2020 will be remembered in many ways, and many of those memories will be less than positive. Maybe you’ve found moments where you’ve enjoyed this different pace of life, time with family, or pursuit of a new hobby. In general, though, what we’ve been doing since March has been really hard, and really stressful. Everyone has been forced to navigate a fundamental re-ordering of daily life, and many have been faced with far worse. The changes and challenges wrought by Covid-19 create constant pressure.

And, at some point, we’ll start to be able to gather again. And I don’t mean the cautious re-gathering happening at schools and restaurants right now – I mean something that feels more like how we gathered before any of us had ever heard of Covid-19.

Whenever that happens, I know something to be true. When we are able to be together, places like Wanakee –places that hold dis-proportionally large space in our hearts because of the people who are there and how it feels to be there– those places will matter more than ever. Talking about life and faith around a campfire, singing in the dining hall, hugging a friend – these sacred moments of connection will be back, and we will seek them out. I might even argue we will need them in order to feel whole again.

My last story (for now) of the generosity that has provided clarity, direction, and (dare-I-say) confidence for Wanakee in 2020 is a story of a gift grand in scale yet eminently practical in nature – a large donation to support maintenance at Wanakee, intended to ensure that we are prepared to re-open, that we don’t fall behind, and that we take advantage of this unique (and sad) opportunity when campers and guests are not on site using our buildings and grounds like we want them to be.

I’ve already shared about a couple remarkable things that have happened over the last nine months. As 2019 came to a close, the Darling family created a new fund in memory of Wes and Edie Darling and their legacy at camp. At a low point in the early days of our altered reality, a family reached out and pledged $50,000 to keep our momentum strong. And in early June, 225 individuals and families raised their hands and made Wanakee the most supported organization in the state. How much more gratitude could we possibly feel for the commitment and strength of our community?

Between the day of the $50,000 pledge and the magic of NH Gives, another incredible conversation occurred – Wanakee received a pledge of $60,000, specifically for maintenance and capital improvements.

I ended that paragraph and started a new one because the combination of all these gifts still takes my breath away – it literally gives me pause. Wanakee is a small organization with a lot of heart. While the soul of our community and the loyalty of those who call this place home have never been in doubt, this combination of financial support is unique in our history, and could not have arrived at a moment where we have faced stronger headwinds. We did not run summer camp this year because of a global pandemic. Can you imagine if I went back to last summer and tried to tell people we wouldn’t be open in 2020? In spite of that, our community has said loudly, clearly, and proudly: We love this community. We want this place to not just survive, but thrive. We will be back.

Specific to this last gift that I am sharing about today, you might be wondering, why did the donors choose to give to Wanakee? One of the donors grew up as an active participant of a Methodist Church in New Hampshire, and in a family that camped and hiked and swam and loved the outdoors. Wanakee was a natural fit for them. Dating back to our earliest days, members of their extended family went to camp, spent weekends in Family Camp, volunteered in the summer and on maintenance, worked here, and sent the family’s children and youth to Wanakee for a week (or more) each summer. Family members have met important friends and even spouses at camp.

In their words, “three generations have participated actively in the fun and faith that has grown [at Wanakee] over the years. Wanakee has been a part of our lives for fifty years and we have all spent wonderful, energizing, and enriching times there. It is an honor and privilege to be able to help Wanakee grow and thrive so that it can be a positive force in the lives of many other young people and their families.”

Senior High campfire at Family Camp, 2016

And why now? I can’t say it any better than the donors articulated it. “With the spread of Covid 19, this is a very challenging year for Wanakee and for all of us. For the safety of all it has been necessary to limit Wanakee’s on site programs and for all of us to practice social distancing from one another. This is difficult for everyone, but it also gives us an opportunity to reflect on how we can best support and care for one another. We are used to showing our love by being together in close proximity, by hugging each other, by singing out around a campfire in loud voices. But now we must remain apart, not touching, wearing masks, and learning new ways to be together in spirit if not in person.

The staff and leadership at Wanakee are working hard to find new ways to be community and to bring the values of hope and faith into changing times. We especially want to support that. We also want to help Wanakee use this hiatus from physically-present camp to be able to do maintenance and development projects that will help the camp be the best that it can be when it is time to open the doors once again. This is a time for re-imagining the future, for building, for using what we have learned from this time apart to make our eventual time together all the better, and all the sweeter. For this, resources are needed, and we are glad to be able to provide some. We hope that others may be able to add to our gift in order to carry out projects that are needed in this time.”

Suffice to say, others have already added to this gift in 2020, though our list of projects is far from exhausted, whether small or large. We have a dream of a new retreat center, a small lodge for our health office, infirmary, and health officer, and a new kitchen addition on the Dining Hall, among other things. Because of people like you, it doesn’t seem crazy to still be dreaming about these larger, grander projects in spite of the challenges of 2020. Wanakee is profoundly blessed by your generosity and commitment.

