Music and Stories
Some of my fondest memories of camp revolve around music: playing recorder, singing songs, and just being immersed in the 60’s. The underlying politics of camp, the Jewishness, the joys and humor of staff played our in music. I loved singing in the dining hall after meals, funny songs, (Junior birdman), sad songs (Dona), and Irv songs (There’s a hole in my bucket and Vat is dis my Son). Colbert telling his saggy dog story about Sherry Ott (Swing low sweet Sherry Ott).r>
Campfire songs from the whole Bob Dylan songbook—via Peter, Paul and Mary. And songs in Hebrew, none of which I knew the meaning of but enjoyed the sound. Campfire circle was really important: stories about eh son whose father told him to build a house. The father sad, use the best materials, take you time and do it right. The son, wanted to save money so bought the cheaper stuff and cut corners. When the house was built the father said, “Son this house is my gift to you.” This is a short version and a sad tale, maybe a premonition of what life has become: to fast, planned obsolescence, and a throwaway culture.
Watching the sparks rise into the surrounding oaks, singing songs, sharing stories. There is something tribal, centered about fire, about telling stories. A sense of the continuing culture. And underlying this culture was a sense of the liberal nature of the promise of children—of being children. Irv wanted campers to do activities but not as lessons. I remember a discussion about “nature walks” and Irv telling a staff members that the point wasn’t to teach a lesson but to have the activity be what it was—although we learned things, riding, swimming, there was no test at the end, no competition.
One of the key aspects of camp was that lack of “awards” so common in other camps. The only award at camp was the 5 candy bars you’d get for falling off a horse—and Red Cross swimming cards. The purpose of camp was a different motivation, different as can be from our current focus on metrics and accountability. Something truly significant happened but it was not measurable without seeing that look, “Oh you went to camp” and tears would appear in their and my eyes.
Oh and I was reminded of Irv's Toilet Paper Speech--not really a story although I think there was a moral, about balance and consequences. I actually got to give the speech one year--I was not a public speaker was very embarrased and yet I could do a pretty good Irv non-the-less.
Thanks
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Strong Women
Strong Women
Obviously, people and places make camp. The center was Irv and Edna. As a camper I sort knew, absorbed, the philosophy of camp and, as an older camper, began to formulate a deeper understanding. I remember the experience and then tried to make sense of the why of the experience. I’m also aware that they found, recruited, a variety of other intense personalities that contributed to the experience as well. I didn’t really know how much Edna created camp until my adults involvement, I was a camp staff member for four years from ‘75-‘79.
Edna was, as Irv always said, “The Director’s Director.” In many ways Irv was in charge, up front, while Edna was the heart and soul. She was a quiet and yet forceful. I have so many instances where her presence was felt. Little things—for five years I spent all summer at camp, all three sessions, nine complete weeks. By the middle of second session my interest in some activities was lagging and Edna must have observed this because she would find me and schedule me into doing other things, little tasks, helping in the kitchen, working on a variety projects- mopping the dining hall with Marshall for example.
I really valued this experience and it has profoundly colored my life and profession. I like doing things and understanding the behind the scenes nature of making things happen. The mundane is interesting. I learned how the sand pool filters worked from Aaron and Colbert, I helped plumb the new laundry room, I think I spent much of third session each year assisting the maintenance man in his chores-- I could relight a water heater and unplug a toilet. I knew, and still would know, how the water systems of camp worked—and spent time fixing leaks and cleaning tanks, or heading up the spring road to dig out the spring box. My brain liked as this stuff and in many cases Edna was the instigator. Her sense of what was happening outside her direct vision was amazing. The other person who also helped make camp special in this way was Judy Carlson (sp?).
Judy was an absolutely amazing person who came to camp to “Help get things started” along with her daughter Crissy, arriving for the staff training week and first session. She had the most amazing ability to know things through some extra sense about what was happening, particularly in the interpersonal relations at camp. I have this memory of sitting, as a staff member; on the front porch of maybe the fours cabin and having her come chat with me.
