summer camp Archives - Chestnut Lake Camp

Campfire Tales quilt graphic featuring camper t-shirts and traditions at Chestnut Lake Camp

Campfire Tales | Stitched Over Time

December 22, 2025

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.

Campfire Tales | Real Leadership (8/8/25)

August 8, 2025

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

We’re six weeks into camp, and at this point in the summer, I’ve seen enough to be reminded that leadership here doesn’t always look like a keynote speech or a flawless plan. Sometimes it looks like a Mato camper sprinting toward the end zone, clutching the football like a hot potato as he realizes he’s about to score for the first time. Or a Wakanda camper showing plate discipline, drawing a walk to score a run in a big inter-camp game. Or even a Varsity camper putting their arm around a friend and quietly helping them through a tough moment in the middle of an up-and-down day.

We are two-thirds of the way through this session — and six-sevenths of the way through the summer — and what’s been built here is more than schedules, programs, or Tribal points. We’ve built leaders. Some of them are 9 years old, some are 19, and some are staff members who didn’t even realize they had it in them until now.

When I wrote an article for Camping Magazine a few years ago, I admitted that my camp-director “skills” were, well, eclectic:

I can spin a basketball on my finger.
I can referee seven different sports, design a T-shirt, format a newsletter, drive a 26-foot box truck, and properly stern a canoe.
I can mount a framed photo without a ruler, and I’ve repaired both a window screen and a meaningful relationship more than a few times.

Some of these, I’ll admit, I’ve probably gotten too good at, while struggling to improve at things that might matter a bit more to camp’s success (and my own). Others — like belaying on the high ropes course, driving the golf cart without an actual key, or calming a parent who isn’t getting the answer they want — I’ve learned out of necessity.

This is the thing about leadership at camp: it’s not just about what you set out to learn. It’s about what the job throws at you — and how you handle it. Carol Dweck calls it a “growth mindset,” the belief that abilities can be developed through dedication and hard work. Camp is essentially a graduate course in that regard. You wake up, step outside, and something — often unexpected — will come your way that you’ll need to figure out.

I’ve seen that same pattern in our campers and staff this summer:

The counselor who ran a fantastic Arts & Crafts activity with pure enthusiasm — even though the supply order they’d been counting on never arrived.
The older camper who volunteered to be goalie in soccer for the first time and then stopped two penalty shots in one game.
The first-time campers who stood on stage at our Community Campfire and spoke beautifully about a new friend being honored with a Community Service Award — even though they’d met less than a week before.
The bunk that secretly made friendship bracelets for their counselor, who was missing home, just to make sure she knew how much she mattered here.

These moments don’t happen because someone read a manual on leadership. They happen because we’ve built a community where people jump in, try, fail, adjust, try again — and where those actions are noticed and celebrated.

Now comes the final stretch. This is when leadership matters most — when routines are second nature, when it would be easy to coast. This is the time to double down: to lead loudly by cheering your team through the last Tribal event (which could break at any moment), and to lead quietly by spotting the camper sitting alone and inviting them into the game.

I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I can say without question that I’m already the luckiest I can be. Luck got me here, but leadership — mine, and yours — is what keeps making this place extraordinary.

So let’s finish strong. Let’s add a few more skills to our tool belts, a few more stories to our highlight reel, and a few more moments where someone surprises themselves with what they’re capable of. That’s how leaders are made here — one unexpected challenge, one person doing something special to make a difference, and one great camp day at a time.

Campfire Tales | Counselors They’ll Remember (8/1/25)

August 1, 2025

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

There’s a very particular kind of magic in the air at Chestnut Lake right now. Week 5 is a moment of beautiful tension — a balance of beginnings and endings, of fresh starts and deep roots. On one hand, we welcomed a brand-new wave of Second Session campers just four days ago — wide-eyed, eager, and ready to dive into everything. On the other hand, we have an amazing group of Full Summer campers who are now already five weeks into their journey — seasoned, confident, and now serving as bunk leaders, torch-bearers of tradition, and quiet mentors for the newer kids.

This week also marked the start (and conclusion later today) of Discovery Camp, a special five-day experience designed for younger campers to dip their toes into the Chestnut Lake experience. These sixty kids packed a full summer’s worth of excitement into less than a week — and now head home with paint on their arms, songs in their heads, new friendships formed, and hopefully, the start of a long camp story that’s just beginning. All of these experiences — the firsts, the middles, and even the goodbyes — are different. But they are all rooted in the same core truth:

Camp is about connection. And that connection is so often made real through one person: a counselor.

I’ve told this story before, but it feels especially important right now.

It was 1982. I was twelve years old. It was another summer at my camp, and what I wanted more than anything in the world was a pair of high-top Converse Weapon basketball sneakers — not just any pair, but the exact pair that my counselor Todd wore. Looking back, I didn’t really want the sneakers. I just wanted to be like him.

