Monthly Archives: August 2025

Campfire Tales | One for the Books (8/16/25) 

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

There’s a certain hum that fills camp in the final week — a sound that’s equal parts joy, exhaustion, and an unspoken understanding that these days are numbered. It’s the laughter that carries across the fields at dusk, the way voices in the dining hall hit a slightly higher pitch, and the quiet conversations between friends who know they’re about to be apart. It’s the sound of a summer’s worth of living, pressed into its final pages.

Over the past seven weeks, 654 campers have called Chestnut Lake home, and 246 staff members have poured themselves into making sure those campers had a summer they’ll carry forever. That’s thousands of moments spent connecting, millions of footsteps across camp, and more than a few well-timed reminders to “please put your sneakers on before going to tennis — Crocs are not good enough.”

We’ve come a long way since the start of Second Session. Back then, the new campers were figuring out the map of this place — not just where things were, but where they belonged in it. In those early days, I wrote about how campers grow; constantly grow — but watching it happen is still like magic every time. The kid who could barely meet my eyes when they stepped off the bus is now belting out the Alma Mater at the top of their lungs (especially the “I’m Chestnut ‘til I die…” part at the end). The first-time counselor who thought “leading a bunk” meant giving orders learned quickly that it’s about listening, laughing, and sometimes sitting quietly with a camper who just needs to be heard.

We had plenty of the headline events. Tribal returned with all its energy — a few days when camp split into Unami and Minsi, competed like their lives depended on it, and then hugged like nothing had ever been at stake. We had our helicopter landing, our massive fireworks, our banquets, our talent shows (some of which redefined the word “talent” in ways I’m still trying to process). These are the moments that make the photo albums and the highlight videos.

However, as I wrote in an earlier blog post, the important information is often found in the spaces between. In the quiet moment before a bunk takes the stage. The counselor who notices the homesick camper before anyone else. The smile that spreads across a camper’s face when they finally hit the target, make it to the top of the climbing wall, or just realize that they belong here.

There’s a saying in Michael Thompson’s Homesick and Happy: “Camp is not built on the big events, but on the thousands of small human exchanges that make children feel known, valued, and part of something larger than themselves.” I think about that when I remember:

  • The camper who was too nervous to get in the lake on day one but, by week two, was racing to the Wibit with friends.
  • The inside jokes born in bunks that make absolutely no sense to anyone outside them (and shouldn’t).
  • The counselor who stayed up late helping a camper write a letter home that expressed feelings they hadn’t yet been able to share (and the parent who called me, thrilled to have received it).
  • The look of relief and pride on a camper’s face when they nailed a skill they’d been working on all summer, finishing a beautiful ceramics project to bring home.

Writers have been trying to put the magic of camp into words for decades. In The Summer Camp Handbook, Jon Malinowski and my good friend Chris Thurber write: “Camp is a place where you can be your truest self — because everyone else is, too.” That’s been true here every day this summer. My colleague Steve Baskin once quoted a camper who told him, “In three weeks here, I got back so much of the confidence I’d lost.” I’ve seen that in our campers this summer — the return of confidence, the discovery of independence, the joy of finding a place where they are free to be fully themselves. And Lenore Skenazy, in an article for Let Grow, said it plainly: “Camp works because it gives kids a community, a purpose, and the space to try.” This summer, our kids tried everything — from the high ropes to waterskiing to making up an original dance or song in front of hundreds of people. And whether they succeeded or not, they were braver for trying.

In the years to come, we’ll remember the big events. But what will stay with us — the thing that makes this summer unforgettable — will be the people. The 800 individuals who trusted us with their summer, and the friendships that will outlast the tan lines sure to fade as everyone leaves through the Main Gate soon.

As we pack the duffels and watch the buses pull away, I’m reminded of what Anne Lamott once wrote: “Lighthouses don’t go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining.” Ann and I feel it’s our mission — joined by an exceptional team of professionals and seasonal leaders — to be that lighthouse, standing firmly on a foundation of commitment to excellence and integrity, ensuring that every child and adult who arrives and departs knows how to find their way with our never-ending light. This summer, Chestnut Lake shone.

