Recovery

Ahhh.. Things are eerily quiet right now, considering it's only 8:11 PM and there are eleven children in this house once again.

Lily (12) and Miriam (11) are the two in hats.

The dryer is running, the hot water heater is recovering from a few hard hours of showers and laundry, and tomorrow's potluck meal is simmering in the crock pot.

This year's Lichenville

My children are lying in bed exhausted, their duffle bags and sleeping bags are lying helter-skelter in the upstairs hallway awaiting a trip to the attic, and somewhere at the very edge of these children's emotional thresholds lie the fresh memories and ruminations of another Science Camp week completed.

Benjamin (14), modeling the latest in camp headgear

We have heard little about what transpired this past week. Our oldest four were visibly subdued and fragile this afternoon as we traveled home over the three mountains ("It's the top of the first hill...it's the bottom of the first hill...only two more to go...").

For some, it was the thought of friends that they will not see for another year. For others, it was the thought of friends whose last year was this one, and the question of whether they will ever be seen again.

I had to steal Lily's camera after she went to bed to try to get an idea of what went on at this year's camp. (To be fair, it *is* my camera so perhaps it's not stealing, after all. Just borrowing back.)

There were numerous pictures of blue-bedecked buddies making crazy faces from tire swings, and lichen and mushrooms and science experiments in various stages of bloom, and a couple of videos of children of varying ages out in the remote countryside having the time of their lives.

That made me happy.

But this, too, made me happy: two pictures of home, taken before she left. Pictures she could look at to remind her of others she loves, of other bosom buddies and roommates and ones with which to laugh and giggle.

Eden (9) and Ada (4). If you took out the carpet, this could be a camp picture!

A reminder that action awaits them here at home, too.

So we'll give them time to rest up and find their emotional footings, and we'll air their sleeping bags and sneakers and put away their toothbrushes, and then, I'm quite sure, we'll hear all about the nicknames and the food and the songs and the silliness.

But for tonight, I hear only the dryer.