Todd was from Maryland, and he would someday become an attorney — a world away from my home in Philadelphia, where my future career plans had me playing point guard alongside Andrew Toney for the Sixers. He was charismatic and brilliant, a tennis player who somehow knew everything about music, politics, and the world. He told stories that made you sit up straighter. He played Grateful Dead tapes and talked about Israel and Europe like someone who had been places. He went to Emory, and he had a girlfriend.

He wasn’t perfect. But Todd had a kind of gravity to him. When he spoke, you listened. When he asked you how you were doing, he seemed to actually mean it. He didn’t talk down to us. He didn’t perform. He showed up — again and again, every single day — and made us feel like we mattered. He was the first person outside my family who made me feel truly seen.

Fast-forward to now — July 2025, Week 5 at Chestnut Lake. This week, I watched a first-time camper cry on the first night — missing home, overwhelmed, unsure. One of our counselors sat beside him for almost an hour, gently coaxing out a smile. That same camper led the cheers the next morning at Flag Football when his team scored the tying touchdown. I saw a Discovery Camper nervously eyeing the Aqua Park (Wibit), uncertain she could make it even off of the dock. Her counselor — all encouragement, no pressure — offered a quiet “you’ve got this.” That camper made it to the top of “Number 4” and jumped off into the water without a care in the world.

And I saw a few Full Summer campers who now are the Todds — sitting at picnic tables at Chestnut Commons with some old and new campers, laughing, explaining the difference between Varsity-1 and Varsity-2 (I heard some true things and some that were not…I opted to let it slide because they were having fun), and modeling the kind of connection that campers who have been at Chestnut for at least a few summer understand and value.

And then there are the counselors.

The job of a counselor is, in some ways, impossible to explain and impossible to overstate. They are substitute parents, older siblings, life coaches, cheerleaders, conflict mediators, teachers, and buddies— often all in the same day. They stay up late and get up early. They deal with bug spray and homesickness, group dynamics and lost water bottles. They lead chants and tie shoes, teach life lessons and wipe away tears.

And while they may not realize it yet, they are shaping memories that your children will carry with them for decades. There are kids here at Chestnut Lake this summer — right now — who have already decided that they want to come back someday not just as campers, but as counselors. And not because it looks easy. Not because it’s always fun. But because they see the impact being made on them, and they want to pass that forward. That’s the counselor effect. That’s what Todd gave me. That’s what I see happening here every day.

I’ll never forget the day that summer ended in 1982.

The session ended, as it always does, too soon. Most of us filed out with high-fives and half-smiles, not sure how to say what we were feeling. I was the last to leave my bunk, dragging my feet, holding back tears. Todd saw me. He walked over, hugged me (maybe the first real hug I ever got from a male role model who wasn’t family), and told me he was proud of me. He reminded me of what I’d done that summer — what I’d learned — and then he disappeared into the sea of counselors and trunks.

Many hours later, when I unpacked at home, I found his red and white Converse sneakers in the bottom of my bag. He had left them there. No note. No fanfare. Just a life-altering gesture. That summer — and that counselor — never left me. They’re part of the reason I do what I do now.

And so when I look around Chestnut Lake in Week 5, I know exactly what I’m seeing. I’m seeing lives being changed. I’m seeing futures being shaped. I’m seeing kids who, someday, will talk about this summer. About this camp. And about these counselors.

Here’s to a great last couple of weeks!

Campfire Tales | This Camp. These Kids. This Summer (7/25/25)

July 25, 2025

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

Tomorrow morning, campers will drag themselves out of bed after a terrible night’s sleep, pack away their special Banquet gift, look once more for their favorite hat that’s been missing since the day that they hopped off the bus, and say goodbye to the place they’ve called home for the past four weeks. There will be tears for some, and more than a few “see you next summer” fist-bumps and hugs.

After the rush of departures, more than 100 campers will stay behind — trying to recover from the disappearance of their friends in time to greet their families for Visiting Day. And while there’s still plenty of summer ahead, this moment — the close of First Session — deserves to be held up, honored, and shared.

Because something remarkable happened here these past four weeks. Something real.

We watched a camper go from sitting quietly during the first lunch of the session to being the main character of their division’s Lip Sync performance (and he brought the house down!). We saw a group of 10-year-old girls leave notes under each other’s pillows — encouraging a friend who was having a tough day. We witnessed an entire audience stand and cheer for a camper who had just finished their solo at last night’s camp show. And we heard from a parent, midway through the session, who wrote to say:

“This is the happiest I’ve ever seen my child — and I haven’t even seen him in person yet. I can feel it in his letters.”

That’s the kind of magic camp creates — the kind that isn’t about trickery or spectacle, but about connection, courage, and a deep sense of belonging.

The talks on the platforms. The walks back from the lake. The “we got this” pep talks before a game against another camp. The thrill of scoring that one goal, or the sense of pride when tasting your first-ever homemade banana muffin. The pride felt in Tribal, and then the joy of not caring who won at all. These are the small, everyday moments that have added up to something unforgettable.

As Michael Thompson, Ph.D., author of Homesick and Happy, wrote:

“At camp, children have a chance to really find out who they are — to discover a version of themselves they didn’t know existed. It’s one of the few places where they get to do that without the gaze of their parents, their teachers, or a screen.”

