2. Autumn
two
Autumn
It was never easy gearing up for the last camp session of the year.
We were tired. We were filled with a mix of emotions from saying goodbye to a summer’s worth of campers. But we were also excited. It was a confusing cocktail of feelings that I both loved and hated. But mostly loved.
At Camp Starlight, there were six of us camp counselors and five daily staff members, as well as the owners, Hazel Matthews and Leo Lovejoy, also known as camp mom and camp dad.
I’d worked as a counselor since its inception five years ago when I was a know-nothing twenty-four-year-old with no idea what to do with her life. Helping build the first ever adults-only camping resort had sounded like a great idea.
My dad and stepmom might have attributed my venture to a quarter-life crisis, but I could see a good idea when I heard it, and haven’t looked back since.
Somehow, that had turned into a career that the Stanford-bound me would have laughed off back when I was in high school, but it wasn’t funny or disappointing. This place was my home.
Hazel had inherited the lake property, formerly known as Snowberry Resort, from her great-uncle.
The resort had been known for its proximity to the mountain and used for skiers and snowboarders who frequented the nearby ski recreation sites.
Built in the 1970s, the two-man cabins were constantly in use but had fallen into disrepair.
She hadn’t known that he’d designated her as the beneficiary of the resort but when the opportunity fell in her lap, she didn’t let it go to waste.
She and her best friend, Leo, hashed out a plan, and together, they’d gotten a bank loan to put work into the space.
Most of the original cabins had been close to functional, but some still had to be knocked down because they’d been completely unlivable.
The nine months before we opened for the first session had been some of the best months of my life, even though they were filled with a million pitfalls and every problem you could come up with during a reno project.
That first year had been a definite learning experience.
In the five years since, we’d developed six pods that consisted of five cabins, plus a counselor cabin for each pod.
My best friend and fellow counselor, Jack Hawthorne, was a former construction worker and was currently working on our seventh pod, an expansion we looked forward to utilizing next summer.
He was going fast, working weekends in the summer and full time after campers left in the fall.
I helped during the offseason, but his tenacity was unparalleled.
I loved the place I lived in—a one-bedroom cabin on Starlight Lake in the beautiful Oregon wilderness.
I got to enjoy the seasons beyond summer.
Crisp falls, snow-covered fir trees in the winter, and rainy springs.
I’d lived all along the West Coast, and people were always surprised that I’d left Palo Alto for Wildwood, Oregon, but it was no contest. Being only a few hours from the Oregon Coast and just minutes from the mountain and the Columbia River Gorge made it the prettiest place I’d ever been, and I never wanted to leave.
For me, this was a year-round gig. Winters were spent promoting, running retreats, and working on growing the camp.
I spent spring traveling the West Coast recruiting staff and campers for the busy season.
Summers were spent watching over my campers, adults in their twenties and up, many of whom needed a respite from their day-to-day lives and chose running away to summer camp as the best move to spend their hard-earned money and vacation time.
And for the majority of my fall months? Well, they were spent on Autumn time, which might sound confusing, but that was what I called it since my name was—
“Autumn! Lookoverhere,” Jack cough-called me. He was practically bouncing.
“I’ll take bets in the order they were assigned, Jack.” I glared at my best friend. If he thought he could edge out a single person during a serious betting session, he was an idiot.
He’d have to bribe me like every other respectable liar in this place.
Long Barbie-pink fingernails tapped the profile picture next to me. “I’ll put twenty on Cherry Lips Cheryl,” Nat said, “and Teacher Terry, they’re gonna hook up. I swear I’m right this time.”
Three months ago, I’d been sure the perfectly coiffed, model-esque brunette wouldn’t have been interested in this game, but that was one of the few times I’d been wrong about people.
Light bounced off Nat’s diamond halo pendant necklace, causing it to glimmer and reflect, a surprisingly beautiful sight borne from ambient lighting in the mess hall. Even in short shorts and a flannel, she accessorized.