Soon, everyone will be home. The days will be quieter. Laundry will get done (eventually). And then, after the grass at camp has regained its green luster following a summer full of fun, someone will text a bunkmate a random emoji, and the whole summer will come rushing back. Because Chestnut Lake isn’t just a place. It’s a feeling. It’s a community. Likewise, it’s proof that under the open sky, surrounded by friends, we grow. And those moments of growth will be etched into our minds and souls forever.

So thank you — campers, staff, parents — for making this summer one for the books. Now, go home, tell your stories, and start counting down the days to next summer.

Campfire Tales | Real Leadership (8/8/25) 

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

We’re six weeks into camp, and at this point in the summer, I’ve seen enough to be reminded that leadership here doesn’t always look like a keynote speech or a flawless plan. Sometimes it looks like a Mato camper sprinting toward the end zone, clutching the football like a hot potato as he realizes he’s about to score for the first time. Or a Wakanda camper showing plate discipline, drawing a walk to score a run in a big inter-camp game. Or even a Varsity camper putting their arm around a friend and quietly helping them through a tough moment in the middle of an up-and-down day.

We are two-thirds of the way through this session — and six-sevenths of the way through the summer — and what’s been built here is more than schedules, programs, or Tribal points. We’ve built leaders. Some of them are 9 years old, some are 19, and some are staff members who didn’t even realize they had it in them until now.

When I wrote an article for Camping Magazine a few years ago, I admitted that my camp-director “skills” were, well, eclectic:

  • I can spin a basketball on my finger.
  • I can referee seven different sports, design a T-shirt, format a newsletter, drive a 26-foot box truck, and properly stern a canoe.
  • I can mount a framed photo without a ruler, and I’ve repaired both a window screen and a meaningful relationship more than a few times.

Some of these, I’ll admit, I’ve probably gotten too good at, while struggling to improve at things that might matter a bit more to camp’s success (and my own). Others — like belaying on the high ropes course, driving the golf cart without an actual key, or calming a parent who isn’t getting the answer they want — I’ve learned out of necessity.

This is the thing about leadership at camp: it’s not just about what you set out to learn. It’s about what the job throws at you — and how you handle it. Carol Dweck calls it a “growth mindset,” the belief that abilities can be developed through dedication and hard work. Camp is essentially a graduate course in that regard. You wake up, step outside, and something — often unexpected — will come your way that you’ll need to figure out.

I’ve seen that same pattern in our campers and staff this summer:

  • The counselor who ran a fantastic Arts & Crafts activity with pure enthusiasm — even though the supply order they’d been counting on never arrived.
  • The older camper who volunteered to be goalie in soccer for the first time and then stopped two penalty shots in one game.
  • The first-time campers who stood on stage at our Community Campfire and spoke beautifully about a new friend being honored with a Community Service Award — even though they’d met less than a week before.
  • The bunk that secretly made friendship bracelets for their counselor, who was missing home, just to make sure she knew how much she mattered here.

These moments don’t happen because someone read a manual on leadership. They happen because we’ve built a community where people jump in, try, fail, adjust, try again — and where those actions are noticed and celebrated.

Now comes the final stretch. This is when leadership matters most — when routines are second nature, when it would be easy to coast. This is the time to double down: to lead loudly by cheering your team through the last Tribal event (which could break at any moment), and to lead quietly by spotting the camper sitting alone and inviting them into the game.

I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I can say without question that I’m already the luckiest I can be. Luck got me here, but leadership — mine, and yours — is what keeps making this place extraordinary.

So let’s finish strong. Let’s add a few more skills to our tool belts, a few more stories to our highlight reel, and a few more moments where someone surprises themselves with what they’re capable of. That’s how leaders are made here — one unexpected challenge, one person doing something special to make a difference, and one great camp day at a time.

Campfire Tales | Counselors They’ll Remember (8/1/25) 

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

There’s a very particular kind of magic in the air at Chestnut Lake right now. Week 5 is a moment of beautiful tension — a balance of beginnings and endings, of fresh starts and deep roots. On one hand, we welcomed a brand-new wave of Second Session campers just four days ago — wide-eyed, eager, and ready to dive into everything. On the other hand, we have an amazing group of Full Summer campers who are now already five weeks into their journey — seasoned, confident, and now serving as bunk leaders, torch-bearers of tradition, and quiet mentors for the newer kids.