We see it every summer. And this session, it was especially clear. We saw it in the way new campers settled in by the end of the first week — how even the most tentative goodbyes turned into beaming group photos. We saw it in the way returning campers stepped up as leaders, modeling kindness and confidence in quiet, everyday ways. And we saw it on nights like Tribal Rope Burn — where the fire wasn’t the only thing igniting something powerful.

As we wrap this First Session, I want to offer four messages — one for each part of our camp community.

To the parents:

Thank you. Thank you for trusting us. For sharing your child with us. For believing in this experience even when it meant stepping back. We don’t take that lightly. We hope you see a little extra light in your child’s eyes when they return home — and we hope you’ll hear stories that make you laugh, feel a sense of pride in your child, and maybe even tear up just a little.

To the staff:

You did it. You created this. With every game, every bunk chat, every conflict you helped resolve, every late-night laugh, and every early morning Revelie — you brought this place to life. Camp doesn’t work without you. And the impact you’ve made will stretch far beyond these four weeks.

To the campers heading home:

You were part of something special. You took chances. You made new friends. You had fun — a lot of it. But more than that, you helped make this community feel like family. Camp will be here when you come back, and so will we. Until then, carry a little piece of Chestnut with you. You earned it.

And to the campers staying on for Second Session:

We’re just getting started.

One of my favorite reflections about the power of camp comes from an essay by educator and camp professional Peg Smith:

“Camp gives kids a world of good — a chance to grow independent, to stretch, to stumble, and to soar… And when camp is at its best, it helps kids become not just better campers, but better people.”

That’s what this summer has felt like. So here’s to the memories we’ve made, the friendships we’ve built, and the courage we’ve witnessed. Here’s to the first-timers who became lifelong campers. Here’s to the camp veterans keeping the spirit alive. Here’s to the bunk cheers, the leaps from the Blob, the late-night laughs, the Pickleball rally, and the moments no one else will ever quite understand.

This camp.

These kids.

This summer.

We’re so proud. We’re so grateful. And we already can’t wait for what comes next.

Campfire Tales | When the Colors Fade (7/18/25)

July 18, 2025

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

There’s a low hum that’s growing louder across camp, just under the surface. You hear it in the pauses after announcements. You see it in the whispered guesses between campers at the close of an all-camp program at night. You can feel it in the smirks exchanged between seasoned staff or veteran campers who already know what’s coming.

Tribal is near.

We don’t announce the date. We don’t hint. We don’t post a schedule. Because at Chestnut Lake Camp, Tribal isn’t just an event — it’s an awakening.

When it breaks, everything shifts. Campers scream, staff erupt, and just like that, we are split into two great tribes: Minsi (White) and Unami (Green). For three unforgettable days, our shared world is transformed. Friends become friendly rivals. Chants grow loud. The entire community leans into something that is at once ancient and brand new.

And at the center of it all are the Chiefs — four counselors, two for each tribe, selected to lead. They don’t apply for it. They don’t campaign. They are chosen. And not because they’ve mastered the art of the dramatic speech or won the most Tribal events as campers. They’re chosen because they live what Chestnut Lake stands for. Every day. In every moment.

Being a Chief is not about standing out. It’s about showing up. The Chiefs are the ones who have consistently led with character, humility, humor, and care. They’re the counselors who check in on a quiet camper after dinner, who rally a group not with ego but with empathy, and who embody what it means to be a role model — even when no one’s watching.

In an article from The Wall Street Journal, the Color War “Captain” was described as the new summer status symbol. There were drones in the sky, ping pong balls falling from helicopters, and parents livestreaming dramatic announcement ceremonies like red carpet reveals. One mom even described her son’s appointment as “more momentous than getting into college”. It’s understandable. We all want to celebrate our kids. But what we’ve created here at Chestnut Lake is something different. Here, the moment isn’t about being seen. It’s about being worthy of being followed. The title of Chief is not a reward. It’s a responsibility. And we chose counselors (and not our oldest campers) because we believe that it’s the counselors at Chestnut that have the most influence on our campers’ experience — they are the engine that powers Chestnut in so many ways.

We believe that every counselor at Chestnut Lake is a potential Chief. Whether they’re leading a tribe, helping to run an activity area, or simply guiding their bunk with patience and love, each of them can model the kind of leadership that lasts long after camp is over.

Years ago, I wrote about Color War as one of the most contradictory but profound parts of camp. After spending the entire summer building a unified community, we suddenly split it in two. Minsi. Unami. White. Green. Friends land on opposite teams. The very people who helped campers feel at home now face off as competitors.

And yet, it works. It works because Tribal is not about breaking us — it’s about revealing us. It’s about testing the strength of the bonds we’ve built. And it shows us, repeatedly, that we can disagree, compete, and still come back together stronger.

What I wrote then still holds: “Color War continues as much because of the challenge of having friends on different sides as it does despite it…when Color War is over, the colors fade.” But the growth doesn’t. The impact doesn’t.

