Alumni

Throwback Thursday: Swamp in 1983!

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Categories: Alumni, The good ole days, Throwback Thursday | 1 Comment

An article written by a former camper, Alex White, published in the Teton Family Magazine

We received this article in the mail last week and read it with endless smiles. Alex White was a camper 15 or 16 years ago and now works to plan summer experiences for other youth. This article was published in the Teton Family Magazine and is about the importance of summer programs for adolescence. Thank you for sharing Alex White!

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Categories: Alumni, Why Camp | 1 Comment

Throwback Thursday!

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Words For Wednesday- December is for giving.

December is our time to focus on giving the gift of camp by growing our Memorial Fund. Through your donations, we are able to welcome many campers to camp each summer on scholarships. Words for Wednesday will be thank you notes from previous scholarship campers during December. taps8

Today, lets start by enjoying this piece written by Mimi Hirstein- a long time camper, counselor, and camp mom.

By Mimi Hirstein

There are two kinds of people in this world… camp people and all the others.

I am proud to say that I am in the “camp people” category. You see, camp people know how to laugh at themselves, work hard, get along with anyone, live in dirt, eat what is served, appreciate nature, pee in the woods, take cold showers, live happily with out technology, make-up games, build camp fires, and spend time alone.

Coppercreek Camp is really the only place left where children can make their own decisions.  At camp no one tells campers what they will do that day. There are choices of activities and the campers can move freely from one place to another.  Unlike our over scheduled weeks crammed with sporting events, community service projects, studying, etc. camp allows children the opportunity to plan their days.  Children also experience responsibilities at camp.  Chores are a big part of living in a community.  Everyone contributes.  Bunks must be made, cabins must be cleaned, tables set and cleared, animals watered and fed, all without adult interference.  If a child does not participate in keeping up with their chores they will experience natural consequences, like having their cabin mates unhappy with them.

There have been numerous articles written lately about the lack of independence kids have upon entering college.  Studies have pointed to “helicopter parenting” as a major contributing factor.  I would love to see a study comparing “camp kids” to “non camp kids” relating to independence and coping skills when things don’t go perfectly.  I suspect that kids fortunate enough to have been campers are much better at advocating for themselves, being alone in a new environment, and getting along with people unlike them.  After all, camp kids have learned how to live without their parents.  They have been away from home and faced challenges by themselves.  They have experienced failures and successes with out their parents.  They know they can make it because they have made it before.

I have been sending my children to Coppercreek Camp since they were 7 years old.  I never worry about them while they are there.  I know that they are learning more about themselves than I could ever teach them.  As a parent my goal is to raise independent, kind, responsible kids.  I know that the best way to do that is to let them take risks.  Sometimes they will succeed and other times they wont.  Coppercreek provides the scaffolding needed when they do fail.  When things don’t go as well as planned, a counselor or a friend is there to say, “it’s ok, you’ll get it next time”!

I am so grateful to have had Coppercreek in my life and even more grateful that my children have it in theirs.lassentrip

There are two ways to make a contribution:

  1. Pay online now with our online donation system 
     
  2. or Print out our donation form and then mail it to:

Coppercreek Camp PO Box 749 Greenville, CA 95947

Make the check payable to either the Genesee Retreat or the ACA Camper Scholarship Program and memo “Coppercreek Camp”. We will forward your check to the appropriate foundation and send a receipt with their tax id number. We will acknowledge your donation in our camp newsletters as well as send you a report on the children who attended camp on camperships. 
 
Thank you! 

Categories: Alumni, Why Camp | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

John Lindskog- 10 long years

It has been 10 long years since we said, “Goodbye.” Amy Murray wrote about her special relationship with “Papa John” last year and here it is again because it is beautiful.

Camp Wedding Folks-1There are relationships that happen in grand swoops of time, that build over cups of coffee and glasses of wine and slow meals and travels and adventures.

