Gosh. I was happiest ever at girls’ summer camp too, and everything you say
about Swatonah is exactly true—“an empire of girls for two months each summer”—just it was Minokemeg in the Wisconsin north woods. It was paradise. The camp director was, I guess you’d say butch, but to us she was just this dark deep well of androgynous authority in a captain’s hat. I adored her abjectly. At least most of the counselors were gay, but we knew almost nothing of it; they were just happy to be free in their own world with each other, and they worked very hard (I realized only later) to give us this marvelous latency-period adventure, like something out of Robin Hood. When it was time to go home to our various midwestern cities, it was traditional to write each other “train letters” and cry buckets.
omg how perfect is "help me through" as the name of a pub?! i love all you wrote in this post, the different ways you touch upon appreciation from whatever floats up in your memory. i am loving your snippet about the butch cool girls and "planet next, planet not here, planet where we make ourselves real."
"...a physical place, a culture, and a feeling state of great value to so many girls and that I think is mostly lost or invisible in our current time." This line had me feeling nostalgic for something I'm not sure I ever had. It sounds so important, though.
The concept of “nostalgia” is always for something that didn’t happen. I suppose it’s like retroactive yearning or gratification. Thanks for being an understanding reader. I never know what I really felt in the past. I’m always inventing the past now, in the moments of looking back. xxL
I love the “empire of girls” and YES to this pervasive, unnamable feeling; “in the larger world, where we spent the rest of the year, we were made to understand we were not important. We were easy to disregard as serious individuals, and we felt it. We felt it all the time, and it depressed us in ways we had no words for then.” I never had experiences like your camp until my 40s, believe it or not. I’m full of internalized misogyny that I (mostly) hold with compassion. What a world.
I enjoyed this, Laurie. The movement from the pub to the Village Voice to summer camp is really cool! Makes me want to loosen up my writing, letting it go where it wants to go.
I’m happy you enjoyed the post. Thanks. Please consider coming to the next Zoom conversation on writing craft on May 25 from 3 to 4, where I talk about the techniques you mention. The details are in the post. All best, Laurie
The pub is still there and thriving (I live round the corner). I lived here as a child before travelling around and landing back here. It used to be a very tiny pub back in the 1960's but now they have incorporated a couple of adjoining stone cottages and extended them into the pub.
Good to hear this. I’m the one that Laurie writes about here. I can remember a window that had a glass etching of a girl in flowing robes emerging from a globe of the world surrounded by the pub’s full name “Help me through the world.” The window was removed when the old tiny interior had new flooring put it. My father said it was damaged -- I would guess in 1954 -- and never restored.
I don't know anybody who knew it's original name so it is interesting to find this out. I always presumed it meant help me home because I'm drunk, I like 'help me through the world' much better!
Although I was an irredeemable tomboy, I had a great fear of being butch. At the same time, I was fascinated by butch women. Not the gross ones, who exhibited the most crass of traditionally masculine traits, but the neat ones with an air of IDGAF about them.
Gosh. I was happiest ever at girls’ summer camp too, and everything you say
about Swatonah is exactly true—“an empire of girls for two months each summer”—just it was Minokemeg in the Wisconsin north woods. It was paradise. The camp director was, I guess you’d say butch, but to us she was just this dark deep well of androgynous authority in a captain’s hat. I adored her abjectly. At least most of the counselors were gay, but we knew almost nothing of it; they were just happy to be free in their own world with each other, and they worked very hard (I realized only later) to give us this marvelous latency-period adventure, like something out of Robin Hood. When it was time to go home to our various midwestern cities, it was traditional to write each other “train letters” and cry buckets.
Beautiful and perfect.
Another great line, Laurie: "Every butch woman is an astronaut, off to planet next, planet not here, planet where we make ourselves real."
Thanks, love. That sentence popped into my mind, and I didn't question that it popped in for a reason I could invent. I'm glad it works. xxL
omg how perfect is "help me through" as the name of a pub?! i love all you wrote in this post, the different ways you touch upon appreciation from whatever floats up in your memory. i am loving your snippet about the butch cool girls and "planet next, planet not here, planet where we make ourselves real."
Thanks love. These were in the refrigerator so I made them into a meal. xxL
This is wonderful. What would the Voice have been without its writers, who came equipped with every interest under the sun?
Thanks, dear L. Have you seen Uncropped yet? It’s wonderful.
No, but it's on my schedule.
yep. you're one of those who can whip up magic from scraps!
"...a physical place, a culture, and a feeling state of great value to so many girls and that I think is mostly lost or invisible in our current time." This line had me feeling nostalgic for something I'm not sure I ever had. It sounds so important, though.
The concept of “nostalgia” is always for something that didn’t happen. I suppose it’s like retroactive yearning or gratification. Thanks for being an understanding reader. I never know what I really felt in the past. I’m always inventing the past now, in the moments of looking back. xxL
This makes so much sense, it's reflection not recording. Thank you for the thoughtful response.
I love the “empire of girls” and YES to this pervasive, unnamable feeling; “in the larger world, where we spent the rest of the year, we were made to understand we were not important. We were easy to disregard as serious individuals, and we felt it. We felt it all the time, and it depressed us in ways we had no words for then.” I never had experiences like your camp until my 40s, believe it or not. I’m full of internalized misogyny that I (mostly) hold with compassion. What a world.
A wonderful meander! Please keep me subscribed 🙂
What a time to be a journalist!! Thanks for a great read and I look forward to watching that documentary.
I love this one! Going to watch the documentary!
It’s great! Let me know what you think.
I enjoyed this, Laurie. The movement from the pub to the Village Voice to summer camp is really cool! Makes me want to loosen up my writing, letting it go where it wants to go.
I’m happy you enjoyed the post. Thanks. Please consider coming to the next Zoom conversation on writing craft on May 25 from 3 to 4, where I talk about the techniques you mention. The details are in the post. All best, Laurie
The pub is still there and thriving (I live round the corner). I lived here as a child before travelling around and landing back here. It used to be a very tiny pub back in the 1960's but now they have incorporated a couple of adjoining stone cottages and extended them into the pub.
Good to hear this. I’m the one that Laurie writes about here. I can remember a window that had a glass etching of a girl in flowing robes emerging from a globe of the world surrounded by the pub’s full name “Help me through the world.” The window was removed when the old tiny interior had new flooring put it. My father said it was damaged -- I would guess in 1954 -- and never restored.
I don't know anybody who knew it's original name so it is interesting to find this out. I always presumed it meant help me home because I'm drunk, I like 'help me through the world' much better!
Thanks so much for this further detail. xxL
Wow, this is a beautiful comment. Huge thanks, Laurie
Although I was an irredeemable tomboy, I had a great fear of being butch. At the same time, I was fascinated by butch women. Not the gross ones, who exhibited the most crass of traditionally masculine traits, but the neat ones with an air of IDGAF about them.
Thanks!
I really appreciate you spreading the word. It helps.