Paula (Polly Fink) Kocken

I always loved the freedom and safety of camp. You could try new activities, repeat the legends, and sing the songs of camp.

I knew about Camp Tannadoonah long before I went to that special place on a hill, by a lake, in the woods, among friends. In the 1940s, my mother and her three sisters all went to camp, and she always spoke fondly of rustic wood cabins, camp fires, and the old songs. Mom taught us how to sing those fun songs on car trips, and before we went to bed at night. So, long before I first stood in front of the dining hall, I knew “Little Drop of Dew” and “At the Gates of Heaven.”

I was very exciting to go for my first week of camp, the summer before entering fourth grade. I was disappointed at first to be in the “new” blue bird cabins, instead of the old Big T. Yet, I loved every minute of that week. We had a great time racing back to the cabins to hang up our towels and swimsuits, and then running back to the dining hall to be on time for KP. I remember looking for Miss Denton, all dressed in white, doing her “inspection” rounds. We watched for her white image floating around the cabins during activity times, signaling to us that inspection was finished, so we didn’t need to keep the cabin spotless.

I always went to Camp Tannadoonah on the last week of camp. So every year, I got to be part of the Candle Lighting ceremony. We sang, “Follow the Gleam”, and walked down the waterfront steps to launch into Birch Lake our little “boats” with their lighted candles. Then, we made our wishes. For most of us, it was the wish to return to camp next year.

Well, return I did … at least 6 times as a camper; one year as a junior counselor, and four years as a counselor. I always loved the freedom and safety of camp. You could try new activities, repeat the legends, and sing the songs of camp. One year, we took a canoe trip down the St. Joseph River. (Mind you, this was with old heavy canoes that did not portage well.) On another year, we packed up bikes and road to a campsite near Camp Tamarack for an overnight stay. As older girls of Morris, we pleaded to take out the sailboats during Rest Hour. More than once, we got caught on the opposite side of the lake without wind. So, we had to swim the boat back, and usually arrived late for afternoon camp activities. I remember Tent City and living in those musty tents for a week.

Group camp activities were the best. One-way Street was such fun with the counselors acting as policemen, and giving out tickets for any reason. Court was a riot with lots of funny penalties. Capture the Flag was phenomenal, with girls racing all over the campgrounds, hiding like commandos and racing to capture the flag. (I got to visit the Emergency Room with a sprained ankle one year!) Wednesday was cabin cook out. I still can taste the foil dinners with burnt meat and undercooked carrots.

My second year at camp, we had Gypsy Week and dug up the Patteran. I loved being one of the few groups of campers to dig up the ancient jar, and look at the old logs of past campers. We tie-dyed our orange scarves; proudly sang our songs, and wrote our portion of the new log which was then placed in the magical jar. I wondered if I would ever see the Patteran again; and vowed I would make it. I did as a counselor.

I enjoyed being a counselor almost as much, if not more, than being a camper. It was my first supervisory experience, being put in charge of activities, planning and organizing the weeks. It was so much fun that it never felt like work. I learned how to play the guitar at camp; how to harmonize, and how to encourage my fellow counselors to give the campers a great experience. Best of all, I met people who would become lifelong friends.

One year, I came back from a week at Outward Bound, and brought back the concept of the “Log” to camp. As many of you may know, the concept is an eight-inch diameter log lashed between two trees about nine feet up, creating a theoretical wall. The idea is to use teamwork to get over the log. It was a popular activity for cabins and counselors alike.

Of course, we girls enjoyed slapstick antics like … pies in the face ... “streaking” through camp … and running bras up the flagpole! I was always on the waterfront; I think we taught half of Michiana how to swim. I remember lifesaving drills and an occasion when one of the drills almost turned into the real thing. I remember sitting in the basement of Morris waiting for a storm blow over, and a few other scary times, when storms hit the lake.

The people I met, worked with, and loved, were the best. What would we have done without Miss Denton, or Mrs. Murphy, Mrs. Laughlin, Mr. M., Mark and Marty, Janie and Lois? Do you remember Seattle who came in for one year and taught us “One for the Money?” Then there were all those great camp names: Miss Bug, Miss Chippie, Miss Hoffer and our own Miss Toody.

All that growing up that happened to the counselors under the steady guidance of Mrs. M. and Mrs. L. Going to the St. Joe County Fair on our nights out. Going to Clancey’s on our nights out. Going home on weekends and coming back. Getting ready to go to college. Getting ready to face the world.

I moved to Minnesota (where there is another Tannadoonah) and started a career and a family. My second child is a girl, and I told her my tales of camp. I sang her the songs and taught her the legends of Tannadoonah. With cautious anticipation, I managed to get her to Camp Tannadoonah two years ago for Gypsy Week. I was worried that she would hate it. When I picked her up at the airport, It was so exciting to find that she loved camp, just as I had.

Although I will miss this Camp Fire Centennial Celebration, I will be there is spirit. Have a S’more for me and sing around the campfire.

“Memories that linger, constant and true,
Memories we cherish,
Memories of you.”