by Jessie Stein Diamond
When I was six years old, my brother and I each had an enormous white pet rabbit. 
We never could tell them apart until the day one died. That’s when I figured out the difference.
My “bunny” was the not-dead one.
Bunny’s now immortal presence at camp, a 400-pound white concrete statue by the Little House driveway, reminds me how great it was (and is) to be the youngest child of Nebagamon’s longtime directors, Nardie and Sally, and the youngest grandchild of, Muggs and Janet Lorber, Nebagamon’s founders.
We were a migratory family. As early as possible each spring we would bust loose from school and our winter home in St Louis and drive 13 hours north to Lake Nebagamon. The summer of 1969, when I was six, was among my best ever. That’s when my parents commissioned a replacement for camp’s second wooden Paul Bunyan statue, which had been carved in 1958 and stood outside year-round.
That particular summer began like any other. We arrived as the scent of blooming lilacs wafted across Swamper Hill. Even as a preschooler I loved exploring camp by myself. In late spring, I wandered with a tin water pitcher that I filled with wild asparagus I picked at ‘secret’ patches in camp. I often found enough for Evie Johnson, beloved pre-camp cook, to serve to everyone at the Big House dining table.
Infinite freedom
Before I was old enough to go away to a girl’s camp by myself, every summer felt like infinite freedom. My older siblings, Ted and Jane, had Jay, Polly and Sally Horvath, as contemporaries and partners in mischief (secret clubs and mysterious adventures). Their parents, Betty and John, whose astute insights and infectious belly laugh and cryptic quips, respectively, were a solace to my parents who worked dawn to midnight most days. I found my own fun.
That particular summer, I was the most faithful visitor watching as Anthony Zimmerhakl (Zimmie) and his son Steve built a sturdy new weather-resistant Paul Bunyan statue. Most days I watched Paul Bunyan’s statue take shape, as I petted my warm, nose-twitching bunny’s silky soft fur.
That was as fun for me as walking to town to buy penny candy, as magical as watching dance rehearsals by the Tamburitzans who spent every summer rehearsing folk dances and music for an end-of-season performance at the Lake Nebagamon auditorium (seemingly the height of glamour and romance). I was mesmerized by the daily routine of our on-site artists: Steve and Zimmie, a La Crosse public schools fine art teacher, as they steadily shaped wet concrete over Paul’s inner wire mesh. A sturdy, handsome statue gradually emerged—rising from the boots, to the knees, to the belt, to the flannel shirt stretching over his broad shoulders, and then up to his bearded face and dapper hat.
On sunny days, I would go to the lake with my babysitter. On the sun-warmed wooden dock in front of Kozy Korner I would ‘cook’ through my treasured Mud Pies and Other Recipes book (piling and dripping wet sand). I found and played with toads, frogs, harmless garter snakes and turtles. On cool days I read much of the Rec Hall library—Jules Verne, Hardy Boys!
Tiny berry tarts
As that summer progressed, I picked buckets full of wild strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries and hand them over to camp chef Dwight “Dirk” Dirksen, another of my favorite people, who baked tiny berry tarts just for me. On the second floor of the Big House, I often visited my maternal great-grandmother, Maggie (“Danny”) Rolfe, for a snack from her ‘peanut machine’ (pull the knob for a handful of salty peanuts) and bug juice.
I vaguely remember the dedication ceremony later that summer when Zimmie finished our manly Paul Bunyan statue. My dad wrote and delivered a grand speech about the logging industry for an audience of my nuclear family, grandparents, and great-grandmother plus that summer’s collective universe of campers and staff. Together, we celebrated our new sculpture—a worthy tribute to camp’s former use as a lumber company and the Big House’s storied history as a summer home for the Weyerhaeuser family.
Then, after my great-grandmother and I christened the statue (with water balloons filled with bug juice), Zimmie surprised me with a gift. He and his son had secretly turned Paul’s spare dabs of concrete into a giant bunny statue just for me!
Since then, nearly 50 years have passed. Paul Bunyan steadfastly welcomes all to Camp Nebagamon. Yet the experience of being a child in America has changed, especially for kids with few advantages, in ways that break my heart. What’s left of the body parts of camp’s (second) wooden Paul Bunyan have slowly decomposed and are now mostly rotted in their final resting spot under the Swamper Jop. The wooden heads of camp’s first and second Paul Bunyan are encased, trophy-like, in custom-built glass cabinets in the Herb Hollinger Museum. Even Zimmie’s legacy as a folk artist has been altered by legitimate objections to his stereotyped images of Native peoples in his other sculptures and murals on display elsewhere in Wisconsin.
Ultimate vaccine
Like many who spent their early years at Nebagamon, I received the ultimate ‘vaccine’—a safe and happy childhood plus knowing so many kind, smart, funny, fun, generous adults at Camp Nebagamon who nurtured hundreds, cumulatively thousands, more happy childhoods.
Each of us recalls our own friends, values and capabilities we gained at Nebagamon. These experiences helped us find our footing as adults. For kids who experience poverty or disability, being at camp can be even more life-changing, even therapeutic. As we look toward Nebagamon’s 90th season in 2018, a big “How” to our alumni community for paying forward our own life-changing summers via www.cncharities.org.
I lead the terrific board of the Camp Nebagamon Scholarship Fund (CNSF) as the third generation in my family, following in the footsteps of my parents’ 50+ years, and my grandparents who founded CNSF in 1947. Generous donors to the CNSF helped 240 kids in 2017 attend nonprofit camps with expertise in recreation and therapeutic supports for youth who experience poverty and disability.
Likewise, support for Camperships for Nebagamon (CFN) has diversified and enriched the privately-owned camps Nebagamon and WeHakee since 1995.
So every time I walk by the Paul Bunyan statue, which stands as a symbol of both sturdiness and adventure, I recall my own childhood. But I am also reminded that a summer camp environment is a glorious opportunity for any child. And like the spare concrete that comprises the bunny in front of the Little House, just a little bit extra can have a lasting effect.