recently on facebook an old friend who i haven't spoken to in years (now in graduate school at notre dame) posted some old photos from the all-girls summer camp that i went to as a camper, and later worked at when i was 17. this photo is from summer 2003...only five years ago - but i scarcely recognize myself physically or emotionally.what struck me about this picture is how much i've changed developmentally and physically, but that even though i often forget about this camp in the appalachian mountains of western north carolina, it hasn't forgotten me.
camp ton-a-wandah was one of those adolescent experiences that i didn't even know was molding me into an outspoken, self-assured, and (feminist) intelligent woman. there were few cliques, little attention to physical appearance (even the most girly of the counselors and campers would often stop shaving their legs for the whole three weeks), and little competition between the girls and women.
did this come from the fact that their were only two men on staff and no male campers except for a neighboring boys camp down the road? for most of these predominantly white, republican, and upper-middle class girls from columbia south carolina and charleston this would be the only three-week reminder they would have each year that they were in fact a person, and not merely a show-pony.
i suspect at home during the school year most of the girls watched their mothers perform the traditional feminine roles inside the home, their fathers leave for lucrative professional jobs in the morning, and at school during the day very infrequently did these girls find themselves in situations where they were made to feel like people, encouraged to speak up, and praised for their unique talents.
the camp was a place of conversation, of songs around campfires of heroine females, and the daily affirmation by the staff that not only were ton-a-wandah girls beautiful on the outside, but also on the inside.
i know that the issue of adolescent female development has been researched to death, and that most of what i'm saying is trite at this point, with books such as reviving ophelia, and queen bees and wannabees, which later became tina fey's film mean girls, all at this point which are part of the collective popular consciousness, but i wanted to share my story.
also at this camp while living in rustic cabins with no showers or air conditioning, girls were taught rock climbing, kayaking, riding, soccer, golf, tennis, basketball, drama, and dance. i learned how to canter a horse, how to light a camp stove and pitch a tent, and developed a fierce backhand.
the most important thing that i learned was to "leave my boyfriend at home," the motto of the camp since the 1930s, the directors encouraged girls to have a summer to themselves apart from boys who, inevitably, change the entire dynamic. this motto has stayed with me, and i think is perhaps the reason for my (pardon the expression) free spirit.
in an earlier post i discussed the somewhat intimate workings of my current romantic situation, and shared that both parties have agreed to leave the union untitled, as to not inter a gendered and inherently sexist institution. some of this ideology (on my part anyway) was due to spending my formative years at this camp, where i saw married women who would leave their husbands for nine weeks at a time to work at a camp for girls who encouraged their campers to make their own decisions apart from men. these women really practiced what they preached, and there was never any worry or mention if their husbands were managing the household chores alright, or if the children were fed and watered and if the lining of the universe itself could withstand a few women stepping outside their institutions and socially-prescribed roles for one summer.
ton-a-wandah was not entirely separatist in its message, however. i can remember anxiously awaiting the camp dances with camp pinnacle and camp falling creek (usually two a session) that would be announced by captain billy (the camp owner) at lunch time with his signature southern drawl and snail-pace-slow speed "gggiiirrrlllllssssss.....put.your.dancin'. shoes.on..." at which point the entire dinning hall would erupt into shrieks and loud applause and banging of cups and trays and hands on linoleum-tables. some of my early summer crushes developed at these dances...but all under the watchful eye of these iconoclastic women...these superheroes in my book...and all under the agreement that tomorrow would bring another day of girl-centered exploration and empowerment.
the day after the dance we would all begin to let our leg hair grow out again, would settle for a bandanna over a blow-drier, and would skip the mascara for a few more minutes in the sleeping bag.
in my own way, this is what i began to do after my breakup last spring. i pulled myself out of the stuffy, over-crowded wooden gymnasium, took myself home, and spent the summer getting re-acquainted with myself.
i am reminded of a song we used to sing beside the fire:
when a ton-a-wandah girl goes walking with
her one and only man
rest assured she'll do
the most official thing she can
she won't let him hold her hand
for he might not understand
that a ton-a-wandah girl's an angel in disguise
oh ton-a-wandah oh ton-a-wandah
for a ton-a-wandah girl's an angel in disguise
they all agree from pinnacle
all the way to falling creek
that a ton-a-wandah girl's an angel in disguise
