber and colors that explode around every corner inside. It’s a fiber artist’s heaven. I am not going to show you any interior pictures in case you decide to go someday. You might. No, really you might.
Though I didn’t send postcards home, I did send text messages letting my family know I had survived the long drive north with a slight detour for yarn (hee, hee she giggled with
the knowledge that she was now one of the inside crowd having visited WEBS aka Yarn Mecca) and another quick detour to lunch with a wonderful college friend who left me happy and excited as a kid heading out for summer vacation. Upon my arrival at RDC, my first stop was registration at Greenwood Lodge where I received a very cool bag full of goodies.
I hadn’t been there very long and people were already smiling at me
and handing me free stuff.
Giddy with my new loot and handy tote bag to haul it in, I went in search of my cabin, Nirvana and my 13 cabin mates. A nice young camp counselor donned in a blue RDC t-shirt gave me explicit directions which promptly confused me. But, not wanting to appear needy and lost, I determinedly marched ahead with my backpack causing me to lean precariously forward. I clutched my fluffy pink blanket in one hand and a cooler full of Moreland Brewing beer in the other. What? You thought I would really go into the woods without beer? Or my fluffy pink blanket for that matter?
The tree-lined path was rugged, rocky and narrow. I was glad I had my hiking boots on as I wobbled back and forth balancing my load. Little chipmunks zigzagged across my path throwing taunting expressions my way. You know, like those squirrels in the car insurance commercial that high five when the car swerves out of control to avoid them.
AND, I might add, it was 96 degrees in NEW HAMPSHIRE?! Geez, it was still May. Okay, May 31st, but seriously the heat was just wrong. No need to worry though because it cooled to a frigid 40 degrees overnight. No heat, no a/c. Nope none. I’m tough.
Upon reaching my third attempt at finding the right cabin, I yelled up to a small group of women I could barely see on the upper porch overlooking the lake.
“Can you tell me what cabin I’ve reached? “ The reply was clear, concise and said it all.
“You’ve reached Nirvana, baby!”
Indeed, I had.
I miss you!
Back at you babe! The dog vigorously wags her tail when I come home but it isn’t the same as hearing “honey, you’re home!”
I miss the “Honey I’m Home’s” too. I’m so very glad that you made it through the woods with the beer intact.
nothing like a raspberry wheat overlooking the lake