Nostalgia for A Summer Spent in Hendersonville, North Carolina

In my admittedly overactive imagination, there has always been a threshold in my life.  There was a crossing over between the “childhood me” and the “adult me.”  Maybe other people also have an era that is frozen in time for them.  Maybe it’s just me.  In my case, it was the summer of 1993.

That was the summer that I finished my AA degree and prepared to transfer to my chosen university to complete my bachelor’s degree.  When that summer was over, I would move out of my parents’ house, never to return.  That summer was also a mere four months before I was introduced to my future husband at the bottom of a campus staircase.  After that moment, everything truly would be different.

Since I didn’t have any classes to take that summer, I worked.  I got a job in Hendersonville, North Carolina as a summer camp counselor.  I taught horseback riding to girls between the ages of five and sixteen.  A fellow college-student/counselor and I lived in a cabin with 12-15 of the girls for two months. 

Camp Ton-A-Wandah has been continuously operating as a summer camp for girls since 1933.  In Cherokee, the name means “by the fall of water.”  The camp sits on land that was once populated by Native American tribes and they assign every female, campers and counselors alike, an honorary membership in a tribe.  I was an honorary member of the Navajo tribe.  While the rivalry between the three tribes forms the basis of a friendly competition throughout the summer, it also offers an opportunity for learning.  All camp ceremonies are done with respect for those who came before and with reverence to the true tribes.

Recently, I had the pleasure of reversing back across the threshold 27 years and visiting the year 1993.  There was one notable difference though, my husband accompanied me this time.  On our travels, while in the Asheville area, we decided to make a detour to Hendersonville.  I spent an entire Saturday morning walking around the deserted camp in the off-season and taking my husband through that summer. 

Here is the dining hall that floats over the lake, where I organized a finale banquet with the “A League of Their Own” theme. (The movie was only a year old then).  Was the hall always this small? Here is the riding ring where I watched girls trot in circles on their mounts as I taught them to canter.  Was it always this beautiful? 

Here are the stone steps that lead up the mountain to the two cabins where I lived (Laurel cabin in June and Chinquapin cabin in July).  Were the steps always this steep? 

Here is the camp’s namesake waterfall at the entrance.  Did it make me gasp when I was twenty?

Oh, nostalgia.  You are a lovely thing.  My husband and I had a wonderful morning visiting my old haunts as I said again and again, “One day we. . .”.  There are women all over the country who spent every childhood summer at this camp, grew up, got married and now send their own daughters to this place.  While these women certainly have a much deeper connection to this place than I do, I still found myself emotional.  I was surprised that my throat closed when I saw the riding ring. 

This is the power of nostalgia and proof that crossing the threshold from childhood to maturity is more sentimental than we often realize. My fellow counselors and I spent the summer fluctuating between maturity (when in the throes of our duties) and childhood (what happens in town on nights off, stays in town).

Thanks for the memories, Camp Ton-A-Wandah.

Do you have a place that stands still in time for you? Let’s all get sappy together!  Share it in the comments section.