What Your Camper Didn’t Tell You — But We Will

You asked how camp was.They said, “It was good.”And maybe that’s all you got before they wandered off, sun-tired and barefoot, with traces of lake water still clinging to their hair.

But at Camp Mákemáke, there was so much more happening—moments your camper might not know how to explain, but that shaped their whole week.

They didn’t tell you how each morning began with the search for the tam-tam. Campers would scatter across the grounds, excitedly hunting for the hidden tam-tam somewhere on camp. It was a way to get moving, to wake up, and to start the day with a shared purpose and a little adventure.

They probably didn’t mention waking to the soft sounds of cows nearby—lowing gently as the camp slowly came to life. The smell of fresh grass, the cool morning air, and the peacefulness of those early hours stayed with them, even if they don’t talk about it.

Inside their tents, some campers spent quiet moments playing Uno by flashlight—laughing softly so as not to wake others, or passing the time in those early hours before the day truly began. It was a small, comforting ritual that knitted new friendships together in the hush of dawn.

They might not have said how after lunch, during our designated Chill-out Time they spent time swinging lazily in hammocks, rocked gently by the breeze while they shared stories, daydreamed, or just rested under the trees.

What they didn’t tell you was the messy, joyful chaos of making blueberry pie with their tent-mates. Outside, under the open sky, hands sticky with sugar and dough, they mixed and laughed and learned how to create something together. It wasn’t about perfect slices—it was about the teamwork, the flour on their noses, and the pride when the warm pie came out of the oven.

They didn’t describe the thrill of tubing down the river, linked in long chains of arms and laughter, letting the current carry them through sun-dappled bends. Or how they found their balance on stand-up paddleboards, shaky at first, then steady and sure, learning that steadiness comes from persistence.

You might not hear about the trashion show, but it was a highlight here at Camp Mákemáke. Armed with only newspaper and masking tape, your camper and their friends transformed scraps into runway-worthy creations. Outdoors, in a clearing, they strutted and twirled in their crinkling ensembles, cheering each other on in a celebration of creativity and courage.

They may have forgotten to tell you about blueberry picking at dusk, when the light softened and the world quieted. Their voices dropped to whispers as they moved carefully through the fields, hands slow and gentle, savoring a calm moment at the close of the day.

They might not mention the hikes that stretched their legs, the team games that challenged their spirits, or the feeling of jumping into the lake for a swim—cool water enveloping them as they laughed with new friends, their tent-mates, who started as strangers just days before.

What they probably won’t say is how quickly the tent became a second home—a place where whispered jokes, stories and late-night conversations built trust and belonging. Where counselors noticed when someone felt homesick, offering quiet support and kindness. Where being outside, surrounded by nature, changed something inside them—a slower rhythm, a deeper breath.

They won’t tell you how much they grew, but we will.

We saw them take risks that mattered—not the kind with danger, but the kind that stretches the heart. We saw them find strength in their own voice and joy in simple moments. We saw them become more themselves—braver, more connected, more alive.

So if all they say is “It was good,” just smile.

Because now you know what they didn’t tell you. But we will.