Summer in the girls' camp

Introduction

The history of the organized camp for girls covers a period of more than fifteen years. Before that time educators had long felt the need of this form of outdoor life for growing boys, and boys' camps had been in existence for nearly a decade. But as for girls and the out-of-doors, the popular idea had not advanced beyond the summer hotel stage.

The suggestion came originally from some parents who had had sons in a camp in Maine conducted by Mr. and Mrs. C. E. Cobb of Providence, Rhode Island, and who felt that girls ought to have the same freedom in their sports as their brothers enjoyed, and that in order to gain this it would be necessary to get away from the beaten path, to live in the open and to adopt some simple form of dress. The idea appealed to Mr. and Mrs. Cobb, who were engaged in educational work, and especially interested in the problem of the summer vacation, and they started viii INTRODUCTION

the first organized camp for girls at Bridgeton, Maine, in the summer of nineteen hundred and two.

The idea became popular, and within three years there were several others. Within ten years there were nearly a hundred. Today the number is increasing so rapidly that it is difficult to keep count. The educational aim of the original leaders of the girls' camp movement is being emphasized today by the National Association of Directors of Girls' Camps, and its educational value has been more and more recognized until it has taken a place in the educational system which is in the opinion of prominent educators second only to the school. In this connection a course of lectures on Camping for Girls was recently given at Teachers' College, Columbia University, to prepare leaders for this new kind of educational work.

Dating back to about the same period as the camp in Maine is another type of camp which has been developed by the Young Women's Christian Association, to provide the same kind of outdoor life for short vacation of the selfsupporting girl. Other movements, such as the Camp Fire Girls, the Girl Scouts and the Wood-

INTRODUCTION ix

craft League have contributed much to the cause of untrammelled freedom for girls in the out-ofdoors, and through cooperation of these movements with the directors of the private camps, not only are the standards for camp activities being advanced in all camps but the general public is coming to know more about the girls' camp.

Observation during a period of twelve years of the effect of the camp life in the physical improvement and character development of upwards of a thousand girls, and association in work and play with girls of nearly every walk of life leads to the sincere belief in the great mission of the girls' camp in helping to solve some of the problems of our American life.

We wish to acknowledge the courtesy of the Outlook Company in granting permission to reprint Chapter I, which appeared first in the pages of their magazine.

A. W. C.

New York.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I Life in a Girls' Camp 3

II Going to Camp 20

Chapter I

TEN years ago girls' camps were rare. Five years ago you heard of a few of them in Maine and New Hampshire. Nowadays we hear of a hundred, and they are located in all parts of the country — in the Adirondacks and the White Mountains, at the seashore, in Arizona and other parts of the Far West. The girl camper may be twelve or twenty. She usually comes from a home of luxury and hugely enjoys the novelty of sleeping in tents, the unhampered opportunities for learning to swim, to row, to paddle — in short, to live close to friendly Mother Nature — through eight or nine happy weeks of the camp season. And, best of all, she learns the value of girl friendships. A camp girl who is now in college writes: ''More important than experience with wind and wood is the intimate association with people which camp affords. I have known college girls who wasted most of their freshmen year in learning the simple principle of community life — toleration, cooperation, and normal friendliness — which the camp girl has already been taught." Another girl said that at home she had known only one girl well. Camp taught her to understand other girls.

Every summer one whole camp has an opportunity to vote for just one girl. It is not the most popular girl — though she is sure to be that; nor the most athletic; nor yet the best-looking. Not any of these. The highest honor the camp has to bestow is given for Camp Spirit — and it goes to the girl who has proved to be the most thoughtful, generous, and kind — in short, the best friend.

The girls' camp has proved that there can be just as great esprit de corps among girls as among boys. Not only that, but among girls of varying ages and circumstances. When one camp is "out together," there is always an older young woman who seems to be the leader. It is hard to decide whether she is a camp girl or not.

There is a big-sister air about her, and yet an air of frank comradeship. She is a councilor — a college girl, full of life and spirit. She is the close friend and adviser of the younger girls. Then there is the honor girl, who has been chosen by a committee of councilors because of her ''camp spirit" of thoughtfulness, friendliness, and leadership. She can swim and row, and is allowed to go in a canoe without a councilor, and sometimes to take other girls. There are also in this company the timid little mother's darling and the prim little city girl. Yet in spite of these varying types, so strong is the spirit of friendship that there is rarely a note of discord or maladjustment.

