Excerpts from my journal:
And like that, the storm has passed. The morning is ever clear and gorgeous, yet it is by far the windiest one I have seen on Reservation. The wind - as it is back home in Johnson - drowns out all thoughts and drives with force into every concieveable space outside.
My time at the GSR this summer was short - only a handful of days compared to living there for 10 weeks - but it was well spent. The cancellation of regular camp this year was, and still is, a major blow. But if this dark, unconventional year has taught me anything thus far it's how much I've come to appreciate my dear friends on GSR Staff. The presence of familiar faces such as theirs is enough to make me smile. The folks who showed up this weekend are only a fraction of the full alumni as it once was, but I feel like it is a sign. It is a testament to how much these select few love their camp - we all showed up to the Valley yesterday and the day before amid pouring rain just to be together.
These men and women are passionate about what they do. Because of them I have hope for future years of summer camp.
Since crossing the Conneticut River, I've returned to dramatic scenery darkened by clouds. The Green Mountains are as beautiful as ever, though everything seems shrouded in lingering gloom. The wind has gathered in strength, its cold, loud voice erasing the joyful warmth shared among my friends. I miss my friends, but I must turn away from the East for now. I feel as if awoken from a dream. For now I need to treat it as if my summer were a dream - to accept that it was fun, but a passing thing.