Canterbuy Lane Reflections
Canterbury Lane Reflections
When the sun, rising clear throws reflections on the lake (bolded means it’s sung)
We’re awake, and it’s cold. Last night the cabin felt like a space heater and the soft snoring of my mates was a lullaby that could not be ignored.
In the morn's first tender light
Campers are awake and walking to Main, lugging instruments and 12 days of hard work on their back
A picture painted by a purple sky in the morning, and a chorus of morn-clumsy campers clamoring for their morning glass of red
For a meeting of the arts
Actors brush up against musicians, and dancers and artists hold hands. Beauty and color is experienced in new hues as friends are made and bonds unbreakable form
What a joy of sound and sight
Canterbury Lane is the main road that connects Bartlett Shell to the Script unit. We all have walked it, from the first year going through her first homesick days to old veterans like me who greet the road like an old friend.
Our feet are guided forward by tearstained memories of our past times on the path, there’s a shared feeling that there’s no shame in tearing up when the tune hits your head.
Here, in the Shell is where a lot of us learned not to clap between movements. Where we first heard thousands of voices all sing the same song about the main artery of the camp.
My first year was nervous, I was a choir major and every day I worried that I wasn’t good enough for this camp's reputation.
The camp’s reputation is for being a place of teaching. Nobody will expect you to be perfect, but if you’re here and walk the same path I do you’re better than good enough.
If you’re here the camp chose you.
And it’s happy to tell you that you’re a camper now, once you put on this polo it never comes off. And you will always have the desire to wear it to school, or a party, but if you’re like me the sanctity of this shirt has no other place but here.
But the days so swiftly go singing by
12 days is never enough time to cope with leaving, you always need more time with your friends here or to rehearse
And we know that summer soon ends
When Final Sunday approaches I tear up, without fail. It feels like hitting a brick wall, the atmosphere of the dining hall has a feeling of mourning to it.
And we’ll walk, arm and arm down Canterbury Lane
You wish you had one more day, but you packed your trunk yesterday and cleaned out the cabin this morning. It’s time to go.
As we say goodbye to new friends.
Have a good summer, Blue Lake. Until next time.