As epic as the “Break” (the announcement of Tribal’s start and the introduction of the session’s Chiefs) of Tribal is — and it will be epic — the moment I always remember most comes later. It’s after the final chant. After the last event ends. When the face paint begins to wash off, and voices have gone hoarse. It’s the moment when the Chiefs from both sides hug in the center of camp. When the campers who spent days cheering for different teams sit down together and smile at what they just shared. It’s quiet. It’s human. It’s real.

Because Tribal, at its core, is not about division. It’s about demonstrating that we can live on different sides of something and still care deeply for one another. That we can compete — and compete fiercely — and still come back together. That we are strong in White, strong in Green… but strongest in the brilliant blend we become after the colors collide.

Every summer, new Chiefs are named. But they aren’t replacing the ones who came before — they’re continuing something. Something deeply human. Something this world needs more of. We need leaders who lead by listening. Leaders who cheer others on more than themselves. Leaders who compete with honor, love without condition, and know that their greatest strength lies not in what they win, but in how they carry themselves while they do it. That’s what being a Chief means here.

So yes, Tribal is coming. And yes, it will be unforgettable. But what matters most isn’t when it starts. What matters most is who our community becomes when the colors fade.

Campfire Tales | What You See and What You Don’t (7/11/25)

July 10, 2025

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

Here at Chestnut Lake, we’re deep into the second week of First Session. The sun is shining most of the time, the lake is full of splashes and laughter, and the kids are busy being exactly what they should be: campers. It’s that sweet spot in the summer where routines are taking hold, friendships are locking in a bit more, and moments of joy happen before anyone even realizes how fun they are.

Each morning around 5:00 AM, before camp even stirs awake, I get an automatic news briefing with any stories about summer camps across the country. Most days, it’s minor stuff — a fun event, a trend piece, or maybe a local camp in the news. But in the last week, like many of you, I was stopped in my tracks by the devastating stories out of Texas. The flash flooding, the loss of life, the heartbreak that swept through Camp Mystic and others — there are no words for the depth of sadness felt across the camping world. One of the lives lost was a dear colleague, Ann Ragsdale (click here if you would like to support Texas Hill Country camps and families). She was trying to evacuate staff when the unimaginable happened. These are the people who give their summers, their hearts, and their lives to create safe, joyful, transformational places for children. To see that story end in tragedy is something we’ll be holding for a long time. And it certainly reminds us here that — even with no risk of flooding like was seen near the Guadalupe River — we have to stay vigilant in our efforts to protect and guide your children.

And yet, here at Chestnut, the camp day continues. Kids are running, climbing, practicing for Lip Sync, flying across the lake on skis, and building friendships that will last well beyond the end of the session. There’s joy in every corner. And for many of you at home, that joy is mostly coming through in the form of a photo or video. You refresh the Campanion app, you watch another social media post play on your phone, you squint at a thumbnail, maybe zoom in on a blurry face in the back of a group shot, and wonder: Is that my kid? Are they smiling? Is that the same T-shirt again? Are they…okay?

This is a good moment to revisit a blog I wrote a couple of years ago after reading a Wall Street Journal article called “Obsessed Parents Overanalyze Photos of Their Kids at Camp” (the title tells you pretty much everything). The article was funny and cringeworthy and, if I’m being honest, uncomfortably relatable. It described parents who wake up at 3:00 AM to scroll through photos, desperately hoping to decode how their child is doing based on a single captured moment. I’ve done it. When our own daughter was at camp (not the camp I was running) I was the classic “zoom and panic” or “refresh, refresh, refresh” parent. She didn’t look thrilled in one photo, and I spiraled for the rest of the day.

At Chestnut Lake, our Communications Team works around the clock—often literally—to bring camp to life for families at home. As of right now, we’ve uploaded over 10,000 photos (on pace for more than 50,000—twice as many as last year). That’s not a typo. Ten thousand photos in 12 days. And that doesn’t include video editing, social media, and everything else they do. It’s an incredible amount of work for a team that also lives in bunks, leads activities, and still somehow manages to be in the right place at the right time at times to capture your camper’s moments.

But here’s the truth: no matter how many photos we post, they’ll never tell the full story. Here are things to know about the photos:

They don’t show the inside joke that the kids will be laughing about all night that’s just off-camera.
They don’t capture the relief on a child’s face when a counselor helps them navigate a tough moment.
They don’t include the camper who is shy or too busy doing something to be captured on film by the one camera nearby.
They don’t reflect how it felt to get to the top of the climbing wall after three tries—or how loud someone’s friends cheered when they did.
And they don’t even get taken when the photographer realizes that the moment they’re seeing through the viewfinder is just too special, too personal, or too perfect to risk ruining with the imposition of a staff member’s digital camera.

And yes, sometimes your camper might look tired in a photo. Because they are. Camp is full of long, amazing days. Sometimes they’re not smiling because they didn’t see the camera about to shoot a photo. Or because they’re concentrating. Or maybe they’re just thinking about whether their S’more from last night counts as dinner. Sometimes a kid’s not in a photo because they were in the bathroom. Or refilling their water bottle. Or just not in the mood to be on camera. That’s allowed, too.

