Campfire Tales | Before the Campers Arrive

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

As I write this, we’re still more than two weeks away from Opening Day. The bunks are waiting. The lake is quiet. The athletic fields are green and ready. There are projects still underway, schedules still being refined, and a seemingly endless list of details that need attention before the first buses arrive at Chestnut Lake. To most people, camp hasn’t started yet. But the truth is, camp has been underway for quite some time. Remember…It’s Always Summer.

Some members of our leadership team arrived in early May. Together, we’ve spent the past several weeks preparing every corner of camp for the summer ahead. We’ve hired staff, planned programs, reviewed procedures, solved problems, walked the property countless times, shared information about the amazing campers still to arrive, and worked through thousands of decisions — most of which campers and parents will never see, but all of which help create the experience they will soon enjoy. The past week marked another important step in that preparation.

Nearly fifty members of our leadership team (which we refer to as the “SUPES” here, who are part of the larger “Blue Team” of adult staff) gathered for five days of intensive training. We spent long days together discussing leadership, child development, communication, supervision, safety, culture, and the tremendous responsibility that comes with helping shape a child’s summer. There were presentations. There were discussions. There were role-plays. There were moments of laughter and moments of reflection. And there was the exercise that we closed with, which has truly resonated for me.

Our supervisors gathered around a large drawing of a “SUPE” and answered a simple question: “What kind of leader do you want to be this summer?”

Each supervisor was asked to consider their own answer to that question. And after we shared them all, with more than 200 affixed to the wall, I invited each of the leaders to select one written by another person and place it on the drawing of a “SUPE”. It was important that they chose one from another team member, because while each of us will aspire to meet our own goals, this team’s success will be marked by how well it supports others. Their choices quickly filled the flip-chart sheet.

Present. Approachable. Consistent. Proactive. Impactful. An active listener. Someone people can trust. Someone who makes a positive difference. Someone campers and staff can come to when they are struggling. Someone who is constantly learning and adapting. One note simply read: “I want to make a difference.”

As I stood there looking at the wall, I found myself thinking about some things that weren’t written. Nobody wrote, “perfect.” Nobody wrote, “finished.” Nobody wrote “expert.” Instead, what covered the page were qualities that require intention. Qualities that require effort. Qualities that require practice. Qualities that require growth. And that’s when I realized that the exercise wasn’t really about leadership. It was about becoming.

There has been a lot written recently about young people, confidence, resilience, independence, and anxiety. Much of it centers around an important question: “How do children become confident?” For years, many of us assumed confidence came first. Then came the challenge. But experience tells us something different. Confidence often comes after the challenge. Confidence comes from discovering that you can do something difficult. It comes from walking into a bunk where you don’t know anyone and somehow finding your place. It comes from climbing higher than you thought you could. It comes from speaking up when you’re nervous. It comes from trying something new. It comes from making a mistake and realizing you can recover from it. It comes from being homesick and making it through the day. It comes from failing, learning, adjusting, and trying again. And eventually, looking back and realizing that you’ve become stronger than you ever were before.

That is what camp has always offered children. Not a summer free from challenge, but a summer filled with the right challenges. The kind that help young people discover what they are capable of. One of the things I love most about leadership training is that it reminds us that growth isn’t reserved for children. We spend a great deal of time talking about how to help campers become more confident, more resilient, more independent, and more connected. But the adults in the room are engaged in that same work themselves. Before we ask campers to step outside their comfort zones, we do the same. Before we ask campers to learn resilience, we practice resilience. Before we ask campers to grow, we commit ourselves to growth as well.

The photo accompanying this Campfire Tale was taken at the conclusion of that exercise. What you’re looking at isn’t a strategic plan or a list of responsibilities. It’s a collection of aspirations. Nearly fifty leaders identifying the qualities they hope to embody this summer. What I find most reassuring about that isn’t that they have all the answers. It’s that they continue to ask the right questions. How can I be better? How can I serve others more effectively? How can I help someone feel seen? How can I make a positive difference? The best leaders I’ve known have never acted as though they had everything figured out. They simply remained committed to becoming better versions of themselves. Perhaps that’s one of the greatest lessons camp has to offer. Growth isn’t something we finish; it’s something we practice.

