Camp Wakami part 3

The breakfast bell had barely stopped ringing before excitement swept through the camp like a gust of wind through the pine trees.

Robin stood at the front of the mess hall clapping his hands for attention. "Listen up, campers! This morning's activity is a nature hike down to Beaver Pond. We have a special mission. We're going tadpole hunting!"

Cheers erupted around the room.

"Tadpole hunting?" I asked. "That sounds amazing." I wasn't sure how exciting tadpoles could be, but everyone else seemed thrilled, so I figured there must be something special about it.

By the time we reached the activity shed, a small group had gathered. Joe was there with Terry and Morgan. "Looks like we're all in the same group," Terry said.

Counsellor Robin handed out small plastic containers and reminded us that any creatures we found would only be observed and then released.

"We are visitors in their home," Robin explained. "We look carefully, learn what we can, then leave everything exactly as we found it."

The hike to Beaver Pond followed a winding trail beneath tall pine trees. Sunlight filtered through the branches, painting patches of gold on the forest floor.

When we finally arrived, the pond looked like something from a storybook.

Lily pads floated on the still water. Dragonflies darted back and forth like tiny helicopters. The muddy shoreline curved gently around the pond's edge.

"This is perfect tadpole territory," Robin announced. “Everyone spread out.”

"You look over there," Terry said. "I'll check this side."

For several minutes, we found absolutely nothing. Well, nothing except mud. A lot of mud. My shoes sank into it with a squish. Then the other foot stuck completely.

"Uh oh," I said.

I pulled.

Nothing.

I pulled harder.

Nothing.

Finally, with one enormous tug, my foot came free and sent a spray of muddy water into the air. Some landed on my shorts. Some landed on my shirt. Most landed on myself.

For a moment there was complete silence. Then we all burst out laughing. "You were wearing a blue shirt this morning," Terry managed to say.

"Not anymore."I said.

A few more campers wandered over to investigate the commotion.

"What happened to you, Ben?" Joe asked.

"I was attacked by the mud," I declared.

Terry nodded seriously. "It can happen to anyone." then immediately started laughing.

Just then Joe gasped. "I found something!"

Everyone rushed over. Near the edge of the water, tiny black specks wiggled through the shallows.

"Tadpoles!" Robin confirmed.

Suddenly the entire pond seemed alive.

Once we knew what to look for, they were everywhere. Dozens of tiny swimmers darted through the water. Some were no bigger than a grain of rice. Others already had little developing legs.

Robin helped us carefully catch a few for observation. I held one of the containers up to the sunlight.

The tadpole flicked its tail and zipped to the other side.

"It's hard to believe that turns into a frog," I said.

"Pretty cool, isn't it?" Robin replied.

We spent nearly an hour observing them, sketching them in small notebooks, and learning about their life cycle.

For a bunch of kids who had started the day talking mostly about breakfast, we suddenly found ourselves discussing habitats, predators, and ecosystems like miniature scientists.

Before leaving, Robin gathered everyone together.

"Time to return our little friends."

Carefully, we released each tadpole back into the pond. They disappeared into the water almost immediately.

"Good luck," I called after them.

The walk back to camp felt shorter somehow. Maybe it was because everyone was chatting. Maybe it was because we'd shared an adventure. Or maybe it was because camp was beginning to feel less unfamiliar.

As we emerged from the forest, the mess hall came back into view.

The camp flag fluttered above the trees.

For the first time since arriving at Camp Wakami, I didn't feel homesick.

I still missed home, of course.

But I was starting to understand why people talked about camp long after summer ended.

It wasn't just the campfires.

Or the songs.

Or even the tadpoles.

It was the friendships forming one day at a time.

And somehow, without realizing it, Camp Wakami was already beginning to feel a little like home.