Camp routine is much the same in all camps. The bugle call which awakens the girls is followed ten minutes later by another, which summons all the campers to assemble for a short calisthenics drill and a run around the open court or a lively folk-dance. At one typical camp, ''If you don't go to 'cal' you can't go swimming all day." If you come in a bathing suit, you can have a dip in the lake before breakfast.

After breakfast there is a lively scramble to put the tents in ship-shape order for inspection.

Then follows the reading hour, under a big tree, with sewing, if you like; and the afternoon excursions are planned. It may be a long trip on foot or horseback; a night in the open, a trip to some distant mountain, with three nights on the way ; a three-day gypsying trip with a wagon for the baggage ; or it may be merely a quiet paddle along the lake shore.

The lovely camp evening, with its basket-ball, tennis, a bonfire with camp songs and stories (or the fireside, if it rains), or a *'sing" on the lake with all the campers in canoes, is brought to an end by the bugle again sounding in the deepening twilight. Taps, '' lights out," find all quiet, except a giggle or two, hushed by an honor girl, and the happy day is done.

In a suburban town a committee of parents recently held a serious and prolonged discussion over the question of the recreation of the children of the community.

A playground expert from a national association was called in to make a survey of the recreational facilities of the town. The survey revealed that ^'one-third of the leisure life of that town's boys and two-fifths of the leisure life of its girls are taken up in going down town, walking and loafing." At this point an exasperated parent suggested that if children could have duties, tasks, and a child's measure of responsibility they could utilize what time they would have left for sport and recreation without suggestion from adults; and they would not be found wasting the precious hours of playtime in aimlessly strolling down town and about the streets. Perhaps this wise parent had known in his boyhood days the joy of turning work into play.

At a certain camp in New England there was an accumulation of rubbish to be disposed of soon after arrival. The camp leader suggested a bonfire. The idea was enthusiastically received, and rubbish was brought from all quarters of the camp grounds. Many hands piled it ''high as the sky." When night came, there was a wild Indian dance and war-whoop, all joining hands, as the huge pile was lighted. That was a fine instance of making play out of work.

It was some years ago when Janet came to camp. She came from a large city in the Middle West. Her ''set" at home had parties almost every night. Janet was popular, too, with the boys. When she saw the campers in their bloomer costume, her face fell. They seemed so young. The camp leader found her weeping tears of homesickness when the train left which took her mother back to her Western home. *'J^^^^ dear," she said, cheerily, ignoring her tears, "I want you to organize a basket-ball team. I have been depending on you for our team. Will you come out now and look over your material?" Janet came out. She looked over her ^'material." Somehow, in the bloomer costume, with her hair in braids, she looked just as young as they. And they were such nice-looking girls, she noticed. She soon had a good team chosen, and during that summer she developed qualities, not only of leadership, but of thoughtfulness and genuine friendliness. So popular was she that her name has been handed down through several summers, and still clings to the tent which she occupied. And when every once in a while she returns to visit the old camp, she is welcomed by all the campers, old and new.

In the democracy of camp life a girl finds herself in an environment of simplicity and freedom which stimulates her to activity. In place of languidly accepting a ready-made programme of play she must provide play activities for herself and others. There is no distinction in dress, for the camp costume is alike for all. A girl is rated by her achievement, not by externals. Moreover, she has a distinct advantage in being rated well at the start, for, as one older brother put it, "Your camp takes it for granted that a girl is a good fellow till she proves that she is n't."

Gwendolyn was one of the few girls who failed to appreciate all this. She ought to have gone to camp sooner. For she had been around the world twice, had wintered in Japan, and had a yacht and an automobile. Yet these accessories, which stood her in such good stead at home, failed to make any impression at camp.

Then Gwendolyn started stories about the other girls. The first one passed unheeded in the friendly atmosphere of camp democracy. She tried it again — unhappy Gwendolyn! The second time the stories were repeated. The third time they were doubted; but the fourth time, alas! they were believed. But there was a reaction immediately. The stories were traced straight to Gwendolyn, and she became so unpopular that she actually became so miserable that she had to leave. "I had a hard rub,"

she wrote afterward, ''but I know it did me good." She had found that trips around the world, yachts, and automobiles count for naught when a girl fails to be thoughtful, kind and generous.

