Fragment of Paradise

For all its dirt logging roads leading deep into forests, its dark swamps and trails snaking under a dense canopy of coniferous foliage, Camp Hidden Valley is a place that truly lives up to its namesake. Had it not been for carved wooden signs and local maps, one would be hard pressed to find the camp. 

Those familiar with my writing will be quick to note that Hidden Valley is a common theme among my work and rightly so; living among its woodlands for nearly two summers has had a profound effect on me. There is something about its very nature that is so vivid to me. I cannot entirely comprehend the reasoning behind the deep feelings I have towards it, though many factors have major influences on why I consider it 'almost home.'

The physical strain is still there - for the past two seasons I've had to hike five miles nearly every Friday - though the hiking and other outdoorsmanship that comes with being a staff member help clear my mind, forcing a sort of forward-thinking. Immersed in the trails, I only think of what lies ahead rather than dwell upon what happened before the summer. 

While the Valley is not bereft of its surprises, I find it far away from the troubles of my regular life. The only noises carried by the wind are those of joy. Laughter and light conversation occasionally broken by distant cheers.
At the height of a week's programs is when everyone gathers at the closing campfire. It is a time when all is quiet in the woods, except for the exciting and humorous skits performed by my fellow staff members. Even then, the shows wind down to the soft singing of the entire camp staff. The way in which we recite old lyrics in symphony drives the feeling of togetherness. 

In a way, music reverberating through a forest at night symbolizes my entire viewpoint of the purpose of the Valley's staff. The whole reason as to why I chose to spend three months camping at some place in New Hampshire.
If we all work together, we can produce amazing, beautiful things for ourselves and others to enjoy.

As I reflect upon these moments, I realize that regardless of the canvas tent in place of a house, the crisp blue uniforms in place of casual attire, Hidden Valley is essentially my home. Even if I am of Vermont origin, I will always consider that reservation deep in eastern New Hampshire to be my own abode. In addition, I would even go as far to say that the men and women I have met there are a sort of seperate family. For all their kindness, devotion, and fellowship, they are as close to me as my own relatives - only seperated by lineage.