Circle Square Ranch - Year 1

Summer camp was always the highlight of each summer of my childhood. I was an avid and enthusiastic Brownie, Girl Guide and Pathfinder - all of which I attribute my high level of morality and neurotic necessity to obey rules. I went to countless camps through these groups, but the singular camp that stands out above all else without question was Circle Square Ranch.

I came to hear of Circle Square Ranch through Laurie. Both Laurie's parents worked, so each year her summer vacation consisted of week after week of some camp or another. This one, she told me, you get to sleep in a wagon, go horseback riding, rock climbing and swimming every day. My interest was piqued. I had to be a part of it. It didn't take much convincing on my part for my parents to send me there too. Neither my brother nor sister had any interest in being more than kilometre or two from the TV, so all the 'child recreation funds' were generally allotted to me. The fact that it was a Christian camp didn't hurt either.

The legend of Circle Square Ranch was that it was build on the foundations of a century old farm house that burnt to the ground one night. A few sheep managed to make it out of the flaming building, their wool on fire. In desperate attempt to extinguish themselves, they dove into the river that ran behind the barn and drowned. Their death's permanently fouled the water, thereon known as "lamb chop water". Amongst us campers, it was ritual for everyone to have a drink of lamb chop water when they first arrived at camp. It tasted like sulfur, but was unavoidable if you intended on making friends. Our second ritual was grabbing the horses' electric fence. There's really nothing I can say to defend this...in part because I know it was a poor decision, but also because it zapped too many brain cells for me to think of a clever explanation.

Laurie and I were assigned to a wagon with a few other girls - Hannah, Robin, Jen, Sarah, whatsherface, and a leader. Each day we ate in the mess hall, had a horseback riding lesson, went swimming, climbed the rock wall or went mountain biking, did crafts or the ropes course, played sports, Bible study, and sang camp songs around the fire. It was everything that camp should be. For those of us who's parent's loved us, we had an allowance to spend at the tuck shop to ensure that we were sufficiently hocked up on sugar during all of it.

Our bunk-mate Hannah was a self-explained Jesus Jew. I didn't understand what that was at the time, and even now I'm still a bit confused. Regardless, she was way cooler than I was and I kind of looked up to her. At this age, I had very little interest in boys, though I was beginning to notice they existed. Meanwhile, Hannah had fully accepted their existence and had caught the eye of a fellow camper who had taken a liking to her. What's more, they arranged a secret rendezvous behind the outhouse at 10pm one night. We all eagerly stayed up waiting for her date, but she cooly decided to stand him up. The poor boy was discovered asleep behind the outhouse later than night by his councillor. Hannah was further elevated in my books.

Eating at the mess hall was a great deal of fun. If I recall correctly, the most important rule was to not rest your elbows on the table. Each councilor and camper was perched on the edge of their seat in anticipation of catching someone who mindlessly did. I was unfortunate enough to get caught once, and suffered a rendition of "JULIE JULIE IF YOU'RE ABLE, GET YOUR ELBOWS OFF THE TABLE. THIS IS NOT A HORSE'S STABLE, BUT A FIRST CLASS DINING TABLE! STAND UP, SAY YOU'RE SORRY!!" Me: "I'm Sorry". "BALLET! BALLET! BALLET, BALLET, BALLET AROUND THE DINING HALL!" During this chanting I had to spin ballet-style around the circumference of the whole mess hall. Back at my seat, I am now more interested in barfing up my dinner than finishing it.

I looked forward to each day's horseback riding lesson. Each horse at Circle Square Ranch was donated and had a former life as a race horse, show jumper or the like, so they were exquisitely trained and gentle. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the Shetland Pony, Lonnie. Lonnie was donated because she was just a bitch of a pony. Since she was too squat to ride, she only lived at the Ranch as a gesture of good ol' fashioned Christian goodwill. It was impossible to contain her to a stall as she consistently stamped through the latches. From there she'd bully the horses -twice as big as herself- and bite them. She was a source of constant amusement and evasive maneuvers. If she was keen to bite the horses, who knows what she would do to a curious camper.

Each week ended with a camp-wide manhunt for the councillors, called "Shmuck the Staff". If you were fortunate enough to catch one of the leaders, you had the pleasure of spraying them with a can of whipped cream. This year, neither Laurie nor I were fortunate enough to have the honour. Oh well, there was always next year.