In camp a girl learns, like her brother, to be a ''good sport." One way is to take defeat cheerfully and to honor your successful competitor. Another way to be a "good sport" in a girls' camp which some brave girls have learned is to refrain from doing things which you are not able to do. One girl with a weak heart learned this only when she had to be rescued because she tried to swim too far. But the spirit of restraint which she afterward showed was recognized by the campers to be just as fine as the spirit of daring in others.

Unfailing good humor is a strong characteristic of the girl camper. Any mention of discomfort is frowned upon, and an uncomfortable experience, whether in camp or abroad, is always made romantic in a song.

The mountain trip, which involves several days' travel and some degree of hardship, is a good test of spirits and power of endurance.

A party from one camp started out one fine day to climb a famous mountain, whose high peaks they had often viewed from afar at their camp home. They walked many miles to the base, and then traversed the long side of the mountain before they began to climb. Lunch and supper were eaten from knapsacks on the way. It was nearly dark when they reached the hut half-way up the mountain where arrangements had been made to spend the night. The hut, they found, had accommodations for but thirty. Another party had preceded them, and there were fifty- four. ^'We '11 have to sleep like sardines," said one of the girls. And they did. By morning they had a jolly good song to take back to camp, as every party must, and every verse ended in *'Roll over!"

Next morning they started the long climb. Before they had gone far it began to rain. A car passed them half-way up, filled with people comfortably seated on dry seats.

"Only towering peaks and rocky paths can sturdy climbers thrill," the girls sang, "though others do their climbing in a car."

Nearly drenched, but in excellent spirits, they reached the summit, again to find that the best rooms of the tip-top house were occupied by some gentlemen from New York. The gentlemen offered to vacate, but our girl campers stoutly refused. After being dried by a smoky fire, and passing a night on some extra bunks, they started down the mountain, singing :

"How many miles have we got to go, got to go, got to go, How many miles have we got to go, To catch the train to ?"

It was afterwards learned that the gentlemen from New York caught cold on the way up the mountain, but never so much as a sneeze was recorded among the girl campers.

Camp has valuable lessons for us all, the experiences of some parents being as significant as those of their offspring. A fond father brought his motherless little girl to camp. The mother's death was very recent, and Patty had never been away from home before. Papa stayed at the inn across the lake as long as business in the city would permit. The first night he looked out across the lake and saw the camp lights twinkling on the shore, he wondered about Patty. How would she get along without her maid to undress her? "But it will be a good experience for her," said he, shaking his head sadly. In the middle of the night a storm arose — wind, rain, thunder, and lightning. The waves beat against the rocks. Papa arose and paced the floor. "My poor little girl over there among the rocks and caves!" he groaned. "She will be frightened to death!" He wrung his hands. He continued to pace the floor until dawn. At the earliest possible moment he tried to reach the camp by telephone, only to find that no one from the outside could break into that camp, by telephone or otherwise, for another hour. He waited. He called again. Patty's voice came back, fresh and clear. "Yes, papa." "My darling," said papa, "were you frightened?" "At what, papa?" "The dreadful storm — thunder and lightning." There was a pause. He waited anxiously. After a minute came the reply. Patty's voice sounded puzzled. "I didn't hear it, papa."

There are other parents who have learned the value of looking carefully into the management of the camp to which they wish to send their young daughter. For, although a camp may have an ideal location and beautiful scenery and model equipment, if it has not also wise leadership and the highest ideals of character, it will fail in its greatest obligation — the development of the highest type of womanhood.

The result of camp training should be, and usually is, a sound mind in a sound body. At the same time, the camps reveal, by contrast, a deplorable lack in the present system of education for women. It is the failure to put the proper emphasis on physical development. The school and college — and the home as well — are not sending forth their daughters with a reserve of strength and steady nerve as a preparation for living. And there are other evidences of a need for revision of the educational system. Just as in industry women have been working under conditions designed for men, so it would seem, in the school and college, a man's program is being imposed upon the girl student. Courses and methods which ignore the physical have been handed down from the past without proper adaptation to the needs of girls.

Many of these courses are not related to the needs of the girl's after life. For instance, the study of dead languages and higher mathematics may be good mental exercise, but may be wholly unrelated to the life of the girl who is preparing to make a home.

And much of the girl student's work is still done by assimilation and imitation, rather than by methods which develop the imaginative, creative, and reasoning faculties.

