Camp Mini-Yo-We

Between the ages of ten and fourteen, I attended a fundamentalist Christian sleep-away camp where my mother went when she was a girl. It was 2 hours north of Toronto in in town called Huntsville on Mary Lake. This is the cottage country of the Toronto area — lakes abound and there is beautiful scenery. Many Torontonians have cottages and during summer it is a playground where city folks enjoy nature.

We were going full circle here. For instance, my cabin mate Krista was my mother’s old boyfriend’s daughter. “Bruce Binning,” my mother would say, “He was so handsome!” Krista’s hair was white like mine in summertime and her skinny body was perfectly bronzed. The other girl I roomed with all the 5 years I attended camp was Tricia. She was a tomboy and wore a baseball cap over her unkempt hair. Tricia could McIver anything that wasn’t working and was helpful with organization. Krista and Tricia were best friends at home and at camp. I was the only girl from the United States, and I am pretty sure I was the only girl not from the Toronto area. They were fascinated with my accent and that I called a housecoat a bathrobe. I could not fathom that milk came from plastic bags.

I loved my summers at Camp Mini-Yo-We, and it was there I learned how to be a strong swimmer and canoeist. We could tip the canoe, get under it to breathe, right it and then get into the canoe without capsizing it again. I could drink half a lake and still be ok. I could swim quickly and had a lifesaving credential by 14. We also learned badass orienteering activities, for instance how to use a…