There are relationships that go from zero to sixty – total strangers to dearest friends, in a matter of one long walk, one summer job, one shared dorm room.

My relationship with Papa was one of moments, tiny, shiny, round globes of time that snuck up on me, so that I didn’t even know how much I loved him until, in the blink of an eye, I did.

He wasn’t always “Papa.” At first, he was “John.” Then, when I was less afraid of him, he was “Johnny” (and sometimes, behind his back, he was “Johnny-boy”). And then he was “Papa” to the two little girls who ran all over camp. And then, suddenly, he was “Papa John” to all of us, introducing himself that way to the whole camp, every Opening Night. Papa John. Papa.

Now that he is gone, I keep those moments like a little boy keeps a pocket full of marbles, running my fingers through them over and over, picking out my favourites, treasuring them all.

Papa picking me up at the airport when I didn’t know him well yet, wasn’t sure how to greet him. A hard, short, surprising hug. “Babe, we sure have missed you. Welcome home.”

Home. Babe. A warm glow around those words. Home. Babe.

Meetings, often brusquely demanded by him, to pore over transportation lists and logistics. Who needs to leave when, in which vehicle, stand where, at which terminal. I didn’t always understand what he needed, but knew it was the ritual of the thing that mattered, the conversation itself a sign that he believed in my competence.

Closing days with early morning flights. The chill grey dawn, where Papa was the driver and I woke tired campers, loading them into his truck with sleep still in their eyes. The first year of this: Papa pacing, worrying gruffly that I would forget, sleep too late. The next summer: Papa calm in the kitchen on those mornings, making his coffee. “I never should have doubted you, babe. I put that kettle on for you.” A nod toward the stove, where the kettle was just starting to whistle for the tea I drank every morning. When did Papa take the time to notice my tea?

The years I stayed after the campers had left, to help with special events and rental groups, I would often wander down to the pool in the afternoons, to read until the slanting sunlight grew too hot, and then to float in the turquoise water, look up at the sky, feel myself in the centre of a perfect orb of blueness. Many days, Papa would show up, swim a few laps, sit with me and chat about the weather, the trees, the history of this place that he built. He never stayed long, standing up abruptly after a few minutes. “Well, Babe, I’ll get out of your hair, let you have your quiet.”

As fall crept up, Papa would pull out his road atlas, to talk about my long drive home, through 4 states and 2 provinces. It seemed to me he knew every highway, freeway, and dirt road that led out of that valley. He liked the long, isolated side roads for himself, but steered me towards better populated routes.

Papa left us the way he loved us: quickly, almost gruffly. True to everything about him, his house was in order, both literally and figuratively. He left no mess, literal or figurative, for his loved ones to clean up. When more than a hundred of us gathered to say goodbye to him, the air was filled with music and laughter, the tight hugs of those who share a history beyond words. Writing his obituary was one of the greatest honours of my life.

When Papa died, I phoned my own dad, in tears. “Daddy…. Papa died.” “Oh, darlin. I’m so sorry. I know you loved him. And he loved you, so much.”

Papa built the place I love best in the world. He was father to one of the best friends, and strongest women, I’ve ever known. For those 2 things, alone, I would have loved him with my whole heart. But having him love ME…

That is the roundest, shiniest marble of all, the one I pull out when things get dark, running the pad of my thumb over it’s blue-ness.

Papa loved me.

-Amy

Please visit Miss Night Mutters to read more of Amy’s thoughts.

Categories: Alumni, Good Deeds, happy toughts, The good ole days, Throwback Thursday | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

Throwback Thursday!

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Categories: Alumni, Throwback Thursday | Tags: , , | 1 Comment

Throwback Thursday!

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Categories: Alumni, The good ole days, Throwback Thursday | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

John Lindskog- It has been 9 years since we said, “Goodbye.” Amy Murray writes about her special relationship with “Papa John.”

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There are relationships that happen in grand swoops of time, that build over cups of coffee and glasses of wine and slow meals and travels and adventures.