We hear in these days of the "nervous strain of college life" — and sometimes we hear the same thing from school-girls. The reason for this, in the case of too many girls, is a lack of discrimination in not knowing how properly to balance their time with work, rest, and play. Girls need to be taught how to relax. A camp girl said she found at college tired, overworked girls who did not know when they needed rest — not realizing that the mind and body, to keep healthy, must have complete quiet at times. "Some girls here," she says, "do not know the treasures in a long walk over hill and dale, along the brookside, through the woods, when all thoughts of lessons are left behind."

The camp girl is taught how to divide her time. Play has a large place in her program, and it furnishes valuable educational training. Through play she learns some of the first principles of the fine art of living — adaptability, reliability, initiative, and good fellowship.

She also realizes the great value of rest — sometimes solitude — and its relation to work and play. Off in a pine wood, beside a mountain stream, in a canoe, along shore, alone with nature or a companionable book, a camp girl can be happy for hours. ^'Invite your soul," is a familiar expression in a girls' camp.

And then the camp girl works! She goes in for things, and works for the sake of working. It may be organizing sports, or some unfinished craft work, or a part of the domestic work of the camp assigned to her. Sometimes she puts in an hour or two on lessons which have to be made up for school in the fall. With superb health, exuberance of spirits, and pleasant companionship, she gets joy out of working. And a definite part of each camp day is sacredly devoted to work.

Because she has learned the importance of accomplishing what she sets out to do and the advantage of team-work, the camp girl is depended on in college for the executive work in non-academic activities. It is said in one college that when a camp girl is made chairman of a committee that committee's work will be done well.

Camp life gives a girl also a good store of knowledge as a preparation for her academic work. She knows not only how to bandage a cut and right an overturned canoe, but also how to recognize the stars and appreciate the poetry of scenery. Contact with the real world of nature develops an interest in scientific explanations and theories.

Good health and a balanced mind bring many desirable qualities in their train — physical poise, toleration, friendliness, power of achievement, and that indefinable charm which is the glory of every woman with glowing health.

Chapter II

HAD the authorities at the Grand Central Depot but realized as they do now the importance of the summer camps, all the mix-up might have been avoided. As it was, crowds of boys and girls had been starting off from the big New York terminal for their camps at the seashore and in the mountains at the beginning of each summer without attracting very much attention. And that was why Betty Brown came very near being left behind when Camp B. boarded the White Mountain Express one hot morning in June.

Camp B. had arranged to meet the chaperon at the information desk. But when Betty and her grandmother arrived at the Grand Central, all breathless and perspiring and just a little late, they found the station a swarming mass of girls and boys, mothers and fathers, grandmothers, uncles, cousins, and aunts; and when, by dint of much pushing, Betty finally succeeded in jostling her way through the mob to the information desk, it was only to find herself hopelessly separated from her grandmother and locked tight in a jam of girls, chaperons, and suitcases, while the clock hands were pointing dangerously near to traintime.

It was a desperate moment; for had the party gone without her, Betty would have had to give up going to camp for the summer. Something had to happen! And it did. She never knew just how, but all of a sudden something gave way, the jam loosened, and the next moment she found herself on the edge of the crowd, with a significant bit of blue ribbon, the badge of Camp B., fluttering right under her nose. It was attached to Miss Mills, the head councilor, making a last frantic search for the councilor with the block ticket, who had disappeared in the crowd to find Betty. They seized her just in time, and everything turned out all right, for her grandmother had found her way to the gates and was waiting there with the Camp B. girls. In a moment, with a single punch of the block ticket, everyone was pushed through the gates, and the next thing they knew they were moving swiftly out into the open.

So after all the bustle and confusion they were off, and Camp B. settled down for a whole day on the White Mountain Express, which went rolling on and on up into the hills and fertile fields of old New England. There may have been passengers on that train who found the trip tedious, but there was one car, filled with a crowd of lively school girls that managed to have a good time all the way, singing camp songs, visiting and making new acquaintances, looking over the newest magazines, and keeping a lookout all the way along for the friends who were to get on at the important stopping places. The whole car was filled with camp girls, except for two or three elderly ladies on the back seats, who smiled and looked pleased at the gay company. And here and there, surrounded by a group of admirers, was an older girl, who was known as a councilor.

