There’s something special about the day after All-Camp Campfire. It’s like the dust has settled, the songs are still echoing in our ears, and a shared sense of joy quietly lingers in the air. As week three begins, our premier adventures launch into full swing—the five-day backpacking trips, the three-day horsepacks, the challenging hikes, the longer rides—experiences that leave lasting, deep, soul-stretching impressions.
By now, something shifts. We find our rhythm. Campers walk with more confidence. Staff settle into a groove. There’s a steadiness to everything—the kind that comes from familiarity, from shared purpose, from being surrounded by people who care. The nervous energy of opening day is behind us, and we haven’t yet started counting down to the end. We’re in the sweet spot—the golden middle—where the days feel full and meaningful, and the small moments carry big weight. Oh, how I wish this rhythm could last longer.
But this year, things feel different. The world outside these mountains feels heavy. Tense. Uncertain. And that contrast makes the beauty of what’s happening here even more profound. On Sunday night, I stood near the back of the All-Camp Cookout, then watched the dance party, and finally, All-Camp Campfire—and I felt this overwhelming sense of pride. Not in the logistics or the schedule or the songs. But in the laughter. The uninhibited dancing. The storytelling and the silliness. I was proud that over 400 campers and 200 staff were just being kids. No phones. No headlines. No pressure. Just joy. They are exactly where they need to be.
Parenting is hard—so much harder than I imagined. When do I step in? When do I stay silent? Am I asking too much… or not enough? We all wrestle with these questions. But I hope you’ll give yourself some credit—real credit—for choosing this experience for your child. Because in doing so, you’ve given them something precious: space to grow.
In just two weeks, you’ll see it. You’ll recognize the way they walk a bit taller. The grounded look in their eyes. The comfort they’ve found in their own skin. Maybe it’s because they’ve been unplugged for 27 days—no social media, no screens, no constant noise. Or maybe it’s because they summited a mountain they didn’t think they could climb. Or because they had a conversation that changed the way they see themselves. Or simply because someone believed in them, and they started believing in themselves too. Whatever the reason, something is stirring here. Something lasting. And you’ve made it possible.
So, from all of us at camp, thank you. For trusting us. For sharing your child with us. For believing, like we do, that this kind of magic matters, especially now.
