Feeling of Home
1995, Fairlee, Vermont
By Anna Kerrigan
Peace I ask of thee Lake Fairlee, peace peace peace
When I learn to live serenely, cares will cease
From the hills I gather courage; visions of the days to be
Strength to lead and faith to follow, all are given unto me.
It is the middle of Sunday vespers. The smell of pine and earth engulf the room as I lay my head on Sam’s breast. Her large breast feels like home and I commit the moment to the “unforgettable” section of my memory. Marie is singing Eric Clapton’s “You look Wonderful Tonight,” and I feel loved.
Our first election night we voted for a campout in the far pasture. We whacked our way through the overgrown grass in pursuit of the optimal camping ground. Mid-hike we were interrupted by a winding creak. We stood frozen with indecision over either crossing and getting soaked or heading back.
All of a sudden Sam started taking off her boots and stripped her Oxford T-shirt over her head. Bundling her clothing, sleeping bag and knapsack in a compacted ball over her head, she slid her naked body into the murky creek. No one spoke. She began to navigate her way through the creek like a snake and slithered out of sight around an overgrown bend. The silence continued as Jess looked around the group. She pulled her shorts and undies down in a definitive statement and stepped into the water.
Slowly the other girls followed and we meandered single file through the creek. We were a line of naked women with bags above our heads, reduced to the most natural of answers. Like Robert Frost, we took the road less traveled.
I had never shown anyone my naked chest before that sunny day. I was afraid that when the other girls saw my budding breasts peaking out of my lanky body I would lose my place as cool. I gathered the courage to look around and found only naked backs with strained shoulders carrying their bundles. Their indifference fostered my feelings of acceptance. I started to laugh at the ridiculousness and began singing:
A Wyoda Girl is chockfull of fun
She laughs at the rain and outlasts the sun
A laugh that’s gay and fresh as a daisy
Because she’s simply Wyoda crazy!
Tra la la la la la la la la….
The other girls joined and we exited the reality of living in the 1990s. We were Wyoda girls: gay and fresh as daisies. This was our first foray as jungle women.
Next election we chose “midnight swim” and the Seniors headed to the lake to go swimming after dark. The Juniors were away on a hike and the Intermediates were at the lodge making taffy. Jess instigated the midnight swim’s transition into skinny-dipping as she slid off her bathing suit and slung it onto the dock.
“Anyone else going to join me?” she asked.
One by one we followed her lead and slipped our suits off, placing them in wet heaps on the dock. Somebody swiped Katie Nasteu’s suit and hid it in the boathouse. We all laughed as she flailed about looking for it. Her large naked body was like a big white Michelin man in the moonlight.
Screaming and laughter resounded through the stillness of Lake Fairlee. The water was like a warm, black blanket making my white body look green in the light of the full moon. When I was ready to get out I looked for my suit on the dock and found all the bathing suits were missing.
“Hey, where are all our bathing suits?” I shouted.
“Look up at the slide!” Jess snickered.
In the moonlight I was able to make out the silhouette of our collection of Speedos laced to the top of the slide.
Every year the counselors meet a week early to de-weed the cribbed swimming area. They also erect the very large silver slide outside the pleasantly de-weeded swimming beds. In order to enjoy the delight of a ride down the Wyoda high slide, one had to climb over the dock, navigate through the plants and pebbles to what looked like the longest silver ladder. Climbing up the ladder meant a one-minute minimum naked opportunity for the girls to size up your developing body. This was the ultimate dare.
I was paranoid of slipping on the antiquated toy, so my one-minute turned into five. I’d never felt so cold, exposed, or exhilarated. With my bathing suit held tightly I slid my bare bum down the slide and into the water. It felt amazing. In our natural playground insecurities did not exist. We passed inspection.
Our laughter and shouting continued as we traipsed single file back to the lodge. Right before the red bridge I smelled a skunk. The stench was so powerful that I stopped and let the other girls pass. It was a reminder that we were not alone. We were disrupting the serenity of darkness. It felt like we were being caught for breaking the rules. It wasn’t right; there was a bad smell attached.
When we returned to the Bung I took my warmest PJs out of my trunk and climbed into bed with sandy feet. My wet hair soaked into the pillow. The sand that caked into the creases of my sleeping bag reminded me of having sinfully delicious cookies in bed.
Suddenly someone was shaking me violently.
“Wake up and get your sleeping bag,” Sam said.
“Is this a joke?” I asked, thinking it was some sort of rouse.
“No,” she responded gravely.
“What’s going on?” I asked again, now concerned.