One of the intangibles of camp, and the experience, was the community. How people got along during intense times, through internals and external issues, was key. Judy was a teacher on the peninsula, special education I think, and had both a skill and a talent for brief focused, pithy conversations. This was not chatty counseling, it was a "kernel conversation": “this is what I see, this is what needs to happen,” but in a way that was very empowering because I trusted her insight, there was no hidden agenda, she spoke the truth.
Camp depended on a series of strong women- administration and camp staff. Women who provided an insight into how we make something like this and the programmatic skill to make this happen. I have stayed fond of this style, tried to understand and support this in my own life. It’s the mundane, the simple that’s significant. The insightful conversation, the easy action to solve a problem, without credit or even a visible role. So to the powerful sense of place we add strong women and there were many: Carol Newman, Cheryl Cook/Davis, Davida Brown, and Selina (whose last name I can’t remember). And at the head of the table was Edna Newman.
Obviously, people and places make camp. The center was Irv and Edna. As a camper I sort knew, absorbed, the philosophy of camp and, as an older camper, began to formulate a deeper understanding. I remember the experience and then tried to make sense of the why of the experience. I’m also aware that they found, recruited, a variety of other intense personalities that contributed to the experience as well. I didn’t really know how much Edna created camp until my adults involvement, I was a camp staff member for four years from ‘75-‘79.
Edna was, as Irv always said, “The Director’s Director.” In many ways Irv was in charge, up front, while Edna was the heart and soul. She was a quiet and yet forceful. I have so many instances where her presence was felt. Little things—for five years I spent all summer at camp, all three sessions, nine complete weeks. By the middle of second session my interest in some activities was lagging and Edna must have observed this because she would find me and schedule me into doing other things, little tasks, helping in the kitchen, working on a variety projects- mopping the dining hall with Marshall for example.
I really valued this experience and it has profoundly colored my life and profession. I like doing things and understanding the behind the scenes nature of making things happen. The mundane is interesting. I learned how the sand pool filters worked from Aaron and Colbert, I helped plumb the new laundry room, I think I spent much of third session each year assisting the maintenance man in his chores-- I could relight a water heater and unplug a toilet. I knew, and still would know, how the water systems of camp worked—and spent time fixing leaks and cleaning tanks, or heading up the spring road to dig out the spring box. My brain liked as this stuff and in many cases Edna was the instigator. Her sense of what was happening outside her direct vision was amazing. The other person who also helped make camp special in this way was Judy Carlson (sp?).
Judy was an absolutely amazing person who came to camp to “Help get things started” along with her daughter Crissy, arriving for the staff training week and first session. She had the most amazing ability to know things through some extra sense about what was happening, particularly in the interpersonal relations at camp. I have this memory of sitting, as a staff member; on the front porch of maybe the fours cabin and having her come chat with me.
One of the intangibles of camp, and the experience, was the community. How people got along during intense times, through internals and external issues, was key. Judy was a teacher on the peninsula, special education I think, and had both a skill and a talent for brief focused, pithy conversations. This was not chatty counseling, it was a "kernel conversation": “this is what I see, this is what needs to happen,” but in a way that was very empowering because I trusted her insight, there was no hidden agenda, she spoke the truth.
Camp depended on a series of strong women- administration and camp staff. Women who provided an insight into how we make something like this and the programmatic skill to make this happen. I have stayed fond of this style, tried to understand and support this in my own life. It’s the mundane, the simple that’s significant. The insightful conversation, the easy action to solve a problem, without credit or even a visible role. So to the powerful sense of place we add strong women and there were many: Carol Newman, Cheryl Cook/Davis, Davida Brown, and Selina (whose last name I can’t remember). And at the head of the table was Edna Newman.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Redwoods
Redwood Trees
I love the redwoods! Camp had a lot of redwoods and a couple of groves, one of the best small groves was just to the right of the road coming up to camp from the river. There was a couple of old stumps that would have made decent cabin foundations, each surrounded by a fairy ring of smaller trees. They say redwoods never really die as their root system can spring back up with lots of sprouts. Many of the trees cut with springboards had enough energy to sprout a ring of 10-20 trees around the periphery. These would grow to become large trees in there own right and, as the old stump didn’t decompose, the stump formed a platform you could walk around inside. A couple of people have build literal “treehouses” from these formations. One house I visited later in life used this feature to hold their water tank
There were also many large trees along the Hendy Woods trails—Edna had a favorite along the road, three trees fused together well over 200 feet tall and each tree about 3-4 feet in diameter. I have a nice picture in my mind of this walk. Redwood were also iconic of the area and the valley-so many trees were logged and hauled off but maybe because of the Anderson’s valley isolation, a few more were saved in both public and private lands.
