Homesick Homily

        Homesick Homily 

   Noel Laflin 

  2-16-15

It was the distant strain of a melodious alto horn gently echoing across the old Camp Ahwahnee ravine that finally lulled me to sleep one star-filled summer night nearly fifty years ago.

This homesick lad never did learn the name of the haunting piece played that evening (but aren't all deeply sonorous horn tunes haunting?), nor was I ever one hundred percent certain as to the musician's identity (although I do have a hunch now) - but I have been forever grateful for that well-timed heady lullaby which finally set the disappointing day aright.

It seems strange now to think that I was homesick in a land that would become a second home for me in rather short order. But, that's how things stood on that mild July night in 1966, when I lay sprawled upon an ancient mattress, breathing in the mixed scent of pine and dust, staring out and up at the immense array of mountain stars shining through the open flaps of my tent - all the while crying for home.

I was lonesome, as I had only one friend to call upon in this strange new place, but he was bunking with others, so I was assigned a tent of my own.

I was also disappointed with myself as I had failed the swim test, upon my immediate arrival to camp earlier that day and was assigned a 'beginner' tag if I wanted to use the pool.

I was suddenly resentful of all these new assignments.

And to top it all off, the meal that evening was lamentably forgettable.

In short, by the end of that first day, I was feeling a bit blue and more than a little sorry for myself.

And then, as that mysterious horn began to play from far away, some sort of magical healing seemed to take hold, new dreams emerged, and I drifted off to a very peaceful sleep my first night on the mountain. Music put all to right somehow.

Suffice to say, things improved rapidly that week as I made friends and learned the proper way to do the side, back, and breaststroke. As an added benefit, even the mess hall food tasted better as the days flew by.

I quickly fell in love with the mountain, sought out mentoring from the older staff and relished both the new challenges as well as the freedom any thirteen-year-old would appreciate when presented with a beautiful, wild playground in which to grow, and learn, and explore.

And thus, I was irreversibly hooked on Ahwahnee by the end of that week and just to prove it, kept returning for the next ten years, even though I never caught wind of another nighttime serenade again.

Over time, I knew the signs to look for in kids feeling just a bit homesick on their first night in this strange, unfamiliar land.  Engaging them in activities or just plain old conversation usually got them over the urge of bolting for the nearest pay phone and sobbing for the folks to come take them home.

But I'm personally convinced that if I'd only learned to master the playing of a fine old brass horn, my job would have been infinitely easier.