I looked at the two candidates and wrote down their names on my shipping whiteboard, a sight campers could never catch wind of, or they’d have serious questions.
We had to have fun ourselves. That was why I’d invented the shipping board.
Underground betting rings had nothing on the seediest part of my job.
People told me who they shipped or wanted in a relationship together and put money on it.
It was a disgusting display of poor character on the staff’s part, but it was our way of decompressing from long workdays and the occasional entitled camper.
It pitted staff against staff and led to minor skirmishes over trivial pairings that rarely amounted to anything.
“I will stress, yet again, that we should not have a bracket for hookups.” Leo mocked being sly as he handed me twenty bucks in the most obvious manner possible.
“Nor should we be pushing people together for meet-cutes.” He dropped two profiles on top of my sheet and tilted his head toward them, indicating his picks.
His counterpart, Hazel, stopped eating the popcorn she’d been chomping, and looked at him mid-chew as if he were ridiculous, probably because he did this every session. She handed me her money like a normal adult. As if there were such a thing.
Leo and Hazel were in their early thirties—a little older than me—and I considered them family.
She was sarcastic and responsible, perfectly balancing her best friend’s silly.
He played into being the goofball of the group, which he prided himself on, and I always loved his theatrics.
I also loved taking ten percent of the winnings, my bookie fee for coordinating these betting sessions all summer long.
“Can we get back to announcements, please?” Leo pushed his black frame glasses up the bridge of his nose, and attempted nonchalance.
We knew what he was doing. He got his bet in, so he was more than willing to move on.
“The next time someone parks in my space, they’ll be towed to a stall at the horse camp.
I’m serious about this, people.” He wasn’t serious.
He was respected, but he was mostly screwed with.
The horse stalls he was threatening us with belonged to Foxglove Stables, which shared our western border. He smiled that golden-boy smile we all loved and continued. “Reminder that the construction on the new lot—”
I cupped my mouth with my hands. “Which would be finished if Jack stopped taking his sweet time.”
Jack’s mouth dropped open in mock shock, his hands clutching his heart.
Leo ignored me. “Please keep campers away from the construction site. They don’t need one more place to bang.
” The group let out a collective laugh. We all had stories.
“But more importantly, they do not need a place to injure themselves on cabin scaffolding.” His tone was serious.
“It’s blocked off for a reason, so please inspire them to stay within the confines of the resort. Lord knows we don’t need a lawsuit.”
Hazel jumped in. “Reminder to gently push all of your campers in the direction of craft hours this week. Autumn is planning to clean out the craft shed, and the more supplies we use, the better.”
Hazel and Leo rattled off a few more announcements to signal the start of yet another week.
Half a decade later and I still couldn’t believe this was my job.
“I love the cast of characters this week,” Nat announced to no one in particular, as if this were a TV show.
We were having drinks as we lackadaisically passed around profiles of our incoming cohort.
Photos were attached to a questionnaire each person had filled out.
They answered questions like “What is your favorite way to relax and show self-care?” to logistical questions like “What’s your preference for sleeping arrangements?
A. in the quieter cabins. B. with the night owls. C. I’ll roll the dice.”
They talked about their dietary restrictions, why they were taking this trip, and whether they wanted to attend activities such as “All Day Book Club” or “Wet and Wild Water Skiing.”
It was in-depth, and most campers were willing to answer everything, some going as far as to attach extra pages because we were catering an experience to their needs as best we could.
That and the fact that this year’s waitlist was miles long, and they may have wanted to edge out the competition.
Not that that was the way we worked. We were a first come, first served resort, but many didn’t know that.
Camp Starlight was a unique adventure the likes of which didn’t exist anywhere else in the country. People loved the idea of going back to their roots while also attending a resort.
“Hey, Leo, do they ever say their fave way to practice self-care is jacking it, or do they all just answer like grownups?” Fellow counselor and resident horndog Felicia was emphatic. “No one is ever immature like I’m hoping.”