The Mailgabber features writing by members of the Camp Family. This month, we present a look in on the Pre-Camp crew’s preparations by former camper and current Senior Counselor Nick Fleisher. Interested in writing for the Mailgabber? Send submissions to Louis.
One morning this week at pre-camp, I stepped on a pinecone and heard that classic, satisfying crunch under my foot. It stopped me for a second. That sound only happens when no one else has walked there yet. And here were hundreds of fresh pinecones, untouched and uncracked, scattered across camp, waiting patiently for someone to lay feet on them. That’s what pre-camp feels like: being one of the first to walk back into something familiar and helping to bring it back to life. At pre-camp, the lake is a little colder than usual, the trails feel a little more wild than usual, the cabins are quiet, and everything feels like it’s waiting and holding its breath. It feels like experiencing nature’s bubble wrap.
Before this summer, I had never worked pre-camp. I had heard over the years about its early mornings, cold lake water, and docks that seemed to build themselves, but I never really knew what it looked like. Now I do.
Pre-camp is a quiet kind of busy. No bells, no cabin doors slamming shut across the hill. Just a small crew and a big list of things to get done. It’s the kind of calm that lets you notice things you usually miss: how long the grass has grown, how the trips plaques in the Rec Hall span decades, and how strange it feels to stand on the Swamper/Logger hill and hear nothing at all.
And that silence is slowly filled with work. Dock by dock. Bolt by bolt. Cabin by cabin. Camp begins to wake up. You see the places you’ve always loved take shape again, not all at once, but piece by piece, through the hands of people who care deeply about getting it right, both the big and small tasks. From the way a cabin floor is swept, to the way rocks and pine needles are sifted on the waterfront, to the way the docks and boats are assembled. Every detail shapes the feel of camp. Even the smallest, most forgettable things end up playing a part in someone’s camp experience. It might be the difference between a camper feeling grounded or out of place, welcome or uncertain. At pre-camp, getting those small things right means setting the tone for what’s to come and helps make sure the place is ready to hold all the moments, big and small, that will happen here.
When I was a camper, I didn’t think about who cleaned the cabins or hauled out the Hobie Cat and X-Boat. Camp just appeared. It looked effortless and felt magical. But now, I’ve seen a different side of what it takes to make that magic happen. Behind every perfect moment that will happen this summer is someone scrubbing, lifting, building, or fixing. And often, it’s the caretakers doing that work long before even the pre-camp crew arrives. They’re out here in the cold winter months, ensuring that everything’s not just functioning, but thoughtfully prepared.
Yes, pre-camp is busy work. But with camp people, it feels good. The people who show up come from all parts of camp life: trip staff, cabin staff, administrators, and folks who won’t even be here this summer but just want to help out. And somehow, it all clicks. Everyone just eagerly starts doing what needs to be done. It’s clear where everyone’s heart is. And being around camp people, even when you’re just moving dock pieces or driving goal posts around camp, reminds you why this place means so much.
I came to pre-camp because I had a few weeks free and figured, why not spend more time at a place I love! Since then, I’ve helped get the sailboats ready for camp’s #1 project, did a whole lot of swimming in the lake, played many games of euchre (and won), and unexpectedly watched the New York Knicks win an NBA playoff series in the Big House living room, which can hopefully become a summer tradition for future pre-camp staff. [Ed. note. at time of writing, Nick was optimistically looking forward to game 6…] But more than anything, I’ve come away with a new kind of appreciation, not just for the finished version of camp, but for the slow, steady, generous work it takes to bring it to life.