In light of what’s happened in Texas, I think we all feel the stakes a little differently. The urge to see our kids, to know they’re okay, to have evidence that they are safe and cared for —it’s powerful. And real. But I hope you’ll let the photos be a glimpse, not a diagnosis. I hope you’ll remember that the truest parts of camp—the ones that will last—are happening whether the camera is there or not.

What we promise at Chestnut Lake is this: your children are known, cared for, celebrated, and surrounded by adults who take their responsibility seriously. They’re having the time of their lives — and we’ll do our best to show you pieces of that. But we also know that camp isn’t meant to be viewed through a screen. It’s meant to be lived.

So please keep looking at the photos. Enjoy them. Laugh at the messy hair and the muddy clothes. Zoom in if you must. Just know that the real story is unfolding in ways no photo can fully capture. And when your child comes home — exhausted, hoarse, missing a bunch of socks, full of stories—you’ll get the full picture then.

Campfire Tales | The First to Walk the Path (7/4/25)

July 5, 2025

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

The first week of camp is wrapping up, and if you’ve ever been part of a camp community, you know what a big deal that is. That first week is everything. It sets the tone. It’s when friendships are sparked, trust is built, routines take shape, and the air starts to feel like summer in a way that only camp can deliver.

And here at Chestnut Lake, the first week has been, in a word: amazing.

The kids have been all-in, trying new things, making new friends, showing kindness, and cheering each other on. The staff have been exactly what we hoped for — present, prepared, and full of heart. Even the weather has smiled on us, which is not something we take for granted in the Poconos. We’ve had some of those golden summer days that feel like they were tailor-made for running around, lake excitement, and community campfires.

But what’s really made the week stand out isn’t just the fun or the sunshine. It’s something deeper.

It’s leadership.

Leadership is one of those things we talk about a lot at camp — not because it’s a buzzword, but because it’s a living, breathing part of everything we do. At Chestnut Lake, leadership isn’t about being the loudest voice or the one with the most experience. It’s about presence. It’s about intention. It’s about knowing that your energy affects others in your cabin group, the people at an activity, and choosing to make that energy positive.

And this summer, we’re seeing that kind of leadership show up in all corners of camp. We’re seeing it in counselors who kneel to talk to a camper with kindness and empathy. We’re seeing it in Division Leaders who stay up late to make sure everything’s just right for the next day. We’re seeing it in quiet moments — when a program leader includes a camper who’s standing off to the side, or when a staff member picks some trash up off the ground without being asked.

But there’s one group that I want to highlight, because what they’re doing is not only meaningful — it’s brave.

This summer marks the beginning of our revamped Leadership Training (LT) Program, and we have eight returning young men who stepped up to be the first to walk this new path. These are campers who have grown up at Chestnut Lake. They know the traditions, the way it feels to be a camper here. And now, they’re in the in-between: no longer campers, not quite staff, but something entirely new.

They are trailblazers.

That word — trailblazer — feels right. Because what these boys are doing isn’t just participating in a program that already exists. They’re building it. With the help of a dynamic team of staff members, they’re shaping what this program will become for years to come. They’re leaning into the unknown. They’re choosing to lead without needing credit, to serve without needing recognition, and to give without expecting anything in return.

On their very first day, we asked them to reflect on what kind of leaders they wanted to be. They were given a simple prompt and a big question. What they gave back was something honest and real.

“We’re learning to lead by doing. We want to be patient and calm but also assertive and clear. We want to show up, be open-minded, and work together. We want to lead by example, by choice — not just because someone tells us to.”

Those aren’t the words of teens pretending to be leaders. Those are the words of young adults who are becoming leaders.

This week, they’ve helped our cabin staff, supported younger campers, and quietly stepped into moments that needed care. They’ve practiced being calm when things get loud. They’ve worked behind the scenes to make camp stronger. They’ve stayed curious and thoughtful, and reflective. And perhaps most importantly, they’ve paid attention. And today, they even navigated how you can serve Snow Cones without a Snow Cone machine.

There’s something powerful about being the first. It means you don’t have a blueprint. It means you take a few steps into the dark, trusting that something good is on the other side. And when you do it right, you don’t just find your way — you leave something behind for others to follow.

That’s what these eight trailblazers are doing. They’re not just walking a new path. They’re building one. And they’re doing it with courage, character, and a lot of heart.

As we close out Week One, I’m filled with gratitude. For our campers, for our staff, for the sunshine and the silly songs and the sound of kids laughing under the trees. But also — and especially — for the leaders in the making who are reminding us of what it looks like to grow into yourself, right here in the middle of camp.

The trail they’re walking is one worth following. And I can’t wait to see where it leads next.

Campfire Tales | Let the Summer Begin (6/28/25)

June 28, 2025

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

In just one more day, the gates will open. The buses will pull in. And the best part of Chestnut Lake Camp — the campers — will be back where they belong.

The duffels are already here and unpacked. The campers’ beds are made, and their clothes are neatly folded onto their shelves. The lake is still. The fields are ready. And our team is ready — really ready.