There are relationships that go from zero to sixty – total strangers to dearest friends, in a matter of one long walk, one summer job, one shared dorm room.

My relationship with Papa was one of moments, tiny, shiny, round globes of time that snuck up on me, so that I didn’t even know how much I loved him until, in the blink of an eye, I did.

He wasn’t always “Papa.” At first, he was “John.” Then, when I was less afraid of him, he was “Johnny” (and sometimes, behind his back, he was “Johnny-boy”). And then he was “Papa” to the two little girls who ran all over camp. And then, suddenly, he was “Papa John” to all of us, introducing himself that way to the whole camp, every Opening Night. Papa John. Papa.

Now that he is gone, I keep those moments like a little boy keeps a pocket full of marbles, running my fingers through them over and over, picking out my favourites, treasuring them all.

Papa picking me up at the airport when I didn’t know him well yet, wasn’t sure how to greet him. A hard, short, surprising hug. “Babe, we sure have missed you. Welcome home.”

Home. Babe. A warm glow around those words. Home. Babe.

Meetings, often brusquely demanded by him, to pore over transportation lists and logistics. Who needs to leave when, in which vehicle, stand where, at which terminal. I didn’t always understand what he needed, but knew it was the ritual of the thing that mattered, the conversation itself a sign that he believed in my competence.

Closing days with early morning flights. The chill grey dawn, where Papa was the driver and I woke tired campers, loading them into his truck with sleep still in their eyes. The first year of this: Papa pacing, worrying gruffly that I would forget, sleep too late. The next summer: Papa calm in the kitchen on those mornings, making his coffee. “I never should have doubted you, babe. I put that kettle on for you.” A nod toward the stove, where the kettle was just starting to whistle for the tea I drank every morning. When did Papa take the time to notice my tea?

The years I stayed after the campers had left, to help with special events and rental groups, I would often wander down to the pool in the afternoons, to read until the slanting sunlight grew too hot, and then to float in the turquoise water, look up at the sky, feel myself in the centre of a perfect orb of blueness. Many days, Papa would show up, swim a few laps, sit with me and chat about the weather, the trees, the history of this place that he built. He never stayed long, standing up abruptly after a few minutes. “Well, Babe, I’ll get out of your hair, let you have your quiet.”

As fall crept up, Papa would pull out his road atlas, to talk about my long drive home, through 4 states and 2 provinces. It seemed to me he knew every highway, freeway, and dirt road that led out of that valley. He liked the long, isolated side roads for himself, but steered me towards better populated routes.

Papa left us the way he loved us: quickly, almost gruffly. True to everything about him, his house was in order, both literally and figuratively. He left no mess, literal or figurative, for his loved ones to clean up. When more than a hundred of us gathered to say goodbye to him, the air was filled with music and laughter, the tight hugs of those who share a history beyond words. Writing his obituary was one of the greatest honours of my life.

When Papa died, I phoned my own dad, in tears. “Daddy…. Papa died.” “Oh, darlin. I’m so sorry. I know you loved him. And he loved you, so much.”

Papa built the place I love best in the world. He was father to one of the best friends, and strongest women, I’ve ever known. For those 2 things, alone, I would have loved him with my whole heart. But having him love ME…

That is the roundest, shiniest marble of all, the one I pull out when things get dark, running the pad of my thumb over it’s blue-ness.

Papa loved me.

-Amy

Please visit Miss Night Mutters to read more of Amy’s thoughts.

 

Categories: Alumni, Friendship, The good ole days, Welcome to camp, What I like about camp | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

Throwback Thursday- Since Amy is all famous now and stuff…

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Categories: Alumni, Friendship, The good ole days, The Staff House, Throwback Thursday | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

Opening Day, Fourth Session, 2010

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Emma D, Sam and Pocus

Categories: Activities, Alumni, Events, Friendship, Throwback Thursday, Welcome to camp | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

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