Kerry Michael Wood

Some summer during my grade school years. Mom and Dad decided that my two years'
older brother Kevin and I should experience summer camp. Arrangements were made for us
to spend two weeks at Camp Junipero Serra in the mountains above Palm Springs

[Camp Junipero Serra
close to Wrightwood, California and adjacent to Jackson Lake on Highway 2].

My first reaction to the idea was a mixture or reluctance with foreboding. At the beginning of
World War II, when I was four, Mom and Dad decided to send Kevin and me to a Catholic
military boarding school in Anaheim. We would see our parents only on Sundays. No, we
were not monster discipline problems in need of a boot camp. Wartime exigencies had Mom
and Dad working odd shifts at defense-related industries. Child care was hard to come by.
The orange groves of Anaheim seemed safer than the city and port of Long Beach in the
possible but unthinkable event of a Japanese attack on our mainland. I would not start first
grade until I turned five, but the nuns would entertain and look after me.

Needless to say, I was miserable for the four years of the war. 1946 marked for me an
ecstatic time of going to day school without having to wear a uniform and being with my
family. It took some convincing for me to accede to a two-weeks' summer camp. I had to
hear all sorts of testimonials from acquaintances of my age group who found the
experience fun and exciting.

Finally Kevin and I okayed the scheme and so began the purchase of canvas suitcases and
the sewing of name tags into the clothing that would be required. I was less jubilant than the
other 30 or 40 preteens who gathered at a pickup point to be transported to Idyllwild, CA,
[Wrightwood, CA] for a fortnight of fun, games, campfires, crafts and frivolity.

I recall a frightening swerve of the bus on the way up the mountain. The driver explained
that he was trying to run over a rattlesnake that was crossing the road. I was terrified of
living with poisonous snakes nearby, but I didn't like the idea of them being squashed under
a bus.

Two score years later, I remember the lyrics to the campfire songs we learned, and I
remember getting lost after one campfire and being punished for arriving late back at my
cabin. I learned to call kool aid "bug juice" and toilet paper "ki-bo tickets." I was a blue cap
swimmer and could go over my head in the lake but only if there was a "buddy" with me. In
arts and crafts I tried to do a beautiful soap carving but ended up settling for an ashtray. I
learned how to make a lanyard but I had nothing to hang from it. I was too young to go on
the overnight hike.

My cabin produced a terrific flop for Skit Night. Mostly I remember wanting to go home.

These events came flooding back to mind many years later when wife and I decided to send
our sons Brian and Derek to a mountain summer camp that our closest friends' children had
been enjoying for years. Brian, the elder, was rather neutral about the experience.
Nine-year-old Derek was more outspoken and direct than was his father at that age.
Kerry Michael Wood • click here for this story •

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JL Note:
Idyllwild, CA • or near Wrightwood, CA?
Well, at summer camp near Wrightwood we drank "bug juice."
All sounds like Camp Junipero Serra in Wrightwood to me.
Maybe Idyllwild, CA was an early location for Camp Junipero Serra.

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Kerry Michael Wood
Pacific Grove, CA
2005 • Past Imperfect, Present Progressive
by Kerry Michael Wood
Book link: KerryMichaelWood.com • writing link •