Sam didn’t respond and went to wake Alex and Katy. The seniors had started conjugating around the big rock, waiting until everyone was present before we headed down the hill. The grass was colored blue as night transitioned to morning.
“What’s going on?” we all murmured.
“I think MaryKay is dead,” I whispered to Katy.
“Shh….” was all the counselors said.
We walked single file down the hill in trepidation. I had my pillow, a flashlight, and a journal.
My journal after that summer reads as follows:
I miss camp. I think the fact that I’m not going this summer really upsets and scares me. I think I suppress the memories of how much it means to me. Just running down the hill with the smell of the lake in my hair. Going to the front porch and sitting happily exhausted on the blue chipped wicker chairs. Gazing at the sun setting on the crystal waters of the lake. Sitting at the dining table with Alex and annoying everyone around us. Banging on the pitchers and singing obnoxious songs really loudly. And then racing to the horse barn while my flip-flops gathered grass and shavings. Sneaking the rejected food from the kitchen down to the horses.
Oh and the smell and the feeling. It feels like a home. What would I give to be back there. But I’ll never see it again. It is as if everyone died. It knows me better than anyone else. So much of my life happened there. I don’t even have pictures. I’ll never see anyone from there ever again. Even if we were to meet it’s not the same unless we are at Wyoda. But hey, I guess that’s all a part of growing up. I guess I have to get over it and suppress it more in fear that one of my “too cool for summer camp” friends finds out how much my heart and my childhood belongs to the land of Wyoda Camp.
A man entered our camp. He molested two girls. The camp closed.
After more than 50 years of tradition, the modernization of America invaded Camp Wyoda. Un-chaperoned skinny-dipping attracted deviousness. Women could not simply live together in tradition without men and measures to protect. MaryKay was faced with either changing her ways or giving up. She chose to give up.
Sexual abuse results in the victim feeling responsible, guilty, and ashamed. They want to cover themselves and scratch out the sensory memories that are burning into the “unforgettable” file. These are traumas that haunt each relationship to follow.
The silver glint of a knife; the unwelcome clamminess of his liquored, cold lips; that horrible swell of humility burning your abdomen; his polluted breath; the after-taste of Crest stuck in the back of your gagged throat.
To this day it sickens me that one action has resulted in so much upset. Camp Wyoda was special. It had a spirit that I have not experienced anywhere else. I have been to other camps and had many great loves since my days at Wyoda. But in my realm of “unforgettable” I still have that feeling of home. When something feels “right,” it feels like Wyoda.
Anna Kerrigan grew up in New England and works as a freelance writer and copy editor in Santa Monica, California.
Posted by Elizabeth Armstrong Moore on Tuesday, February 27th, 2007 | Email This PostThis entry was posted on Tuesday, February 27th, 2007 at 12:06 am. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
26 Responses to “Feeling of Home”
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February 27th, 2007 at 3:22 pm
Very, very sad story. At least the successor camp, Aloha Hive, still sings a variation of the Wyoda song.
February 28th, 2007 at 10:43 am
For four summers I worked as a counselor at Aloha Hive where we were informed of Camp Wyoda’s horrible night every year, just before campers arrived, to keep us mindful that although camp seems to be a safe haven, its “magical forcefield” is not impenetrable. I appreciate that the author shared this story and brought with it a new dimension of what it felt like to be at the Camp that horrible night.
March 1st, 2007 at 5:12 pm
How sad that this happens.
March 3rd, 2007 at 7:57 am
What a terrible end for camp Wyoda.
It should last forever.
So many good memories.
\”Farewell dear Wyoda!\”
Arts & Crafts in 1971
March 5th, 2007 at 7:46 pm
wow. i know it\’s everywhere, this \”unsafe\” life we live. i\’m catholic–a big red flag…and the victim of abuse myself. what a shame to have to stop things as important as camp because we can\’t guarantee safety.
thanks for the story.
March 6th, 2007 at 2:29 am
HeY!
What a sad story, but is so memorable
March 6th, 2007 at 2:52 pm
Youth should be enjoyed,not taken in that manner.Camp is supposed to ba a safe haven,a place to grow,to enjoy not terrorized.Un fortunaly ther is always a preditor to take the youth of a child way too early.
March 8th, 2007 at 10:17 am
Good technique, you had me salaciously considering groups of naked girls skinny-dipping and enjoying the pictures in my head until the story turned. It was certainly Powerful, but then you lost me at the end there. I’ll read the news account to find out what happened. Thank you for sharing.