Every summer, children arrive at Chestnut Lake as works in progress. They leave as works in progress, too. The difference is that somewhere along the way, they discover new strengths, new friendships, new confidence, and new reasons to believe in themselves. The same is true for all of us. So here we are, a little more than two weeks before Opening Day. The campers haven’t arrived yet. The songs haven’t been sung. The games haven’t been played. The campfires haven’t been lit. But growth has already begun.

And if the conversations, commitment, and heart I’ve seen from our leadership team over these past several weeks are any indication, this community is ready for a remarkable summer.

Campfire Tales | Stitched Over Time

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

I was going through my closet at home the other day.

It was one of those projects that lingers — not because it’s complicated, but because it’s personal. Ann knew that. She was patient and encouraging, understanding that cleaning out my closet wasn’t just about making space. It was about deciding what parts of my past I was ready to hold differently.

We’ve lived in this house for about twenty years. I’ve spent thirty-three years in camp leadership. And if I really count it all — as a camper, a staff member, and a professional — I’m closing in on fifty summers at camp. That’s a lot of living. And, as it turns out, a lot of T-shirts.

Camp-branded clothing accumulates quietly. Year by year. Summer by summer. Before you know it, you’re standing in front of shelves filled with fabric memories: staff shirts, leadership gear, so many hats, apparel tied to traditions, themes, moments that once felt all-consuming and now live somewhere deeper.

Over the years, I’ve tried to be intentional. When I left Pinemere Camp — the camp where I grew up as a child and later served as director for many years — I gave away shirts and sweatshirts so they could keep being used. I did the same when I left Camp Harlam after nine years as a leader. And once I leave a camp, I stop wearing those shirts entirely. It wouldn’t feel right for me, as the director of Chestnut Lake Camp, to be running errands or standing on the sidelines at a soccer game in apparel from another chapter of my professional life.

Still, I kept more than I needed.

And when I finally sorted through what remained, I noticed something interesting — not just what I kept, but what I didn’t.

Some shirts didn’t make the cut because, frankly, they don’t hold up. Designs that felt clever at the time now make me cringe. Graphics that, looking back, border on inappropriate. Slogans that were well-intentioned but poorly thought through. A few that would probably make an intellectual property attorney pause at my willingness to “borrow” inspiration without fully thinking through the implications.

Those shirts are part of my story, too. They reflect mistakes. Blind spots. A younger version of myself still learning — sometimes clumsily — how creativity, humor, leadership, and responsibility intersect. I didn’t keep them because growth means recognizing that not everything deserves to be preserved in the same way.

What struck me most, though, was how worn the shirts I did keep were. These weren’t pristine keepsakes. They were faded. Softened. Stretched. Stained in places I couldn’t quite identify anymore. They had lived camp alongside me — through long days and longer nights, unexpected rainstorms, high-energy moments, quiet conversations, staff meetings, campfires, and the thousands of ordinary moments that turn out not to be ordinary at all.

In that way, the shirts didn’t just represent camp. They experienced it.

After everything was sorted, folded, and set aside, I looked at the shirts that remained and realized I wanted to do something with them — something more meaningful than putting them back on a shelf. I decided to have several of them made into a quilt. The quilt will include 24 shirts from all three camps I’ve led. Different colors. Different eras. Different design styles. Nearly all of them shirts I designed myself, which has always been one of my favorite creative outlets. Each one tied to a particular moment, group of people, or unique camp season.

Lying them out together, they felt less like memorabilia and more like relationships.

Some were joyful and easy. Some were complicated. Some belonged to chapters that shaped me profoundly, even when I didn’t realize it at the time. They don’t all match. They weren’t meant to. But stitched together, they tell a coherent story — not of perfection, but of commitment, evolution, and care.

There’s a line often attributed to Maya Angelou: “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.” That feels right here. Camp — at its best — gives us the space to do exactly that. To try ideas. To build traditions. To learn from missteps. To grow alongside the people who we’re leading. When the quilt is finished, it will tell a story. Not neatly. Not chronologically. But honestly. And camp works the same way.

What campers take home from Chestnut Lake won’t be a quilt. But it will be something stitched together quietly over time: friendships, confidence, independence, resilience, lessons learned through both success and struggle. Pieces that may not fully make sense on their own, but together form something strong, warm, and lasting.

Fifty summers later, that’s what I see when I look at these shirts — both the ones that made the quilt and the ones that didn’t.

A life shaped by camp.
Worn in.
Learned from.
And still growing.