Friday, July 31 Campfires, and O.D.'s

The highlight of July 31, 1959 was a special campfire. Sometimes, they were held down at the Lake, and other times, they were in other locations around the camp. They always involved singing. And, probably like most campers, it was where we first learned the mother of all campfire songs, "Kumbaya." As the camp season progressed, the nights started to become chillier. We often ended up wearing our green CL emblemed jackets, as we roasted our marshmallows.
The night time was perceived very differently by campers and counselors. The campers would literally crash at the end of one of our busy days. Sleep was rarely a problem. But, for counselors, it was a different story. Once "taps" had blown/played, there were often additional tasks. Like O. D. (On-duty) Every counselor was required to patrol and or sit outside specific camp locations for several hours in case a camper required assistance. You reported to one of the counselor shacks; (A de-commisioned bunk), got your location, and armed with your blanket, flashlight and reading material, you headed for an adirondack chair at your post. There you sat, read, and listened for any calls of distress. Occasionally, you'd hear a small voice call, "O.D!" And you'd walk over to find out what the problem was. Usually, it was a mouse or raccoon, or a bad dream. The O.D. shack always had sandwiches and hot beverages. O.D at Camp Lenore was where I learned to drink coffee. Bad coffee. But, that not withstanding, sitting outside on a cool summer night, listening to the crickets under a constellation-filled sky, wasn't too bad at all.
Sometimes, the O.D's and other counselors would get together and serenade the campers. During my tenure at Lenore, I was on both the receiving and giving end of this tradition. It was fun both ways. Simple, two-part harmonies, and perennial favorites:
Swing Low, Sweet Chariot
Michael Row the Boat Ashore
Kumbaya
Down In the Valley
Irene Good Night
And, my favorite, The Ashgrove (My apologies for any mistakes. There were a number of versions on-line..)

The Ashgrove how graceful. How plainly 'tis speaking
The wind through it playing has language for me
While over its branches the sunlight is breaking
A host of kind faces is gazing at me.
The friends of my childhood again are before me
Fond memories linger as freely I roam
How soft, how soft, its leaves rustling o'er me
The Ashgrove, the Ashgrove that sheltered my home