I grew up the daughter of a camp manager. For me, camp wasn’t a week-long event, but an entire summer of adventure. I did spend a week away from home during most summers—one of the Dad’s benefits—but there was excitement packed into the daily routine of behind-the-scenes life. There were frogs in the pool and dogs in the cabins. There were emergency phone calls to make and supplies to refill. There was a shortage of counselors and an open thirty minutes to fill with song.
The word joy brings the smell of the swamp to my nose, reminds me of the summer bugs and prompts me to humming an assortment of catchy group tunes. In that word is my childhood.