The story of camp began in 1913 on the shores of Long Pond Lake in Ancram, New York. Legend has it that the second half of the name means “He who comes by the water to give”. The first half of the name, Wa Wa, honors William I and William II of the Smith Brothers cough drop company for endowing the land to the Smith Park Foundation in 1927. Smith Park contracted with the YMCA of Poughkeepsie New York to run a summer camp on the property. Now the Smith Park Board and Camp Committee are searching for ways to ensure that the history of camp doesn’t end at the summer of 2012, one year shy of its 100 year anniversary. Wa Wa Segowea was on hiatus once before, spanning the summers of 2005 through 2009. Subsequently, a contract with the Capital District YMCA of New York revived the camp for three miraculous summers. Unfortunately, the Capital District did not opt to renew the contract, leaving the future of camp wholly uncertain.

It is difficult to imagine what my life would have been like without camp. During my first two weeks in Arapaho cabin, I fell in love with a place for the first time. Camp was a place where I was free to explore being myself—a freedom that isn’t easy to find growing up. It is one of the things that has kept me attached to camp since I was seven years old. I continued as a camper, counselor in training, counselor, and kitchen staff into my early twenties. Now, at 33, I’m still involved as a Friend of Segowea volunteer.

In the insular world of WaWas, as we call ourselves, the lodge is the iconic image of camp. It emanates the history and the age of the camp more than anywhere else. The stone foundation and rough beams survive the New England winters to greet new campers each summer. At the beginning of each session, we gathered on its steps to have our names called and cheered for as we were assigned cabins. Even though most of what happens at camp occurs outside its walls—on the fields, in the woods, in the lake—the lodge is where it all starts.

The sense of community started at the opening camp fire in the council ring. You could distinguish the old timers who were singing along without hesitation, from the new campers who were a little unsure of the words, of what to make of the song selections, and of the counselors’ rendition of “Rocky Raccoon.” There was a lot of uncertainty on the first day, but somewhere between singing “Dreamer” and “Taps” during the friendship circle, you knew that you were being given the opportunity to be a part of a community and to be a part of a family sharing a deep love for this place with a funny name.

Over ten years have passed since I was at camp following this schedule. Yet I can still rattle off the order of the day’s activities to the minute when asked. It wasn’t just each day that followed the same pattern; the summers at camp had their own rhythm as well: The excitement of the first archery class, then the monotony of doing the Olympics again, and then the somber realization that this marked the last chance to swing off the rope swing for 10 months.

Box ball. Sing down. Human Dutch auction. The moose. Unlike images of the exterior of the lodge, the inside lodge doesn’t evoke a set of emotions as much as it does specific moments in time. On rainy days, it’s where we competed in sing downs, human Dutch action and broom hockey. It’s where, as counselors, on cool evenings we’d gather around the fire place and stay up talking and burning all the wood the campers had collected that morning.

The staff I worked with included people I’d known since I was seven years old as well as brand new counselors brought in by friends or through foreign exchange programs. During many summers, the staff included my brothers, sister and future sister-in-law. In true family fashion, there was always drama between staff. Unlike family, there were no secrets; everyone on that staff plaque knew everyone else's secrets, at least for the duration of the summer.

My oldest brother and I were campers together, but my memories of him don’t begin until he was my counselor in the senior village. Maybe it was that he didn’t have the opportunity to play the big brother role much outside of camp, but for whatever reason, it was there where I experienced it from him the most. Even when we were older and worked as kitchen staff together, he’d give me breakfast off the morning after a party, let me borrow the car and tell someone else he was concerned about who I’d selected for my camp boyfriend. Those summers in the kitchen really gave us the opportunity to get to know each other. We haven’t been as close since then.

We’re not supposed to tip the chairs back anymore. They’re nearly 100 years old and the tipping is ruining the legs. I don’t know how to sit in the chairs any other way. This is how I sat while playing cards, reading books and making friendship bracelets. When two people shared a bench, you had to carefully tip back down to let them on and off. I shared many sunrises with friends in these chairs: waking before dawn and stealing cookies from the kitchen and then creeping back into bed before first call.

Making friends at camp was a given. What also soon became a given for me was getting a boyfriend at camp, something that hardly ever happened during the school year. Perhaps I was too strange or shy for the boys at school, but at camp I suddenly found myself desirable. I wasn’t the only one who found deep connections there. It was more than just the teenage hormones and close proximity that created so many couples. We were experiencing something special at camp and wanted someone special to share it with. Maybe we saw the beauty more easily in others because we were freer to be ourselves.

I worry about what will happen if camp doesn’t open this summer. Its strength came from its campers returning year after year until they became counselors and even directors. It is a struggle to keep traditions alive and to build community when consistency is lost. I fear that these summers devoid of children will destroy the spirit of the place. But perhaps there is truth to the talk of camp being a magical place and even when abandoned, the positive essence will remain.

When you are surrounded by the same people 24 hours a day, there is no hiding; you have no choice but to be yourself. That acceptance is powerful; It is love; It is camp. I try to carry that feeling with me when I am out alone in the world.

While we were campers, it seemed like camp had always been the same, but the truth is it has been evolving in one way or another for the past 100 years. If it hadn’t changed, girls would never have been allowed, it never would have moved to the Berkshires and Friends of Segowea would never have been formed. Maybe this restart will initiate a new positive change. And even if this is the end, I will keep the spirit of camp alive within me. I will do my best to create opportunities for my own son to grow and to be himself with confidence and self love, to be a Wa Wa.

As influential on my life as camp has been, it’s also been a very private place. A place truly only shared with other Wa Wa’s. Trying to explain camp to outsiders was always futile, but somehow Liam understood the importance of camp from the moment I started talking to him about it. Because of that natural understanding, I trusted him to capture camp in a way that could introduce it to the outside world and in a way that would both tell the story of camp and my personal attachment to it. I believe that we have found a way to do just that.

Author - Sarah Perks

As documenter, my role is primarily to listen and watch. Spending this time with Sarah as she walked me through both Camp Wa Wa Segowea and her adolescence was an enlightening experience not only in learning more about her but in seeing the analogies to my own youth and those of others. I never went to a summer camp but the importance of such experiences for young people really came home to me as we ended our journey at "The Chapel" similar to how campers end their journey: A moment to reflect on our journey and experience that day. Adolescents need the opportunity, during what can be a difficult transitional period, to redefine and discover themselves and I fear that the loss of that experience, especially to those of more modest means, is a tragedy. Photographer – Liam Carleton

Epilogue

Camp Segowea has a new partnership with the Northwest Connecticut YMCA and will be open for the summer of 2013.

Donations for camper scholarships can be made to Smith Park of New York and sent to P.O. Box 4994, Poughkeepsie, NY 12602.