Summertime, 2015. Opening the car door to thick summer heat, my feet grounded on the earthy grass of the familiar summer camp, I felt hesitant about attending this two-week sleepaway session; however, spotting my friends calling me from the picnic table on which they lounged, I figured a little perspiration was not a catastrophe. But this session was different from the past six years that I had attended; this year, the usual mild day canoe trip on the Manistee River was a four-day journey.
As a fourteen year old, I was not a woodsy teenager. My parents objected to days spent online and constant attachment to technology. However, I loved camp, and the prospect of extending the time at Sleeping Bear Dunes on the Manistee was enticing. When we began our odyssey up North, I eagerly boarded the charter bus with only what we were allowed to bring: my waterproof backpack filled with the one or two outfits - cold and warm - that I could fit. I also brought two books, regardless of the danger of them becoming waterlogged.
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Each canoe held two or three people, and mine held two. Our first day was mild; summer heat bore down on us, but the cooling breeze of the river offered relief. Because there were fifteen girls, fifteen boys and four counselors, there were approximentally fifteen or sixteen canoes Generally, the canoes glided down the river in a cluster, and sang Disney music, imagining ourselves as Pocahontas floating in her canoe, or Ariel admiring the possibility of land. Arriving at our first camping spot, picked by a counselor, we beached our canoes and erected tents. As for recreational time, I decided to arrange my backpack as a back rest and sat near the edge of the riverside as the sun set. I held in my hands a book and began to