Buildings at camp were mostly redwood—the dining hall was an amazing building built by a true craftsman of the time. The two-story building was set on a fairy step hillside overlooking the pasture below. The top floor—level with the main camp area—was large enough to set 120 people at long redwood tables. Each table made from three-inch thick planks, who knows how wide. The ceiling was an intricate intertwining weaving of wood to make the roof of the vaulted ceiling--King post trusses holding up the span of 35 or so feet. At the end was a river-rock fireplace, rarely used in summers. The bottom floor, reached by a stairs to the side, was the canteen. The canteen was the home of music, camper council, and had a couple of feature—beautiful fireplace, an ld bar with a great hunter-horse with the title, First Over the Bar” which took me a few years to understand, and little cubbies where the former resort tenants could keep their bottle. Casement windows opened to a patio overlooking a rail fence and the trail to the campfire circle.
I was a memory of Nancy sitting on or near the piano, arguing about the six-inch rule, or something akin, during a camper council.
The cabins were mostly redwood as well—well-worn cabins with red roll roofs, front porches and stairs that invited cabin group to sit out front. Different building had a different character. Some were
single cabins holding small group whereas some were longer and larger. They formed a ring half way around the quad. The dining hall, the story-telling tree (California Live oak) and the swimming pool forming the other side.
Along the entrance into camp was one of the best building, the Maintenance shed—my favorite handout as an older camper as well and as a staff member. Great old building, concrete fool, wooden door latch well worn with year of hands.
And here's another of my current camp pictures--modeling the emergency poncho.
I love the redwoods! Camp had a lot of redwoods and a couple of groves, one of the best small groves was just to the right of the road coming up to camp from the river. There was a couple of old stumps that would have made decent cabin foundations, each surrounded by a fairy ring of smaller trees. They say redwoods never really die as their root system can spring back up with lots of sprouts. Many of the trees cut with springboards had enough energy to sprout a ring of 10-20 trees around the periphery. These would grow to become large trees in there own right and, as the old stump didn’t decompose, the stump formed a platform you could walk around inside. A couple of people have build literal “treehouses” from these formations. One house I visited later in life used this feature to hold their water tank
There were also many large trees along the Hendy Woods trails—Edna had a favorite along the road, three trees fused together well over 200 feet tall and each tree about 3-4 feet in diameter. I have a nice picture in my mind of this walk. Redwood were also iconic of the area and the valley-so many trees were logged and hauled off but maybe because of the Anderson’s valley isolation, a few more were saved in both public and private lands.
Buildings at camp were mostly redwood—the dining hall was an amazing building built by a true craftsman of the time. The two-story building was set on a fairy step hillside overlooking the pasture below. The top floor—level with the main camp area—was large enough to set 120 people at long redwood tables. Each table made from three-inch thick planks, who knows how wide. The ceiling was an intricate intertwining weaving of wood to make the roof of the vaulted ceiling--King post trusses holding up the span of 35 or so feet. At the end was a river-rock fireplace, rarely used in summers. The bottom floor, reached by a stairs to the side, was the canteen. The canteen was the home of music, camper council, and had a couple of feature—beautiful fireplace, an ld bar with a great hunter-horse with the title, First Over the Bar” which took me a few years to understand, and little cubbies where the former resort tenants could keep their bottle. Casement windows opened to a patio overlooking a rail fence and the trail to the campfire circle.
I was a memory of Nancy sitting on or near the piano, arguing about the six-inch rule, or something akin, during a camper council.
The cabins were mostly redwood as well—well-worn cabins with red roll roofs, front porches and stairs that invited cabin group to sit out front. Different building had a different character. Some were
single cabins holding small group whereas some were longer and larger. They formed a ring half way around the quad. The dining hall, the story-telling tree (California Live oak) and the swimming pool forming the other side.Along the entrance into camp was one of the best building, the Maintenance shed—my favorite handout as an older camper as well and as a staff member. Great old building, concrete fool, wooden door latch well worn with year of hands.
