Summer in the Lower 48

mtedgecumbe.jpg

I’m writing this on a sun-baked August afternoon in eastern Massachusetts, while I’m missing my beautiful Mt. Edgecumbe view, immortalized above. It’s been nearly a month since Camp 2007 ended—on such a high note, I might add—and my weeks in Alaska are receding to a brief montage of impressions and memories.

I remember an impromptu rendition in the cafeteria at dinnertime by choir teacher Andrew Hames of the Alaska state song, and how several of our Alaska-based faculty stood up, clapped their right hands over their hearts, and sang along with him. We dropped our hamburgers and crinkle-cut fries, our fingertips smeared with ketchup, to applaud his sonorous voice and the deliciously solemn moment.

I remember the thick smell of paint and the bubbling of excited chatter as our middle school students painted moving boxes prepared by the Drawing & Mixed Media class for a hands-on visual arts ArtShare.

I remember writing teacher Jeff Rennicke’s exhortation for us to gather around the campfire for his night of absorbing, and at times bone-chilling, stories of Alaskan adventures. Because we were in the gym, his “fire” had to be a vivid photograph of orange flames projected onto our borrowed seven-foot screen. I could almost hear them crackling.

But most of all I remember our students, fresh-faced and eager scampering to classes, dutifully marking flats and sharps into their band and orchestra music, their brows furrowed in concentration as they mixed colors on their palettes, bursting out in uncontrolled laughter after an unexpected line in improv class.

As the summer draws to a close and we begin putting together the pieces of Camp 2008, I hope this blog will be a window into what preparations go into camp, and a platform for voices both familiar and fresh as we look forward to gathering again next summer for a great festival of art.

-Jara

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One response to “Summer in the Lower 48

  1. this almost made me cry. my SFAC memories are slowly fading and all i can do is to cling to them and let them help me try to get through this dark sunless alaskan winter.

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