Camp Tamakwa and Me

Camp Tamakwa and Me | DebzWeb.com

That’s me, top row, first on left, with my cabin and counselors, 1966.

I went to Camp Tamakwa every summer from age 10 to 17, and for some years those eight weeks were more important than the other 10 months. (Eight weeks?!  My friends in North Carolina can’t believe it: most kids here don’t go to camp, and if they do, it’s just a week or two.)

Camp Tamakwa and Me | DebzWeb.com

 

Tamakwa is a different world. It’s a co-ed, Jewish camp in Algonquin Park, northern Ontario—some of the most beautiful country anywhere. That’s where I learned the important stuff in life: how to canoe, camp, play “Spit,” and make out.

Camp Tamakwa and Me | DebzWeb.comI fell for my first love there, too. I hadn’t spoken to Ira in 45 years or so, when he suddenly—electronically—reentered my life. Now he sends me notices about Tamakwa alumni events I didn’t know existed.

The latest: Worldwide Tamakwa T-shirt Day.

Obviously, you need a T-shirt to participate, and I didn’t have one. So Ira sent me this, which arrived just in time to celebrate the big event Saturday. How about a big “How How” for Ira?

By the way, we’re not the only ones who reminisce about camp. Check out Indian Summer, a movie about adults who return for a reunion. It was filmed at Tamakwa, by a former camper!

I’m going to watch it again, right now.

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