We’ve spent many days preparing this place and these people to care for your children. To make them feel safe, inspired, included, and loved. And as we put the final touches on our preparations last night, I stood in front of our incredible staff and did something I had to psych myself up to do: I sang.

The song was Forever Young by Bob Dylan. And while the lyrics may be familiar, singing it last night felt different.

You see, I’ve been going to camp since I was five years old. My first director — Bob Miner — was one of the greats. Every summer, he would open camp with a song called Banks of the Ohio. I grew up with that tradition. I sang it year after year without really thinking much about it — until I got older and realized the lyrics were, well…about a man murdering his fiancée by throwing her into the Ohio River. Not the most “campy” theme.

When I became the director of that very same camp years later, I quietly retired that tradition. Not because there was something wrong with the song. It worked for Bob. But it didn’t work for me. I realized something important: when I sing to campers and staff, I want the words to mean something to me.

Now, when I pick songs to share at Community Campfire, I choose ones that reflect what I believe camp is all about. Songs that carry a message, or that speak to something I want to say (but maybe I can’t find the words for myself). And last night, I stepped out of my comfort zone a bit and sang something new — well, new to me. Forever Young is, in many ways, everything I would want to say to your children, if I had just one song to do it.

May you always be courageous,
Stand upright and be strong.

That’s what camp makes possible. Courage in the little moments. Strength is found in new friendships, in first tries, in small victories. And our staff — this incredible, talented, thoughtful group of humans — is here to help your children discover just how brave and capable they are.

They’ve trained hard. They’ve asked good questions. Furthermore, they’ve leaned into the work. And they are so ready — not just to lead activities or manage bunks, but to show up for your children with kindness, presence, and heart.

May you build a ladder to the stars,
And climb on every rung.

Camp doesn’t fast-forward through the hard parts. It meets kids where they are. Whether it’s making a friend, getting through a tough moment, or finding joy in something new, growth happens here, rung by rung. And every child’s ladder looks a little different. That’s what makes this place so special.

May you grow up to be righteous,
May you grow up to be true.

This isn’t just a break from school or screens or schedules. It’s a space where values take root. Where kids learn how to live alongside others, how to listen, how to lead, how to be themselves, and be part of something bigger than themselves. At Chestnut Lake, that’s the core of what we do. And I believe that’s what will stay with your child long after the last day of camp.

May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift.

The summer ahead will be filled with action. With laughter. With friendship and music, and movement. With stories told under stars, games played in the sun, and moments that will be remembered for years to come.

And in all of it, your child will be supported. Seen. Loved.

So today, before the joyful chaos begins, I wanted to share a simple truth with you: we are ready. Your child’s place is here. Their people are waiting. And this summer — steeped in song, community, growth, and heart — is going to be unforgettable.

Let the music play. Let the summer begin.

Campfire Tales | Week 2 (7/6/24)

July 6, 2024

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

I lost count of how many camps I visited years ago. There have been overnight camps, day camps, specialty camps, vacation camps…so many camps. Based on those hundreds of times being immersed (sometimes briefly, sometimes for much longer) in the unique environs that camps establish and protect, I can say that there are some things that almost all camps have in common. Here they are:

Campers without parents
Young adult role models
Fun and growth
Color War

At camp, we connect young people. Of course, when families are looking for the right camp for their child, they consider the campus, the programs, the schedules, and many other facets. But at the end of the summer when they reclaim their daughters and sons and assess whether sending them away for weeks to be cared for by strangers was a good idea, they just want to hear them say, “I made a friend.” Camps create the environment within which children that start as strangers become lifelong members of an extended family with bonds that are astoundingly strong. They do this with intention, with character, and with a devotion to whatever their unique mission and methods may be. Building harmony is a mantra at camp, and yet one of the most common similarities between many camps no matter where they are and what their tradition may be is the presence of something we call, “Color War.” A Color War by any other name such as Olympics, Maccabiah, or Tribal is still a Color War – an intensive, often multi-day activity that engages the entire community in battles both inane and profound – with intensity, excitement, and the antithetical splitting of camp friends between different sides of the war.

Although the tradition of Color War has come a long way since its creation (purportedly) at Schroon Lake Camp in 1916, including renaming, reframing, demystifying, and deconstructing some of the trappings to make it more effective and acceptable in today’s world, one common and consistent element can teach us a lesson. As camps strive each day to build healthy communities inside of their cabins in the woods, working dutifully to create a coalition and establish peace in these temporary homes, Color War often tests that process by making teams. Whether Green and White, different countries, or themed groups, bunkmates are divided. Friends that might usually choose their programs based solely on what the person who they sleep just a few feet away from is doing, or kids that would break up with someone if it was important to their BFF for any reason, now will spend hours upon days on opposite sides of this camp tradition. The competition can be fierce, even if the activities with the War include carrying an egg on a spoon. There are athletic contests that the entire camp may watch, rope-burning rituals that make for some of the most important moments – and awesome photographs – of the summer, and the writing and presentation of songs that can become part of the camp’s folklore forever. It’s a big deal at many camps, and no matter what camp professionals say and do to suggest that it is not the end-all and be-all of the summer, the dividing of kids and their staff between teams cannot be understated as a tricky variable. At Chestnut, we call this program, “Tribal”.