And here's another of my current camp pictures--modeling the emergency poncho.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Buttslides
People, places and stories.
There are so many campers, staff and stories that flood my brain as I try to think of 'Iconic" pieces of camp-ness. Rob's Christian skit, "I love a parade, Showboats "love potion number nine", or Pahoos' Buttslides.
Pahoo, a parrot named DNA, his teepee by the laundry, lights powered by a car battery. He was a, I guess, typical camp character whose evening activity of choice included Buttslides. Each evening staff would stand up and announce what they would do for an activity, typical sing-along, nature walk, a mixture of quiet and active. Buttslides appealed to a few of us. Hike out the Hendy Woods road and look for a likely place, steep, and slide on your bottom down the hill.
In most places the hill was not steep enough to create a spontaneous, continuous slide. In a few places, under dark redwoods, near the river, the slop approached 75 degrees.
One night we slide down and the maybe a 200 foot drop overall and we reached a point where it was clear the what remained was vertical—just not clear as to how far. We couldn’t really hear the river but it was below, no moon and, of course, no flashlights. That would be cheating.
I was in the lead next to Pahoo (I think his name was David Lincoln, or something to that affect) and we discussed the next move. Crawling up hill was out, horizontal didn’t really seem to be an option either. So we dropped.
It was maybe 15-20 feet to the gravel of the river. To this day I have the clear impression that he couldn’t see at night and had never slide down this, or any other, area near where we were. This was the rule of Buttslides.
I have for years wondered what made this make sense to me, at the time or later. There was something scary and foolish, I get that, but there was also another level of competence and confidence that played in here as well.
And Pahoo, from the Potch-en-tocious tribe, lives on.
There are so many campers, staff and stories that flood my brain as I try to think of 'Iconic" pieces of camp-ness. Rob's Christian skit, "I love a parade, Showboats "love potion number nine", or Pahoos' Buttslides.
Pahoo, a parrot named DNA, his teepee by the laundry, lights powered by a car battery. He was a, I guess, typical camp character whose evening activity of choice included Buttslides. Each evening staff would stand up and announce what they would do for an activity, typical sing-along, nature walk, a mixture of quiet and active. Buttslides appealed to a few of us. Hike out the Hendy Woods road and look for a likely place, steep, and slide on your bottom down the hill.
In most places the hill was not steep enough to create a spontaneous, continuous slide. In a few places, under dark redwoods, near the river, the slop approached 75 degrees.
One night we slide down and the maybe a 200 foot drop overall and we reached a point where it was clear the what remained was vertical—just not clear as to how far. We couldn’t really hear the river but it was below, no moon and, of course, no flashlights. That would be cheating.
I was in the lead next to Pahoo (I think his name was David Lincoln, or something to that affect) and we discussed the next move. Crawling up hill was out, horizontal didn’t really seem to be an option either. So we dropped.
It was maybe 15-20 feet to the gravel of the river. To this day I have the clear impression that he couldn’t see at night and had never slide down this, or any other, area near where we were. This was the rule of Buttslides.
I have for years wondered what made this make sense to me, at the time or later. There was something scary and foolish, I get that, but there was also another level of competence and confidence that played in here as well.
And Pahoo, from the Potch-en-tocious tribe, lives on.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Geography
Camp's Geography
The geography of camp was one of the most important elements of camp culture. Papoose, Mary Crick's place, The Spring, the barbecue pit. Each place had a sense of place and history, Benny-Rays was named for real people although the story of the naming fades. Part of the sense of connection came from learning these names, these stories. ERN was located in an arm of the Navarro river on the North Coast of California, Mendocino Co., in the Anderson Valley. The valley had a few small towns, Philo (500), Booneville (750, counting sheep) and other smaller areas, Navarro. The river emptied into the ocean at Navarro by the Sea, very near the junction of Hwy 1 and 128.