Back in early May, as the dominoes were starting to fall, our Board of Directors had not yet made a final decision on whether we could (or should) open this summer. We were considering reducing our capacity and delaying the start of camp. Like many camps, we continued to hold out hope. We set May 15 as a deadline to decide about whether we would be opening on-time and scheduled a meeting for May 14.

In the days before that meeting, our lack of understanding of how the virus spread, a lack of clarity from state and local health authorities, and the uncertainty of whether we could keep our community safe started to paint a clearer picture. When I think about those conversations, like the first time the notion that we might not open camp was said out loud, or the first time I saw a camp I viewed as a peer institution with a similar high standard for safety announce their summer cancellation, my heart hurts all over again.

And then I think back to that meeting over Zoom on Thursday, May 14, 2020, when our Board of Directors came to seemingly impossible unanimous conclusion that there was no other choice to make – since we could not be certain we could keep our campers safe, we could not open. Has a more consequential decision ever been made by leaders of Wanakee, beyond the choice to purchase the property and create this beloved community?

We hung up from the call, and I was confident in the outcome, but shell-shocked. It had been a cloudy day, and the light through the office window had faded during our conversation. Bleary-eyed, I stepped out onto the porch to collect myself, literally grabbing onto the railing. I looked down. I looked heavenward. I closed my eyes. I looked out.

A grainy iPhone photo of the light through the trees.

Through the trees, I saw a strip of orange. I couldn’t understand it at first, the difference between the colors of the clouds above and the ground below – what was there, so bright out in those woods? What were our neighbors on Lake Pemigewasset driving or doing?

Then the obvious hit me – I was seeing a strip of sunlight. The sun was popping out through an impossibly thin gap, shockingly bright. Knowing that our perfect site is so often a source of peace for me (and for many), and that moving my body would do me good, I grabbed my camera, hopped on my bike, tires still soft from winter storage, and raced down Upper New Hampton Road. I turned right on our service road and headed towards Lake Pemigewasset.

I was greeted with one of the classic sights that we all look forward to. One of the ways we know we are home when we are at camp. I saw a sunset, the ever-present sign of endless love, eternal hope, and sacred peace that is somehow at its most beautiful when we sit together on the eastern shore of our lake here at Wanakee.

I sat on the docks, tucked up on the beach, waiting for a summer that was not to come. My emotions were complex and overwhelming. It can be really lonely living at camp 12 months a year. The summer is what I chase and work for – ten months of hard work reward me with two months of noise and chaos and constant movement and changed lives. Year-round camp pros live and work “10 for 2,” and now the “2” was not to be. The incredible team of 28 staff, the creative schedule, and the nearly 400 campers who had signed up by mid-March – it was not to be.

It got darker, and realizing I had no light, I turned on my phone flashlight, hopped back on my bike and started the ride back up the path. Lost in thought, I moved slowly, trying to miss the roots that I know by feel as much as by sight after hundreds (thousands?) of trips to the waterfront. It was a struggle to keep the phone pointed ahead of me.

As I turned onto Upper New Hampton Road, 30 minutes after sunset, I realized I had no need of the light. It was one of those strange cloudy nights where the light somehow lingers. There’s no clear source, yet you can see what’s around you. The world looks familiar and altogether different.

The unique sunset, bursting forth from a total daylong cover of clouds, was a clear reminder that there was light and hope for a bright future. More mysteriously, on this dark day, both literally and in my professional and personal life, the sun had set, but somehow the world around me was still visible, residual light clinging to the surrounding dense clouds. I’m sure the phenomenon is not that complex, but I’m not a meteorologist, and I was moved by the mystery of it. I continued to think about that lonely, quiet bike ride in the days and months that came after.

And now, I’ve figured out what the light was. It was you – it was all of you.

It was the hundreds of people who prayed for Wanakee and supported Wanakee and kept the Wanakee spirit alive. Whether you gave $5 or $60,000, or told stories about camp among friends and family, or bought a sweatshirt from the online store, or attended an online worship, or sent your child to Camp @ Home, or looked up at the stars from wherever you are in the world and peacefully remembered how it feels to look at those same stars alongside Wanakee friends, with the extra sparkle they have when viewed from Lookout, through the reaching pines of the Site 2 campfire circle, or on a dew-covered tarp in the middle of the field.

You have been the light this year. And I can’t thank you enough.

I’ll see you back at camp. I can’t wait.

Grace and Peace,

James B. Tresner, Executive Director

A Hard Year, Full of Light (Part 3)

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