Camp leaders are not ones to do things without thought, and while they create environments that have inherent risk to give campers a chance to build resilience and independence, Tribal continues as much because of the challenge of having friends on different sides as it does despite it. They establish rules and structure for the program, of course. There are still shared values that govern the play, strong enough to sustain even when conflict arises. There are people in charge – independent and unbiased observers, referees, and surrogate parents – to shepherd the participants through their battles. There is an explicit agreement that all combatants must adhere to when the War is over: we will congratulate all for their efforts and then return to camp as we left it. There will be sad faces, tears, and lost voices, and the colored face paint may take a few days to fully disappear. But when Tribal is over, the colors fade. The issues that pitted teams against each other are over, we are back to working together for the betterment of the whole community, and the winners and losers of Tribal are just part of the nostalgia of camp with some funny or hard moments that we talk about at camp reunions for generations to come. Remember that fight song from 2009 with that line about the Unami Chiefs? Davey wrote it, and he’s now retired and living in Davie. Remember that Apache Relay from 2013 when Rachel cheated and edged Alex out at the end? Rachel is a prosecutor in the US Attorney’s office now. The fights on the fields of competition don’t linger, even if the tales of them sustain. Tribal creates stories, builds spirit, and proves that people who find themselves on two different sides of something can vie for a trophy without setting aside the decorum and humanity that is at their core.

Last night, we experienced our Tribal Campfire. This signifies the start of the TRibal process for the session, although the competition does not begin for a bit longer. We read the Tribal Story and recited the Tribal Oath together as an entire camp. The application of the Tribal credo that we will disagree and compete with each other fairly within the rules to determine a winner, only to shake hands or high-five at the conclusion to return to being on the same team could do us a lot of good in the real world, too. For me, Tribal is an ideal where people who might otherwise be friends can grapple with divergences healthily, never forfeiting their convictions or dedication to a cause, but also accepting that their adversary is only wearing a different color t-shirt. Seeing them wearing that color is okay, but holding that color against them is not.

Last night, we initiated all of our new campers and staff into the Tribal tradition. The first-time members of the community wore (proudly) their red Tribal shirts, only to discover before the end of the night whether they would forever be a Unami Turtle (Green) or a Minsi Wolf (White). Seeing the face paint applied by our leaders to each new community member and then watching them reveal their color to the Green and White teams is always special. It was very much so again last night.

Your kids here are enjoying so many moments that can change them. They can become whomever they choose, safe here in Beach Lake and encouraged to stretch themselves. Tribal is a chance to do just that. It’s not about colors. Not about mascots. It’s a test of how willing they are to embrace camp and put themselves into whatever comes their way. It’s a camp thing. It’s Tribal.

All About Camp: Insights from Apollo

November 22, 2023

By Aaron Selkow

Apollo joined our family in 2017. We had previously rescued two other dogs, and both had been special. But Apollo’s impact on our family was incomparable. He was born in South Carolina, horribly abused, and thankfully saved by a rescue organization in Pennsylvania. Ann looked into those soulful eyes in a photograph and somehow knew that he needed us. And as we mourn his loss, we cannot express just how much we needed him.

Helping Apollo took work. He was not just skittish because of the treatment he received in the years before we adopted him, he was deeply afraid. The training and coaching he benefited from influenced his behavior, and his gentle disposition was steadily complemented by a growing sense of confidence. Although we were unable to have him with other dogs extensively, he was immediately at home when I brought him to camp for his first summer in the Poconos (as the director of my last camp, before arriving here at Chestnut Lake). As he continued to settle into himself and became a mainstay in our lives, a very important shift occurred. At some point, Ann and I realized that Apollo was our teacher.

In the days since he left us, we have reflected more thoughtfully on the ways that Apollo provided us with poignant and powerful life lessons. We sometimes remarked to each other on the ways that his unique story and character impacted those around him. But in losing him, we find ourselves more philosophical as a way to cope with the sadness. Because camp is so synonymous with our family, camp became a cornerstone in Apollo’s life, too. As we remember Apollo now with only the ghosts of memories from the last six years to sustain us, it feels natural to frame some of the lessons we learned from Apollo in the context of camp.

Being a camp leader requires you to accept the blurring of lines between your personal and professional lives. Not only is camp an intimate setting that creates a familial environment for campers and staff, but the demands of overseeing a camp remove some of the usual boundaries found in other roles. You live at camp, immersed in the community, and committed to the success of others in every way possible. There is almost no personal space, and a camp leader’s willingness to be vulnerable and invite others into their family can have a prominent and positive influence. Apollo was a terrific example of and asset in this effort. Apollo was our dog, but he was also the Camp Dog. Even our prospective families had the chance to learn about Chestnut and our family by meeting Apollo, as our summer and off-season tours would frequently begin and end at our house where Apollo would be. In so many ways, Apollo represented our family to others and our care of him was representative of our values. Ann and I would say that Apollo was by far the most popular Selkow. When Lily would visit us at camp, her greeting for Apollo was the most enthusiastic and she relished seeing so many other children scrambling to be near her dog. We were humbled to be Apollo’s real family, knowing that countless others considered him to be part of their own at camp.

