Mothering, Campfires, and the Magic of Summer

There are certain parts of ourselves that never really leave.

For me, one of those parts is camp life.

When I was 12 years old, I was what I proudly refer to as a Queen Babysitter. I babysat nearly every child in the neighborhood and absolutely loved it. The kids were energetic, creative, messy, adventurous little humans. And somehow, I never found myself exhausted by them. Quite the opposite. Their imagination and joy filled me up.

Around that same time, I became a YMCA camp counselor, earning a whopping $40 for a two-week session. (Which, honestly, felt like incredible wealth when you're 12 and your only expenses involve an occasional candy bar.)

But the truth is, I would have done it for free.

Because camp felt magical.

When Camp Becomes a Calling

Those early summers eventually grew into years of directing camps, leading backpacking trips, and designing conferences throughout California. There was an electricity in that work that's hard to explain unless you've felt it yourself.

Something happens when people gather around campfires, songs, mountain trails, cabins, lakes, laughter, and shared experience.

People soften.

People connect.

People become themselves again.

What Mothering Really Means

Looking back now, I realize so much of that work felt like a form of mothering.

Not necessarily mothering in the traditional sense but mothering in a broader, more communal way.

Because maybe mothering is not only about raising children. Maybe mothering is about tending to people.

It's making sure someone remembered their water bottle before a hike. It's sitting beside someone who feels homesick. It's leading songs loudly and badly because joy matters more than perfection. It's noticing who feels left out and quietly pulling them into the circle. It's helping create spaces where people feel safe enough to laugh, rest, cry, play, and belong.

The friendships formed during those YMCA years still exist today. Camp friendships are unique that way. They fade for a while and then reappear instantly, as though no time passed at all. Nicknames. Midnight hikes. Ridiculous inside jokes. Cabin chaos. That feeling of invincibility only summer can create.

And somehow, decades later, we're still doing it.

Summer Is Here And So Is the Magic

Summer is approaching, and yes I'm still going to camp. Friends will fly in from over fifteen states to gather at the base of the mountains in Southern California. We plan all year. Themes are created. Costumes emerge. Cabins transform. It becomes this strange and beautiful little haven of creativity, silliness, connection, music, and joy.

And honestly? Why stop?

Why stop gathering? Why stop creating spaces that help people feel alive?

This summer, alongside travel and family adventures, I'll also be teaching at two camps. And perhaps that's why I keep coming back to this question:

What IS mothering?

Maybe it's less about biology and more about presence. More about stewardship of joy. More about helping people feel seen.

Some people mother through casseroles. Some through storytelling. Some through listening. Some through teaching. Some through Reiki, yoga, caregiving, or simply sitting quietly beside another human being during a hard season of life.

And some of us, apparently, never really stop being camp counselors.

Even when our knees ache a little more hiking up the mountain. Even when sunscreen shares space in our bags with reading glasses.

Perhaps that's the true gift of camp. It reminds us that wonder still belongs to us too.

Summer Reminder: Joy Is Healing

As we move into summer, may we all remember that playfulness, connection, community, laughter, and time outdoors are not luxuries.

They are part of wellness. Part of healing. Part of being fully human.

And perhaps, in their own quiet way, they are also forms of mothering.

With grace,
Amy