By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

Here at Chestnut Lake, we’re deep into the second week of First Session. The sun is shining most of the time, the lake is full of splashes and laughter, and the kids are busy being exactly what they should be: campers. It’s that sweet spot in the summer where routines are taking hold, friendships are locking in a bit more, and moments of joy happen before anyone even realizes how fun they are.

Each morning around 5:00 AM, before camp even stirs awake, I get an automatic news briefing with any stories about summer camps across the country. Most days, it’s minor stuff — a fun event, a trend piece, or maybe a local camp in the news. But in the last week, like many of you, I was stopped in my tracks by the devastating stories out of Texas. The flash flooding, the loss of life, the heartbreak that swept through Camp Mystic and others — there are no words for the depth of sadness felt across the camping world. One of the lives lost was a dear colleague, Ann Ragsdale (click here if you would like to support Texas Hill Country camps and families). She was trying to evacuate staff when the unimaginable happened. These are the people who give their summers, their hearts, and their lives to create safe, joyful, transformational places for children. To see that story end in tragedy is something we’ll be holding for a long time. And it certainly reminds us here that — even with no risk of flooding like was seen near the Guadalupe River — we have to stay vigilant in our efforts to protect and guide your children.

And yet, here at Chestnut, the camp day continues. Kids are running, climbing, practicing for Lip Sync, flying across the lake on skis, and building friendships that will last well beyond the end of the session. There’s joy in every corner. And for many of you at home, that joy is mostly coming through in the form of a photo or video. You refresh the Campanion app, you watch another social media post play on your phone, you squint at a thumbnail, maybe zoom in on a blurry face in the back of a group shot, and wonder: Is that my kid? Are they smiling? Is that the same T-shirt again? Are they…okay?

This is a good moment to revisit a blog I wrote a couple of years ago after reading a Wall Street Journal article called “Obsessed Parents Overanalyze Photos of Their Kids at Camp” (the title tells you pretty much everything). The article was funny and cringeworthy and, if I’m being honest, uncomfortably relatable. It described parents who wake up at 3:00 AM to scroll through photos, desperately hoping to decode how their child is doing based on a single captured moment. I’ve done it. When our own daughter was at camp (not the camp I was running) I was the classic “zoom and panic” or “refresh, refresh, refresh” parent. She didn’t look thrilled in one photo, and I spiraled for the rest of the day.

At Chestnut Lake, our Communications Team works around the clock—often literally—to bring camp to life for families at home. As of right now, we’ve uploaded over 10,000 photos (on pace for more than 50,000—twice as many as last year). That’s not a typo. Ten thousand photos in 12 days. And that doesn’t include video editing, social media, and everything else they do. It’s an incredible amount of work for a team that also lives in bunks, leads activities, and still somehow manages to be in the right place at the right time at times to capture your camper’s moments.

But here’s the truth: no matter how many photos we post, they’ll never tell the full story. Here are things to know about the photos:

• They don’t show the inside joke that the kids will be laughing about all night that’s just off-camera.
• They don’t capture the relief on a child’s face when a counselor helps them navigate a tough moment.
• They don’t include the camper who is shy or too busy doing something to be captured on film by the one camera nearby.
• They don’t reflect how it felt to get to the top of the climbing wall after three tries—or how loud someone’s friends cheered when they did.
• And they don’t even get taken when the photographer realizes that the moment they’re seeing through the viewfinder is just too special, too personal, or too perfect to risk ruining with the imposition of a staff member’s digital camera.

And yes, sometimes your camper might look tired in a photo. Because they are. Camp is full of long, amazing days. Sometimes they’re not smiling because they didn’t see the camera about to shoot a photo. Or because they’re concentrating. Or maybe they’re just thinking about whether their S’more from last night counts as dinner. Sometimes a kid’s not in a photo because they were in the bathroom. Or refilling their water bottle. Or just not in the mood to be on camera. That’s allowed, too.

In light of what’s happened in Texas, I think we all feel the stakes a little differently. The urge to see our kids, to know they’re okay, to have evidence that they are safe and cared for —it’s powerful. And real. But I hope you’ll let the photos be a glimpse, not a diagnosis. I hope you’ll remember that the truest parts of camp—the ones that will last—are happening whether the camera is there or not.

What we promise at Chestnut Lake is this: your children are known, cared for, celebrated, and surrounded by adults who take their responsibility seriously. They’re having the time of their lives — and we’ll do our best to show you pieces of that. But we also know that camp isn’t meant to be viewed through a screen. It’s meant to be lived.

So please keep looking at the photos. Enjoy them. Laugh at the messy hair and the muddy clothes. Zoom in if you must. Just know that the real story is unfolding in ways no photo can fully capture. And when your child comes home — exhausted, hoarse, missing a bunch of socks, full of stories—you’ll get the full picture then.