Camp geography was the river, a floodplain shelf (maybe 60 acres), main building on a knoll overlooking the river and floodplain (another 40), and the uplands. To the North is one of a few isolated redwoods groves not on the coast, Hendy Woods. The land comprised about 320 acres in a rectangle with a smaller rectangle centered on top. Across the river was Ray's Resort, a great collection of funky cabins and building-this was a different aspect to California than most people think. Small rural towns, a lumber mill in Philo, blue-collar summer resorts along a small coastal river.
Anderson Valley had one claim to fame, Booneville was so isolated pre-WW II, that they developed a regional language, a way to talk about outsiders when they were around, another form of geography, "Boontling."
Isolation was a theme of the geography-no TV, very little radio, music was local and self-made or powered a dances on a Bogen amp through Jensen loudspeakers--not popular with the folks at Ray's who wanted to hear their frogs more than Cream or The Doors--I'll share more about dances I'm sure, later.
The small village of Mendocino is a little more difficult to explain--if you've watched "Murder She Wrote" you've seen the town, backwards to make it look like the East Coast. It was an artist colony, a collection of very weather-worn redwood houses, lichen encrusted fences, falling into decay, discovered as a great place to join eclectic forces. One great shop was in an old water tower-water being at a premium along the north coast.
Not Fort Bragg to the north, a conservative mill town, it had a coffee shop in the beat tradition, small cafes, art galleries, an art institute, a guy with the most incredible record, collection and an old Macintosh (when this was not a computer) playing music out his storefront on a rare fog-free sunny day.
One of the highlights of staying between session was the time after the campers left and those staying over went to Mendocino for the day. Edna was in charge (as she actually was anyway, the "Director's Director) with a few camp staff not off for the 24 hours. We were dropped off in town, had 25 cents to spend on soda, candy, whatever. One of my very good buddies and I thought we'd put our NiHi into paper bags and walk the streets as little kid drunks, we were pretty sophisticated in the ways of the world, and tried to impress the locals, none were more impressed that he and I. It was a time of silliness and somehow it also fit the humor of the camp (more on this as well) as well as the intellect of developing youth.
Summer access to camp was across an old flatcar placed by a local engineer and in the winter you parked in a small lot across the river and hiked in, a cross the "Swinging Bridge" no joke. Maybe 150 long and 45 feet up, built in the 40's after of the local, who at the time owned the land on both sides of the river, visited SF to see the amazing Golden Gate. He returned home, thought about it, may did some calculations and between to cliffs, built a model suspension bridge. I'm afraid of heights (really more afraid of falling but I quibble) and coming to camp in the winter as I did often as an adult was the subject of abject terror! One year a couple of the boards were missing near the center of the span...I digress. I did want to mention of couple of resources for those more interested in others' stories The ERN Memory Book is a great to start as well as link to a
collection of recent camp pictures. For a sense of old before camp, the digital library at UC has a collection of resort pictures, back and white of course, of camp and the area.One of the pictures is of the best swimming, natural, area along the river. As a kid swimming was so important and then as an adult as well.
Thanks ever so much. Ryan
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Starting the conversation
Greetings to all who find this. My purpose is to share thoughts, feelings, memories about one of the central (maybe the most central) aspect of my life: El Rancho Navarro. A camp near Philo CA, in the Anderson Valley along the Navarro River.
Let me first state that I know many others share, overlap, in my time and memories and that there are differences between what I experienced in the same time as others. Let me also state that I want this conversation to be thematic and positive. I'm really more interested in the network. If you have thoughts and wish to share, that would be wonderful!
I'm building on the shoulders of giants--Irv and Edna Newman, and a host of people who caught the vision, contributed their time, their ideas and energy to make this place "real" as something that mattered to many.
I also have a fading memory and hope that part of this conversation generates more thoughts and memories from others (names, experiences, traditions.)
I not the authority here- really the Newman's children have a greater perspective than I--but I spent something like two years of my youth, my life, at camp. I learned much of what matters to me at camp. To say I miss this world is so insufficient. Like a great book you wish would continue, you begin re-reading...so this is a reading.
And last I must say, I have the greatest respect for many living people I will mention as I go along. These are my memories, as accurate as 30-40 year- old memories can be--please add, correct, and augment! I'll make correction and add as ideas and information comes along. So here we go...