We often say that at camp you can become your best and truest self. It may be cliché, but every year I am reminded of this adage when I notice how people step into the virtual limelight of camp and show how impactful time and experience at camp can be in bringing out their finest qualities. Apollo was also at his best at camp. It was at camp that he provided the most happiness to others – as Ann walked Apollo around the property each day, he was like a magnet for the kids who needed him. They craved the chance to tap into Apollo’s energy while they might be many miles away from their pets and their homes, and he obliged them gently. His aloof demeanor was a great match for their sometimes-unbridled enthusiasm, and though he might be scared, he also would get comfortable enough at times to lay down and allow others to cuddle with him. But it was just being at camp that brought Apollo joy. The ability to run and explore when nobody was around, chasing (and never catching) a deer, bounding across the lake’s sandy beach, or just running until he completely wore himself out on any day that we were there was evidence of camp being his favorite home.

We have high expectations of each other at camp. Whether you are a camper or a member of our staff, we challenge our community to accept our rules and to always model our institutional principles. As we move throughout the day at camp, we inevitably see issues that cause us to correct or redirect. I can sometimes assume that the person I see struggling to live up to our standards is making a choice, but that is often not the case. Apollo was a dog that benefited from structure, and consistency, and living at camp – even as a dog – required him to behave well, too. Without knowing all the harm that Apollo had survived and the constant effort he needed to make to manage his fears, you might see him failing to follow a command or getting overly excited to mean that he lacked obedience or a desire to please. But that was so far from the case – behind his presentation as a large, strong animal was a history of being a victim. Apollo reminded us not to judge too much and to take things and people (even dogs) for what they are: inherently good, complex, deserving of love, and yet still flawed. We try to treat our campers and staff with respect, especially when they might be struggling because we can’t assume to understand what might be behind their actions. Apollo was not defined by his past, just as our community members should never be.

Research into the relationship between humans and their dogs details how much the unconditional Apollo the dog takes the stage alongside campers during a lively performance at Chestnut Lake Camp. warmth that is shared between owners and their pets is worth. Apollo was no exception to this. As some at camp could attest, when he created a bond with someone, his relentless attention to them and his drive to be near them was unparalleled. Apollo’s recognition felt like pure love to us, and that bond reminded us of the friendship and fellowship that we saw day after day between people at camp. Campers and their bunkmates, the kids and their favorite counselors, and the staff that worked so closely together all appreciate and provide love at camp. Camp is filled with opportunities for growth and learning, but at the core, camp is a place that values this love. Apollo’s deportment was a perfect representation of the power of showing love to one another.

When I sit with campers or staff members who are dealing with mistakes that they have made at camp, I always remind them that there is no better place to fail than at camp. Camp is a safe place. Although far from being utopian, it is still far more forgiving than the real world. People at camp chose to be at camp because they care about others, and high fives, fist bumps, and hugs are always available to help console those in trouble. Camp is also a place where we can laugh about the hard times, whether in the moment or after we have gained perspective. Apollo enjoyed the compassionate environs of camp, whether it was after he ate someone’s hot dog at a cookout, came Apollo the dog on his favorite office bed at Chestnut Lake Camp out of the woods covered in unbearable filth, or went to the bathroom in the wrong place. One such example was at our closing Tribal (Color War) event in 2021 when the teams were gathered on the main athletic fields preparing to hear me announce the winner. Apollo slipped away from our house, heard my voice from hundreds of yards away, ran to me, and promptly crouched in front of the entire camp to leave his own Tribal trophy on the third-base line. Apollo was forgiven at camp for his foibles, and he helped us to keep that in mind when we or others around us slipped up. Camp is at its best when it is a place where – like Apollo – we can do the wrong thing and be forgiven for it, as long as we show that we meant no harm and are willing to do better.

As a teacher, Apollo was profound. His lessons were easy to understand, and he drew on the emotional connection that he formed with us to make them stick. In the wake of losing him, we are struck by the effect that he had on us. We know that there are members of the camp family who will also miss Apollo very much and are grateful for him being with us at camp over the last four years.

We know that many people reading this can empathize, too, with our struggle to deal with his loss. In fact, these recent days have been filled with much more significant despair in the world and there are far too many people that are coping with the loss of people and things that they love in their lives. As the leaders of Chestnut Lake, we are very aware that our work this summer will be important to (once again) provide the protection, freedom, growth, and joy that our campers deserve in spite of the real-world pressures and worries that our families face at home. Sharing these thoughts about Apollo is evidence of how much we value even the most subtle opportunity we have to model our values and the commitment we have to making camp a place that helps people in deep and meaningful ways. Just like it did Apollo.

We will cherish the moments we had with him and understand how fragile life can be. Sharing him with you was an honor and pleasure – may his memory be a blessing.