Remembering Max & Camp Days, and Holding Texas in My Heart

Max was a camper. He spent his summers in Colorado at a beloved and sacred place– outdoors, sleeping in tents, riding horses and climbing mountains. His summers reflected my own– the same camp my sisters, cousins and I attended and a place where we met lifelong friends and, for one of my sisters, her future husband. Our children went there. My sisters and I have gone back for reunions, filled with sing-alongs and s’mores and laughter so hard, we’ve peed ourselves. Our camp was started and run by generations of the same family, with an international mission to bring children together so they would remember their summers and their innocence and perhaps avoid future wars and hatred when they became adults. That was the lofty adult goal, but as kids, we just had fun together.

The bunk beds and brightly colored trunks, the pictures of family on the walls– Camp Mystic looks like my camp. When I was old enough, I became a counselor and spent my college summers with girls aged 12-14. Girls on the edge of becoming young women. Giggling, funny, childlike, yet trying so hard to be sophisticated for the Saturday night get-togethers with the boys’ camp. I was responsible for their well-being, making sure the reluctant ones could be coaxed into showering or at least made to don a bathing suit and jump in the pool once in a while. I was young, too. And trusted the older, more mature adults at the camp to provide for our safety and security. I’m sure they trusted the next level of hierarchy to protect all of us, and so on.

When Max was at camp one year, a fire burned close by. The Colorado mountains in summer can be dry tinderboxes, and as the fire grew closer, the children were evacuated out of camp to a safer location. Parents were notified that our campers were safe, and while phones were off limits during camp time, Max was allowed to call and talk to us from the hastily assembled evacuation shelter at the local high school gym. “Mom, we could see the smoke! It was so close.”

The quick-acting staff and camp administration, relying on local, state and national government agencies, were able to get my child to safety because they were able to put their trust into organizations that were funded and worked!

My heart aches for all the people at Camp Mystic who put their trust in a hierarchy they believed would act to protect and warn them about danger. The White House wants to say it was an act of God. Something that couldn’t be predicted, and it’s all just so sad. Bullshit. Climate change is real. Early warning systems are available. Funding the National Weather Service and National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) will improve forecasting and save lives. Don’t let Trump and the Republicans tell you otherwise.

To make a donation & support those impacted by the floods in Texas, please visit Kerr County Flood Relief Fund or www.gofundme.com/c/act/flood-relief.