I first arrived at ERN, (camp, El Rancho Navarro) in the summer of '65 , I think (I was seven years old). I first attended for just third session, we were late in signing up, at the suggestion of my Dad's officemate, Ed Lewis, whose kids had attended camp. Ed and his family were Jewish and while camp was mostly Jewish kids, I was not and never felt this was an issue for the next 15 years.
I remember my parents pulling up the car, hot and dusty, in front of what I would learn was Irv's outside office. Colbert Davis greeted us, Irv was down in the city picking up the next load of kids from a parking lot near the Ferry Building, and we unloaded my luggage.
I have a picture I'll try to post of Cole: navy hat, white, shorts, always shorts I habit I still share, skinny, big smile and African American. He assured me things were okay (I wasn't all that sure, and we piled my luggage near the spot where the other kids luggage would land. That year I hat a funny straw hat, my Mom's idea, and an old Navy duffel from my Dad's collection. My folks left and the next things I remember was the sound of diesels coming up the road--how those buses made the trip was a bit of a miracle.
We all got organized, cabin piles and headed to lunch--sandwiches and soup--it held well in the heat and allowed for flexibility in timing. From that moment on I was immersed. I don't remember a lot from my first year (Rob Goldstein maybe) and being in the 8's. I must have been impressed and returned for 2 sessions the next year and 3 sessions for the next five.
So we begin. Oh and the explanation of this picture? I'm the one in the foreground, with the radio, as a camp director. Fun! We're outside the dining hall at the Oregon 4-H center singing a song by the name of "Super Lizard."
Let me first state that I know many others share, overlap, in my time and memories and that there are differences between what I experienced in the same time as others. Let me also state that I want this conversation to be thematic and positive. I'm really more interested in the network. If you have thoughts and wish to share, that would be wonderful!
I'm building on the shoulders of giants--Irv and Edna Newman, and a host of people who caught the vision, contributed their time, their ideas and energy to make this place "real" as something that mattered to many.
I also have a fading memory and hope that part of this conversation generates more thoughts and memories from others (names, experiences, traditions.)
I not the authority here- really the Newman's children have a greater perspective than I--but I spent something like two years of my youth, my life, at camp. I learned much of what matters to me at camp. To say I miss this world is so insufficient. Like a great book you wish would continue, you begin re-reading...so this is a reading.
And last I must say, I have the greatest respect for many living people I will mention as I go along. These are my memories, as accurate as 30-40 year- old memories can be--please add, correct, and augment! I'll make correction and add as ideas and information comes along. So here we go...
I first arrived at ERN, (camp, El Rancho Navarro) in the summer of '65 , I think (I was seven years old). I first attended for just third session, we were late in signing up, at the suggestion of my Dad's officemate, Ed Lewis, whose kids had attended camp. Ed and his family were Jewish and while camp was mostly Jewish kids, I was not and never felt this was an issue for the next 15 years.
I remember my parents pulling up the car, hot and dusty, in front of what I would learn was Irv's outside office. Colbert Davis greeted us, Irv was down in the city picking up the next load of kids from a parking lot near the Ferry Building, and we unloaded my luggage.
I have a picture I'll try to post of Cole: navy hat, white, shorts, always shorts I habit I still share, skinny, big smile and African American. He assured me things were okay (I wasn't all that sure, and we piled my luggage near the spot where the other kids luggage would land. That year I hat a funny straw hat, my Mom's idea, and an old Navy duffel from my Dad's collection. My folks left and the next things I remember was the sound of diesels coming up the road--how those buses made the trip was a bit of a miracle.
We all got organized, cabin piles and headed to lunch--sandwiches and soup--it held well in the heat and allowed for flexibility in timing. From that moment on I was immersed. I don't remember a lot from my first year (Rob Goldstein maybe) and being in the 8's. I must have been impressed and returned for 2 sessions the next year and 3 sessions for the next five.
So we begin. Oh and the explanation of this picture? I'm the one in the foreground, with the radio, as a camp director. Fun! We're outside the dining hall at the Oregon 4-H center singing a song by the name of "Super Lizard."
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