This week also marked the start (and conclusion later today) of Discovery Camp, a special five-day experience designed for younger campers to dip their toes into the Chestnut Lake experience. These sixty kids packed a full summer’s worth of excitement into less than a week — and now head home with paint on their arms, songs in their heads, new friendships formed, and hopefully, the start of a long camp story that’s just beginning. All of these experiences — the firsts, the middles, and even the goodbyes — are different. But they are all rooted in the same core truth:

Camp is about connection. And that connection is so often made real through one person: a counselor.

I’ve told this story before, but it feels especially important right now.

It was 1982. I was twelve years old. It was another summer at my camp, and what I wanted more than anything in the world was a pair of high-top Converse Weapon basketball sneakers — not just any pair, but the exact pair that my counselor Todd wore. Looking back, I didn’t really want the sneakers. I just wanted to be like him.

Todd was from Maryland, and he would someday become an attorney — a world away from my home in Philadelphia, where my future career plans had me playing point guard alongside Andrew Toney for the Sixers. He was charismatic and brilliant, a tennis player who somehow knew everything about music, politics, and the world. He told stories that made you sit up straighter. He played Grateful Dead tapes and talked about Israel and Europe like someone who had been places. He went to Emory, and he had a girlfriend.

He wasn’t perfect. But Todd had a kind of gravity to him. When he spoke, you listened. When he asked you how you were doing, he seemed to actually mean it. He didn’t talk down to us. He didn’t perform. He showed up — again and again, every single day — and made us feel like we mattered. He was the first person outside my family who made me feel truly seen.

Fast-forward to now — July 2025, Week 5 at Chestnut Lake. This week, I watched a first-time camper cry on the first night — missing home, overwhelmed, unsure. One of our counselors sat beside him for almost an hour, gently coaxing out a smile. That same camper led the cheers the next morning at Flag Football when his team scored the tying touchdown. I saw a Discovery Camper nervously eyeing the Aqua Park (Wibit), uncertain she could make it even off of the dock. Her counselor — all encouragement, no pressure — offered a quiet “you’ve got this.” That camper made it to the top of “Number 4” and jumped off into the water without a care in the world.

And I saw a few Full Summer campers who now are the Todds — sitting at picnic tables at Chestnut Commons with some old and new campers, laughing, explaining the difference between Varsity-1 and Varsity-2 (I heard some true things and some that were not…I opted to let it slide because they were having fun), and modeling the kind of connection that campers who have been at Chestnut for at least a few summer understand and value.

And then there are the counselors.

The job of a counselor is, in some ways, impossible to explain and impossible to overstate. They are substitute parents, older siblings, life coaches, cheerleaders, conflict mediators, teachers, and buddies— often all in the same day. They stay up late and get up early. They deal with bug spray and homesickness, group dynamics and lost water bottles. They lead chants and tie shoes, teach life lessons and wipe away tears.

And while they may not realize it yet, they are shaping memories that your children will carry with them for decades. There are kids here at Chestnut Lake this summer — right now — who have already decided that they want to come back someday not just as campers, but as counselors. And not because it looks easy. Not because it’s always fun. But because they see the impact being made on them, and they want to pass that forward. That’s the counselor effect. That’s what Todd gave me. That’s what I see happening here every day.

I’ll never forget the day that summer ended in 1982.

The session ended, as it always does, too soon. Most of us filed out with high-fives and half-smiles, not sure how to say what we were feeling. I was the last to leave my bunk, dragging my feet, holding back tears. Todd saw me. He walked over, hugged me (maybe the first real hug I ever got from a male role model who wasn’t family), and told me he was proud of me. He reminded me of what I’d done that summer — what I’d learned — and then he disappeared into the sea of counselors and trunks.

Many hours later, when I unpacked at home, I found his red and white Converse sneakers in the bottom of my bag. He had left them there. No note. No fanfare. Just a life-altering gesture. That summer — and that counselor — never left me. They’re part of the reason I do what I do now.

And so when I look around Chestnut Lake in Week 5, I know exactly what I’m seeing. I’m seeing lives being changed. I’m seeing futures being shaped. I’m seeing kids who, someday, will talk about this summer. About this camp. And about these counselors.

Here’s to a great last couple of weeks!