visiting the past
05 June 2004 @ 01:29
Today I visited one of my favorite places in Ohio during summertime: band camp.
And no, I'm not joking.
While I describe where I live to most people as "the country," it's not really "the country." My neighborhood is somewhere between suburbia and countryside. I have neighbors, many of whom don't have farms or livestock -- just a house, garage, and a yard. In fact, there are really only two actual farms and one hobby farm I can see from my backyard. Oh, did I mention that there is a golf course across the street from my house?
This is not the case in your typical countryside. There are no random (or not so random) golf courses. There are really no hobby farms. There are no houses without farmland. You can drive down a twisting back road and see dairy farm after dairy farm after dairy farm in some parts of the state, while other parts are dominated by cornfields or other crops. Townships are maybe, at best, a stop light, a gas station, and a post office. Some townships share police and fire departments. The nearest hospital might be either in another county. This is rural Ohio as I picture it.
Band camp is so far away from civilizian that it actually becomes an escape of sorts. You don't watch TV because there isn't reception or cable. Your cell phone isn't glued to your ear since there's no way that it even picks up a signal that is strong enough for a call. While a computer setup is possible, it's impossible to get online. Junk food, unless it's something you brought with you, isn't really available. Keys to your car are handed over to band staff when you sign in. Everything that is normal in everyday life is not normal there. It's just you, the other band members/officers/staff, the music, and your instrument.
Because you're so far out, animals have a way of cohabiting with you. Mice peek in on midnight showers. Raccoons scamper across cabin rooves and steal food. Insects are everywhere: in the cabins, in the shower stalls, and even clinging to the outside of the rehearsal hall. Birds sing as everyone meanders towards the dining hall for flag up and breakfast. You just haven't lived until you've seen a rather large male eighteen year-old city kid scream at the sight of a mouse. Or a girl so afraid of spiders that she would scream bloody murder. I think that's what I found the most amusing.
Six years of being someplace at a certain time of the year really does have an impact on you. It's scary to realize that I've spent almost a third of my life with that band, at that camp, settled into those routines. Now the routines are different, which is, understandably, a little unsettling. Life is all about change.
But that doesn't mean I can't go visit the past.
--Annie