March 16th, 2007 at 10:08 am
I was a camper at Wyoda in the late 70’s & 80’s - what fond memories. I have always wondered why the camp had closed, figured MaryKay got tired of it & Wendy, Wally, didn’t have an interest in keeping it going - just stumbled on the article today - What a tragedy - such a fun, nuturing place to have such a violent demise.
May 31st, 2007 at 6:24 pm
I, too, wondered why Wyoda closed. This is very distressing and disheartening news. Maybe modern living requires that we–women particularly–live in an armed fortress in order to “enjoy” our freedom. At least we can be happy and thankful for the memories and positive reinforcement at Wyoda that we were fortunate enough to have experienced in a more innocent time.
June 9th, 2007 at 10:39 am
I was a camper and CIT at Camp Wyoda in the ’80’s. My mom had been a camper there, too. The camp, and my time there, holds a special place in my heart. I want my children to have the “camper experience” that I had–I believe it is invaluable. I had hoped to keep the tradition going by sending my daughter there, but now we will have to start a new tradition. I know there are other camps, but it certainly won’t be the same.
I remember the first time I went. . silently crying as I was going to spend 7 weeks in this strange place. In August my parents came to pick me up and I cried (not so silently) as I left for the summer. After that first year I happily boarded a plane to head to camp. . filled with excitement!
I heard why Camp Wyoda had closed, but nothing more. I am glad I found this article and that I have so many wonderful memories from summer camp at Wyoda.
Tisha Todd Rogers (early ‘80″s)
July 26th, 2007 at 3:46 pm
Anna, that was stunning! Your story snapped me right back to Wyoda…the waterfront, the stables. Middlers and bungs…words I have not heard in decades. I knew that Wyoda had closed some years ago but this was the first I’d heard of why. So freaking tragic. Thanks so much for sharing. It’s a really beautiful piece. Rebecca Fuller (known as Becky during summers of 70-74)
September 1st, 2007 at 10:40 pm
howterribly sad to hear of Wyoda’ s demise because of this despicable act…. I was there from 59- 60’s & have fond memories of the camp. The smell of the woods, the
‘nightly vespers’in the hall, Lake Fairlee, the bungalows, listening to someone
(Sally) play Taps at bedtime & the (dreaded)revelry! to wake us up in the morning!————- I too had my fears & anxieities upon 1st arriving! I learned to ‘bite-the bullit ‘/deal with life or die trying inspite of it-all…. I remember the incredible smell & taste of those delcious homemade doughnoughts, real homemade taffy –we actually had to pull ! & tasted incredible, and real candy /carmel apples ! THe horses, tennis lessons, crafts, drama, archery,—– swimming, boating, hiking trips , &field trips through Vermont & more! ————- it covered it all!
If any of you were there between 1959-1964——-I would just love to hear from you! Katy ( starkat@clarityconnect.com)
September 16th, 2007 at 8:44 pm
The smell of summer and fall will always remind me of wyoda. I still know every camp song. I remember every song to every parents day musical. I remember every outfit I wore to camp dances. I hated vespers. I loved cookouts. I loved canoe trips to treasure island. I loved when janet and john would give mail call. I got lice from the stable hats. I loved wood craft circle. I love my best friend that I still have from wyoda. I loved writing grafitti on the bungs that I lived in. I learned how to rooster tail on water skiis and butterfly at swim team. I loved Bakers Ice Cream. I loved candy night and taffy pull. I loved archery. I loved sitting on the rock on senior hill. I loved goodnight circle. I loved the haunted house at Hanio. I loved June, the cook. I loved reading the history of the walls. But what I do hate is that someone stole the innocence and independance from all the campers who were there that summer. I am sickened, but oddly need to know more. I would appreciate if someone could email me. I would love to forward this on to more wyoda people.
November 28th, 2007 at 1:37 pm
I attended Wyoda during the 70\’s and 80\’s for 7 years - from Bung 1 to Bung 16. I feel as if I have just been molested. This is too horrible to put into words, but you have done it well.
Fight
We\’ve got to Fight
Wyoda
We will uphold your name in our hearts
We will fight for your fame
With our voices shouting
United we stand
Surging forward
Never to land
Red and Blue
With your banners unfurled
Loyalty
To the rest of the world
Wyoda as we go thundering past
We will fight
We\’ve got to fight
Fight!
February 18th, 2008 at 8:36 pm
Very wonderful story…its also really sad, but written well.
Camp Lochearn, also on Lake Fairlee, still sings the Wyoda song in their closing circle before bed every night.
