Christmas in August
Noel Laflin
12-14-15
An impromptu Christmas in August gathering at Green Valley Lake, 8-2-15
Sometime in
the early 1970’s, the traditional end of the year staff party switched from
being a date night with girlfriends, held in the cozy old Scoutmaster’s lounge,
to a Christmas in August themed affair in the mess hall – just for staff.
The heretofore
parties marking the end of camp, the buttoning down for the off-season, and the
final farewells to old and new friends alike took on a distinctively differ feeling
with the change in venue – a change that I was grateful for as I never had a girlfriend
to invite to camp anyway.
In the old
days, the lounge was hastily cleaned and a stack of firewood was laid within
the ancient stone fireplace. The soda machine
was moved from the trading post and placed beneath the covered patio; the
drinks were free.
Girlfriends
or wives would begin to show up about the time guys were still fighting over
the single sink and mirror in the old head on staff hill - trying to get in a last
minute shave or tame a troublesome cowlick.
Meanwhile, Fred La Velle wondered if his invited date, Trisha Nixon, would show for the party in 1969.
She did not unfortunately. Just as well, as all of those Secret Service fellows would have put a damper on couples attempting to take a stroll in the woods no doubt.
Tommy James and the Shondells, The
Animals, Herman’s Hermits, and The Beach Boys could be heard coming from someone’s reel-to-reel, now moved
into the old lounge – the beat-up furniture having been pushed up against the pale
white walls so a small dance floor could be had in front of an inviting fire.
And those of
us without girlfriends would shyly make our way to the soda machine, maybe take
a peek inside where couples danced, and eventually slink away to the pool steps
and hold council amongst ourselves – retelling favorite anecdotes from the
summer, sneaking in a smoke or two, and being content with a cool summer night,
bright stars above, and thoughts of the long drive home in the morning.
All of this
changed, however, when someone had the idea of making the year-end gathering a
Christmas party; the rationale being that we were a family bereft of actually gathering together in December, so why not do it early – Christmas in August,
as it became known. I am pretty certain
that it was Gene Bergner’s idea.
And so the
mess hall was decked out with fresh cut boughs of evergreens, and a perfect
young white fir selected and then sacrificed to be our fully decorated
Christmas tree. A fire was laid in the fireplace and Christmas tunes emanated from someone's borrowed stereo or eight track.
The cooks
and kitchen staff labored all day with the food preparations. Turkeys were roasted, drippings saved and thickened
into gravy, potatoes peeled then mashed, day old bread turned into stuffing,
cranberries cooked, pumpkin pies baked.
There was a
feast, followed by awards for some, presents for all, and testimonials from
many.
By the end
of the night we said our last goodbyes and headed out into the cool mountain
air, thinking about the long drive home in the morning.
The party
theme may have morphed over the decades, but the final thoughts of camp rarely
did.