It was a nice surprise for Betty to find that three other camps were making the trip on the same train, and that they occupied the cars just behind. Exchanging visits and singing to them made the afternoon pass very quickly. Until after four o'clock the train slowed up at the junction, the one-time waiting place where a great many people got on and off, and then — bringing the end of the journey nearer — on again, to wind its way around the familiar bends of the beautiful Connecticut River. Things began to grow exciting now, and the campers in the rear car commenced to pick up their things. There was a rush for the windows as they went swaying by familiar landmarks, familiar to them all as the scenes of many a canoe trip. Now the girls in the rear car were standing, crowding the aisles with themselves and their suitcases. Still the train sped on, now following the stream around the curve, now leaving it for a little while for a straighter course. Till at last, rounding another bend, the spires of a village appeared, then a little station, and the train slowed up to discharge its first crew. Down over the station platform they swarmed, girls, handbags, tennis rackets, ukeleles, in wild confusion. Some landed in the frantic embraces of friends, others went scrambling, shouting and running to fill the waiting automobiles that were already headed for a certain camp back among the hills.

The next station claimed another crew who made an equally noisy and hasty exit, and so on, until the last one off leaving the river at sunset sped away in a dozen automobiles toward distant blue mountain peaks, and there were left only the elderly ladies, a stout gentleman, and a few other city passengers to go on to the junction to the north.

But to go back to the rest of the crowd at the Grand Central Depot. Within another hour they were all scattered, and speeding out in a dozen different trains toward the hills and lakes or the coast of New England — except, perhaps a few who were bound for the camps in the Adirondacks — they too were realizing their dreams about going to camp. For they had been dreaming about it — these girls and boys too — just released from school, ever since the first warm breezes of spring had been wafted in through the school room windows, and the longing for outdoors growing stronger made books and lessons and final examinations seem duller than ever. And while the picture in the mind of one might be a row of tents in a sunny field, in another a group of bungalows nestled among the trees on a rocky hillside, they both made the same call. You remember the day-dream of Penrod when he found himself flying lightly over the heads of all his

If- 1

^4 II

Fun at a sea-shore camp

A camp in the pine woods of Michigan troubles, while the class below was laboring through a stupid recitation? In much the same way, the call of camp, wafted in on the first warm breeze affects the imagination; and the camper, with her eyes fixed on a dull page finds herself making a splashing dive from Caesar's bridge, or climbing to the top of an acute angle in the geometry.

Now there are different kinds of camps. There are those to which a girl can go for only two weeks at any time during the summer, sleep in the open, and enjoy the outdoor sports and camp fires, and which will be described later on. But Betty Brown's camp is the kind set forth so attractively in the advertising pages of the magazines, where the activities are arranged in regular progression through a specified term beginning at the end of June or the first of July, and extending through nine weeks till the first of September, and which are clustered so thickly through the mountains and lake regions of Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont, although there are some also to be found in Michigan, Wisconsin, and other states in the West, and a few in the mountains of the South.

One nice thing about the opening of camp is having everybody arrive at once. You can picture the excitement in Camp B. when they all get there together — girls and councillors from all parts pouring in, load after load, from the different trains. You can hear them singing and cheering as they come down the road and around the bend, and as they draw up in front of the big porch, and roll out of the cars on to the familiar stamping ground, there is a wild reunion of old friends interspersed with "Wonderful to be back," and "Why, there 's Dot," and "Oh, you old peach," and "Thought I should NEVER get here." Even the smallest is keyed up to the top notch of excitement, and anticipation. Small wonder no one lives up to the family expectations by getting homesick.

All this is very thrilling to Betty Brown, the newcomer, who stands rooted to the spot, still holding on to her bag and tennis racket. Another moment, and these are gaily snatched from her grasp, and she finds herself swept on with the others on the way to her tent, in tow of a slim figure in bloomers, who introduces herself in friendly fashion as an old girl. They follow a bumpy path through the trees, the lithe figure in bloomers, camp shod, bounding on lightly ahead, while the others with their city heels, pick their way gingerly over the stones. All of them are greatly excited over the question of tent mates, Dot and Peggy hugging each other at the thought of being together, while four older girls are thrilled to find that they are to be put on their honor in a tent by themselves.

"I wonder who my tent mates are," thought Betty.

They come upon a group of white tents, nestled in among the trees, on the lake shore, with a glimpse of a bungalow beyond. Here they leave Betty at Number Five, and her guide takes her up the steps of the platform of a wide tent, overlooking the lake, where somebody is busy unpacking. The "somebody" turns and smiles at the newcomer, and Betty finds to her great amazement that this remarkably good-looking young and friendly person is a councilor! It is really humorous, considering that all along she had pictured her as a rather severe, middle-aged person, like her Sunday School teacher.