Thank you for writing this….I feel like I’m about to cry–but thats a very good thing, you captured the spirit of the camp and pain and hurt of this horrible situation. Thank you so much
February 20th, 2008 at 6:52 pm
Oh my god, this is so so sad! I LOVED Wyoda. I attend for 9 years. I sadly learned of it’s closing only years after, and never knew why. Wyoda holds such an incredible place in my heart forever. I cherish those memories, those idealic summers, and forever wish I could go back to that time just for one more short glimpse of a carefree childhood. Thank you for sharing!
July 1st, 2008 at 12:15 pm
He came to my camp first and I told him to leave. He went to Wyoda and you know the rest. I think back on that night and wonder how I would have responded if I had known that he had a knife and what he intended to do. I didn\’t know the girls he attacked but was devastated nonetheless. Our bubble burst, too. If we weren\’t safe at camp in the woods of Vermont, where would we be safe?? My heart goes out to all those campers and staff at Wyoda - what he took from them… their camp and all the future summers.
July 9th, 2008 at 10:21 am
For some reason I just did a google search of Camp Wyoda. I have such fond memories of Wyoda and went there for 4 years, and it was a safe haven for me as a really shy girl. It was the only place that I could come out of my shell and learn to be away from my twin sister. I still remember all the camp songs too. It breaks my heart to think that a place that I look back on so fondly had to close from such a horrible act. I always felt safe there.
July 10th, 2008 at 7:35 am
“Wyoda, Fair and true
in our hearts we belong to you…”
“Remember the times we had here…..”
Oh it was grand!! My sisters and I were there early sixties. Tina, Nina and Lynn. Anybody remember taking the train up from Stamford? Each camp had their own railroad car. Our camp was the best!!
No question, it was magical. Thanks to all - Lynn Arrants Harrelson
July 13th, 2008 at 6:23 pm
I went to a camp in Maine for ten consecutive summers and cannot imagine how much life would have changed had I not attended. I also cannot imagine how my life would change today if it closed. Thanks for sharing your story.
July 31st, 2008 at 4:59 pm
MY PARENTS SENT ME TO WYODA IN 1987 AS MY MOTHER WAS THE NURSE ON STAFF THAT YEAR. AT THE TIME, I REALLY DID NOT WANT TO BE THERE. AS THE SUMMER BEGAN TO PASS, I MET MANY UNIQUE PEOPLE & LEARNED MANY THINGS. I LOVED ARCHERY, ARTS & CRAFTS, AND MY FAVORITE HORSES BARNABY & PATCHES. MY BEST FRIEND AT CAMP WAS ERIKA. WE HAD A BLAST. I RETURNED AGAIN IN 1988……………IT WAS A JOY TO RETURN THE SECOND YEAR, A BIG CHANGE OF HEART COMPARED TO THE FIRST. THE SECOND YEAR I WAS ABLE TO GAIN A BIT MORE INDEPENDENCE WITHOUT MOM BEING THERE. I HAD THE SAME COUNSELOR SARA…TWO YEARS IN A ROW………….ANOTHER GREAT YEAR. I RETURNED IN 1990 TO WORK AT WYODA…………….FOR HALF THE SUMMER. A BIT OF A DIFFERENT EXPERIENCE WORKING FOR AN INCOME THAN BEING A CAMPER. I\’LL ALWAYS HAVE FOND MEMORIES OF WYODA…..REMEMBER THE DANCES WITH THE BOYS CAMP(S)? SNEAKING OUT OF THE BUNKS AT NIGHT? HANGING UNDERGARMENTS UP THE FLAGPOLE? THE BEST HAT CONTESTS? THE GRAFFITI ON THE BUNKS? THE LAUNDRY ROOM (THREE WASHERS? ONE DRYER? FOR ALL THESE PEOPLE?), HANGING OUT AT THE LAKEHOUSE? EVENING CIRCLE? TAPS? TO AWAKE AT THE CRACK OF DAWN & JUMP IN THE LAKE? THAT HUGE VINTAGE SLIDE? THE VW WAGON? JUNE\’S GREAT COOKING? THE PIANO? THE PLAYS? THE MUSIC? ROWING AN EMPLOYEE\’S BED OUT TO THE MIDDLE OF THE LAKE & SETTING IT UP LIKE A ROOM? KIKI? HAVING A CRUSH ON THE WATERSKI INSTRUCTOR TODD? HAVING TO WALK UP & DOWN THAT BELOVED HILL A MILLION TIMES A DAY………………TENNIS………BONFIRES………..I WILL ALWAYS APPRECIATE HAVING THE OPPORTUNITY TO ATTEND CAMP WYODA. OUR CHILDREN TODAY ARE TOO BUSY WITH THE COMPUTER & VIDEO ERA. TECHNOLOGY HAS MADE LIFE A BIT MORE COMPLICATED AS ALL OF THE SIMPLE THINGS IN LIFE HAVE SEEMED TO DIMINISH IN SOME WAY. I AM FROM NJ…………..MOVED TO FL………THE STRANGEST THING HAPPENED. I WAS AT DISNEY WORLD WITH MY FRIEND FROM NJ WHOM ALSO WORKED WITH ME AT WYODA IN 1990………..I SAW TWO PEOPLE SITTING ON A BENCH………….I COULD NOT FIGURE OUT WHERE I KNEW THEM FROM……….I WALKED UP & SAID DID YOU GO TO WYODA? IT TURNED OUT TO BE JANET & HER DAUGHTER SARA WHO ALSO ATTENDED WYODA…….IT HAD BEEN 15 YEARS SINCE I ATTENDED & I DON\’T THINK THEY REMEMBERED ME…………WHAT A SMALL WORLD???????????? NOW AS AN ADULT, I WISH WE COULD TURN BACK TIME…………..CHILDREN ENJOY IT WHILE YOU CAN…………
