A few weekends ago, I was on a retreat with the exec board of one of the clubs at the Y that I run. The retreat was held at Kanata, and it was great to be back. Though it wasn't the summer, just being at camp brings back so many memories, because so much of my life has been lived there. It still felt like home. Which I expected.

What I didn't expect was that when I took my club into arts & crafts, and we sat down on the floor, late one night, that emotion would overtake me like it did. As I explained to my kids why I had brought them there--that I wanted them to see the names painted all over the walls, that made up this beautiful picture of why people come back to camp summer after summer--the tears started streaming down my face.

As we talked about our vision for our club and our year, and as we looked around at the names--names of my counselors, my name, my friends names, names of my campers who are now counselors--we talked about leaving a legacy. We talked about how we could run the best meetings, or have the best teen center, or the most fun social events, but how, without the people, no one would want to come back.

I look back on my many summers at camp, and I don't think about the facilities or the activities that I did. I think about the people and the relationships that changed my life, and how all those memories, concentrated in 150 acres, make camp what it is for me. The reason I feel at home when I turn on that gravel driveway are the memories of all of my life that was lived right there.