Wolf Pack

I rediscovered Flemming Falls at Camp Mowana today and savored the cascading water while the mild autumn breeze smoothed through the hemlocks. Then, at the end of the trail I encountered a lady, who, as it turns out--like me--was dallying in memories of church camp experiences from long ago. She was of the Culler family, well known farmers from down near Lucas, and home for a visit from Mozambique where she pits her OSU doctorate against the scourge of HIV in that God-forsaken country.

"The state department has a diplomatic section and a development section" she explained, "and I work for the latter". And has for nearly 20 years now. She was home to tend to her 92 year old mom who suffered a recent attack of appendicitis, "...and expects to be laid up a few more days," she described her very independent mother.

We stood in the crumbling remnants of the old campfire amphitheater and she laughed while telling me about the counselors back then trying to impart native authenticity by having the campfires suddenly spring to inferno size much to the fearful amazement of the young campers--when the counselors managed to succeed with their hocus-pocus, that is. And she laughed some more.

Then, sometime later as we walked back the challenging path past the falls, I related the story our counselors told us of the faces carved in positive relief high on the cliff walls along the gorge--by the Indians of long ago we were assured. We tried to see remnants of my carving memories, then, she pointed, "Over there, right there!" And, so it was; not exactly but almost just as I remembered; a face frozen in the sandstone seeming to enjoy our merriment.

As we returned to the boisterous crowd of the camp's annual fund-raising participants we detoured back into the quiet of the woods, once again, to re-live more memories with an exploration of our old cabins. We found both, hers and mine. Mine was just as I remembered, except much smaller of course. And right beside the door was the honored name, "Tecumseh". And a hawk soared by as if punctuating its tribute to that chief of chiefs and our efforts to remember.