When I think of Camp Duffield being sold, the lump in my throat grows so big I have to swallow hard not to break down into a gush of tears. Like so many others, my story with Duffield began at a very young age. I always smile when I look at pictures of myself at first timer?s camp. The funny boyish, salad bowl haircut and the short shorts with tube socks pulled up as far as I could get them. Aside from the functional camp attire, Duffield helped shape me into the person I am today. It is where I built upon my moral foundation and put it all into practice. Duffield is where I learned about friendship, forgiveness, and what it means to be good to people. I mean truly good to people. I was a dedicated camper from the beginning.

I wish I could give detailed, accurate accounts of every impacting event that happened for me at Duffield but I am afraid the list is too long. The memories have been jumbled together in my mental file folder titled- Some of the Best Years of my Life, like a box of photos waiting to be neatly organized into a scrapbook. Memory is a funny thing. My Dad somehow manages to have clear memories of events that happened to him in his younger days, some 60 years ago. He can recite the names of all his grade school teachers but then at the same time he struggles to remember what he had for lunch today. I think I have a similar memory. I may not be quite as good as him at remembering people and events from the past but when it comes to Duffield I have vivid memories of special moments and I can always remember the feelings. There were so many good lessons, good times and also some embarrassing moments. But even those embarrassing moments bring me good feelings because it reminds me of what Duffield meant to me. Duffield allowed me to be me, to the fullest extent, all the good, bad, silly and awkward things about me. Duffield gave me a safe place to let it all shine through and embraced me tightly with acceptance, forgiveness, and understanding. Then after that supportive embrace, just like my mom would do on my first day of school, Duffield supplied me with tools, turned me around and encouraged me to be the best person I could be as I stepped out into the world.

I remember a night around the campfire for vespers. The air smelled thick with bug spray and a hint of burnt marshmallows. We were respectfully quieting down for our time to ponder God and be thankful for the fun that was provided during the day. Jim and Marge handed out small sheets of paper as I am sure they had done with every camp that came before. This was an opportunity, Jim explained, for us to write down our sins on those little pieces of paper and then ask for forgiveness and throw the papers into the fire. I sat quietly a little hesitant at first that someone might actually find out all of my sins. Once I humbled myself, I began to write my extensive list of all the sins that a young teenager stuffs into her bag of inadequacies and regrets. Then, after our silent conversations with God, we each walked up to the campfire and one by one we watched those sins turn into bright orange bursts as we tossed them into the fire. Glowing as they curled up into black charred scraps. Smoldered. Gone. Forgiven. Even now as I remember that experience, I cry, because that kind of love was so strong at Duffield. I always felt so close to God at that place and I can only hope that the memories keep me connected to God as I go through my every day life.

I don't have much money to give to help save Duffield but I will try. I will try because I believe that other young people deserve the opportunity to learn kindness, goodness, forgiveness, acceptance, humility and love. I will try because everyone deserves to feel that tight embrace. And in the end, if we lose Duffield, I know in my heart that the community I grew up with and carry with me will always be connected by the memories. Camp Duffield, Camp Duffield sweet home of my childhood. Your spirit is with me we're never apart.