Camp friends are unique because we don’t put any effort into showing up and we don’t ask where each other’s lives are going, or pry about where each of our places are in the world. We show up with wind swept hair, rosy cheeks having had weathered the same storm…then we just talk about the little things.
The details we know about each other are only ones we have shared and perhaps some intel about dumping a snowmobile on a snow drift. We get to live with people who become like family without having their own set of standards and benchmarks for you.
It’s like a public defense putting effort into changing outfits and fixing hair before picking up a bottle of wine to meet friends in Kelowna or Vancouver. The formal updates on progress and happiness over dinner challenge your memory of what it is to act like yourself.
Our subtle moments in camp end up meaning more than anything.
Tonight we lovingly mocked our mechanic for saying “way cool,” because that’s what he “heard the young people say.” Then we clinked our lemon water glasses to cheers because we thought we were so clever to add the lemon pulp before noticing any preexisting floaties in our glass.