I HOPE THE PERVERSE MEN WERE PUNISHED TO THE FULL EXTENT……A REAL SHAME……..I\’D LOVE TO VISIT ONE DAY - JUST TO READ ALL THE MEMORIES ON THE WALLS…………..AS THAT CAN NEVER BE REMOVED WHILE THE BUNKS ARE STILL STANDING………….A SHOUT OUT TO EVERYONE………….WHO\’S HEART WAS TOUCHED BY WYODA……………..MARY KAY WAS ABLE TO TEACH, CHANGE, & ENCOURAGE CHILDREN IN A POSITIVE MANNER…………MANY THANKS!!!!! JUST A SHORT REMINISCE OF THE PAST
August 18th, 2008 at 5:34 pm
Hey there it’s me: Heather Clendenin. Proud owner of the Wyoda Spirit paddle, sets of Wyoda dishes, and scars both emotional and physical. I appreciate the story Anne, it is one that needs to be told. I must say that there are some inaccuracies- but they probably don’t matter. Wyoda was going downhill for years before the summer of 1995- the year the counselors were raped. If you recall there were about 18 campers total that summer. Campership was plummetting down for years. Wyoda was sold for financial reasons. I don’t think that it is quite fair to say that it was because of the crimes committed. That is too heavy a burden for a Wyoda girl! Feel free anyone to email me: spacesparrow@gmail.com. Especially you Brenna…there once was a girl named Gorgone. Where the hell are Sara Giller and Cricket Odiseos?!
October 27th, 2008 at 8:57 am
well, here’s my two bits as a former camp passumpsic counselor in the late 70s. i used to do mock amphibious landings on the wyoda waterfront with my squadron of canoeists. one time we stole the signs of all camps on the lake–including wyoda’s i think and we were quite pleased with ourselves until the state police showed up. there were lots of camps on the lake but we always saw something special about wyoda. it was long ago now, the seasons have passed but it’s the world as it has evolved–modernization…here’s to more simple times. be well.
November 15th, 2008 at 4:55 pm
Wow…such a sad end…I also attended Wyoda for years until I actually made it to the junior counselors bung…I miss it…My family now lives in Vermont, although I am a New Yorker. I hear it was recently placed on the register of National Historic Places…which is nice to know. Perhaps there is a future for that special place. I know a few of the posters here - Heather Clendenin (how is Kelly?? Gosh I loved your sis, she was like a crazy second sister to me.), Talia Acampora (holy cow we got into trouble) and Brenna…I randomly googled Wyoda since nothing popped up on Facebook. The memories there will last a lifetime. If any of you Wyoda folks want to, please feel free to email me: rootsdaughter1@yahoo.com
Miss those days.
December 11th, 2008 at 5:46 am
I was devastated when I heard the reason why the camp closed. I attended Wyoda from 79-86. I was in Bung 5,7,10,12,15, 16, CIT and JC. My final year I ran the woodcraft cirlcle, snacks at goodnight circle, taught beginner/advanced beginner horseback, taught sailing, competed in every single regatta on that lake. I canoed the CT River at least 20 times, climbed MtWashington 5 times, went to Volvo (Pro Tennis) every year. I loved the Hanover trips, parent’s weekend, trips to Baker’s for ice cream. And let’s not forget if you were bad you had to sleep on Newky’s porch….needless to say I spent a few nights there. My memories of camp are the sweetest most fond memories I have. It’s so sad that Wyoda’s reign had to end on such horrible circumstances.