A heartfelt College Essay written about Camp Birch Hill

Tuesday, September 23rd, 2014

I recently announced a Camper Contest on Facebook, where I will be selecting a few written submissions and featuring them here on our blog. Sample topics included how camp has changed your life and the most important lesson camp has taught you.  Rachel sent me her college essay which moved me to tears. Thank you for your heartfelt submission, Rachel. Rich loved it too. Please enjoy!

“Birch Hill, Your Home Away from Home!”

            From the passcode to my cellphone to dreams throughout the night, Camp Birch Hill is the constant in my forever-fluctuating life.  Birch Hill is more than a place: More than a location in New Durham, New Hampshire; than bunks and cabins; than squealing girls and hormonal boys learning to interact.  More than Birch Ball and CIT hunt.  Birch Hill is a surrogate for less tangible, less consistent- things: friends, belonging, individuality, confidence -home.

            When I made the initial decision to attend Birch Hill I was twelve drowning in a mixture of anxiety and excitement.   There had been so much change in my life:  My parents divorced years prior; suddenly there was a new man in my mother’s life.  Along with this new man came a new house in a new town with new neighbors. His presence included his own children from a previous marriage: new siblings, one older, living on his own and recently widowed at age twenty-four; another, a daughter biologically and psychologically damaged.  Here was a crisis in a capsule: If I left for Birch Hill, would Alyssa and Adam, my own brother and sister, feel neglected or even abandoned?  Would they be able to navigate this sea of uncertainty without me who had always watched out for them? Considering our new family dynamics, would they even be safe?

            But I left anyways. Looking back it was the best decision I have made for myself, short or long-term. For several weeks I could step away from the turbulence and regain my balance.  In the long term a new and improved Rachel would find herself through Birch Hill.

            First day ushered in so much anxiety I did not know a girl could be that nervous, though within hours I had miraculously located my personal stress reliever.

            “Hi there. I’m Rich.  You must be Rachel.  Is this your mom?” His voice was warm, gentle.  He was assured, paternal.  Though he looked no more than forty Rich explained that he had owned Birch Hill for over thirty years, each year more pleasurable than the previous.  He stuck out his hand “How about an ice pop?” 

            That summer I grew to know Rich exponentially better and appreciated him even more.  Whether wagering on Ping-Pong for trips to Johnson’s Ice Cream Parlor or riding around on his “gator” (ATV) with Toby his yellow lab, Rich was perpetually doing something kind for someone else.  For those next five summers kindness and solicitousness became constants in my otherwise turbulent life.  Rich taught me how far kindness can go.  He encouraged my empathy and taught me how to be a better individual.  Through him I have witnessed both the benefits and challenges of compassion; I hope to one day be able to make a difference in someone’s life, the way he has for me. 

            Camp’s first day is the most exciting of every summer, the last brings with it tears along with a subconscious countdown for the next summer to begin.  Birch Hill has exposed to me the deeper meaning of family:  It’s not those to whom you are related, but those who strive to make a difference in your life. The counselors I have had reflect the real meaning of sisterhood, which I then brought home to not only share with Alyssa, but also my step-sister, Jamie.  Birch Hill has offered possibilities which before I could hardly imagine.

            I’m not certain whether I discovered or rediscovered who I am at Birch Hill.  I do know this: a swing sits in the absolute center of the camp; the swing overlooks a pond hardly large enough to call itself one.  This swing is my sacred place. Whether I am surrounded by the chaos of campers or in the absolute stillness of night as I swing I am suspended between two worlds and two selves. That is my image of innocence.  Birch Hill “My Home Away from Home.”

Submitted by Rachel Puntin