"So they filled you in about this camper?" the nurse said. "The sleepwalking? The bedwetting? You know what to do if she gets up in the night?"
"I know," I said. "I'll be in the next bed, so I'll be able to go after her and steer her in the right direction."
"I'm worried," the older nurse interjected. "What if you don't wake up? I think you should take a string and tie one end to your wrist and the other to her arm. Just a little string, you know."
It was 9:30 PM, and I was on night duty at the camp infirmary. The three of us sat on folding chairs in the main office. A single 60-watt bulb hung over a table festooned with paperwork and jars of medicine and bandages. Down the hall I caught a glimpse of a barracks-like room lined with white-sheeted beds. It felt like a scene out of WWII. But instead of soldiers in white, my special assignment tonight was a troubled 10-year old girl. I was to sleep in the bed beside her to prevent her sleepwalking and wetting the bed. She was a sweet little kid, and I felt bad for her. But I was damned if I was going to tether myself to her, like some peasant with his only goat.
"Um, I'm a pretty light sleeper," I said. "I don't think that will be necessary."
The younger nurse gave me an ironic, sympathetic look. "Whatever you think will work. Do you want to get settled now?"
She led me into the barracks room and showed me my cot. My camper was already there, and so were two other girls, one with a fever, the other a vicious lung-rattling cough. I arranged my bed so that it blocked the sleepwalker's; she would have to climb over my bed to escape. She was awake and happy to see me, we chatted about Justin Bieber for a while, and then she went peacefully to sleep
I lay on my cot in the dark, with a little breeze at the curtains and the moonlight seeping in, and wondered, not for the first time, how how how do I end up in these jobs? Why hadn't my survival instinct kicked in that first week, when we all stood up together after supper and rearranged the dining room tables so that the wood grain in every table pointed north?
Well, it was a long night, but the sheets stayed dry. She had a beautiful sleep, much better than me or the cougher. In the morning I got up and poured coffee down my gullet and fidgeted through the traditional outdoor Sunday meeting, a non-denominational cross between Walt Whitman and a Vineyard church service. One of the nonagenarian directors told a rambling story about friendship, and also Albrecht Dürer, and then treated us to a sermon on happiness: "What is Happiness? It is a spring flower. A campfire with friends. A beautiful feeling that brings a smile to God's face." Yup, good old God, up there beaming away. And when Jesus laughs, he laughs kittens.
Finally, after the meeting my day off started, and I fled. Fleeing from camp here is simpler than it was in Russia, because I have a car. With exactly one 24 hour period off a week, though, it's hard to get very far. Fortunately, Portland and the ocean are only 45 minutes away. The boyfriend, unfortunately, is 3 hours away; I've had some lovely 5 AM drives back across the mountains, heavily caffeinated and pedal to the medal before the clock strikes duty time and I turn back into Cinderella.
Things are stressful only when I'm scheduled to work in camp, though. Most days of the week, I have a very cool job: I lead selected girls on hikes and camping trips in the wilderness. Right after breakfast, almost every day, we load up the 12-passenger van with gear and children and hit the road, radio cranked the moment we're out of the driveway. They 're not allowed to have phones, computers, or music at camp, so the radio is a treat. We have road trips, adventures, ice cream, climb mountains, pitch tents, jump off 15 foot cliffs into deep blue swimming holes, and life is good. I have now hiked and camped and driven all over the White Mountains. Next week I'm leading a trip up Mt. Washington. We'll hike for three days and stay in huts along the Appalachian Trail where lovely AMC croo members will cook lovely food for us.
If you're imaging my group squatting in some kind of dismal coop, let me disabuse you. This is Lakes of the Clouds, where we'll stay the 2nd night on Washington.
Needless to say, I like this aspect of my job very much. Once again I being paid to hike. The absurdity is free.
"I know," I said. "I'll be in the next bed, so I'll be able to go after her and steer her in the right direction."
"I'm worried," the older nurse interjected. "What if you don't wake up? I think you should take a string and tie one end to your wrist and the other to her arm. Just a little string, you know."
It was 9:30 PM, and I was on night duty at the camp infirmary. The three of us sat on folding chairs in the main office. A single 60-watt bulb hung over a table festooned with paperwork and jars of medicine and bandages. Down the hall I caught a glimpse of a barracks-like room lined with white-sheeted beds. It felt like a scene out of WWII. But instead of soldiers in white, my special assignment tonight was a troubled 10-year old girl. I was to sleep in the bed beside her to prevent her sleepwalking and wetting the bed. She was a sweet little kid, and I felt bad for her. But I was damned if I was going to tether myself to her, like some peasant with his only goat.
"Um, I'm a pretty light sleeper," I said. "I don't think that will be necessary."
The younger nurse gave me an ironic, sympathetic look. "Whatever you think will work. Do you want to get settled now?"
She led me into the barracks room and showed me my cot. My camper was already there, and so were two other girls, one with a fever, the other a vicious lung-rattling cough. I arranged my bed so that it blocked the sleepwalker's; she would have to climb over my bed to escape. She was awake and happy to see me, we chatted about Justin Bieber for a while, and then she went peacefully to sleep
I lay on my cot in the dark, with a little breeze at the curtains and the moonlight seeping in, and wondered, not for the first time, how how how do I end up in these jobs? Why hadn't my survival instinct kicked in that first week, when we all stood up together after supper and rearranged the dining room tables so that the wood grain in every table pointed north?
Well, it was a long night, but the sheets stayed dry. She had a beautiful sleep, much better than me or the cougher. In the morning I got up and poured coffee down my gullet and fidgeted through the traditional outdoor Sunday meeting, a non-denominational cross between Walt Whitman and a Vineyard church service. One of the nonagenarian directors told a rambling story about friendship, and also Albrecht Dürer, and then treated us to a sermon on happiness: "What is Happiness? It is a spring flower. A campfire with friends. A beautiful feeling that brings a smile to God's face." Yup, good old God, up there beaming away. And when Jesus laughs, he laughs kittens.
Finally, after the meeting my day off started, and I fled. Fleeing from camp here is simpler than it was in Russia, because I have a car. With exactly one 24 hour period off a week, though, it's hard to get very far. Fortunately, Portland and the ocean are only 45 minutes away. The boyfriend, unfortunately, is 3 hours away; I've had some lovely 5 AM drives back across the mountains, heavily caffeinated and pedal to the medal before the clock strikes duty time and I turn back into Cinderella.
Things are stressful only when I'm scheduled to work in camp, though. Most days of the week, I have a very cool job: I lead selected girls on hikes and camping trips in the wilderness. Right after breakfast, almost every day, we load up the 12-passenger van with gear and children and hit the road, radio cranked the moment we're out of the driveway. They 're not allowed to have phones, computers, or music at camp, so the radio is a treat. We have road trips, adventures, ice cream, climb mountains, pitch tents, jump off 15 foot cliffs into deep blue swimming holes, and life is good. I have now hiked and camped and driven all over the White Mountains. Next week I'm leading a trip up Mt. Washington. We'll hike for three days and stay in huts along the Appalachian Trail where lovely AMC croo members will cook lovely food for us.
If you're imaging my group squatting in some kind of dismal coop, let me disabuse you. This is Lakes of the Clouds, where we'll stay the 2nd night on Washington.Needless to say, I like this aspect of my job very much. Once again I being paid to hike. The absurdity is free.
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