In my early teens (1315), I was greatly blessed to have the opportunity to go to a boys’ summer camp in the mountains of North Carolina – an experience that changed my life. My parents had friends who held “camp movie” parties at their house in the spring. I don’t know how they got into that; perhaps they had a son who went to that camp.

But they would show “home movies” of camp activities from the prior year, and invite parents who might be interested.

That was the early form of videography before the internet was invented.

And it worked. My parents were impressed enough to send me to the two-week “short camp” session, to see if I liked it enough to go back the next year for the full eight-week session. And I did, and then got to experience two “full” sessions over the next two years.

What a thrill that was.

Camp Mondamin was a few miles south of the small town of Tuxedo, NC, at the southern end of Lake Summit. It has often been called the “Father of North Carolina summer camps,” as it was one of the first, and for a long time, one of the most popular, drawing campers from all over the southeastern USA.

Run initially by its founder, “Chief ” Frank Bell, Sr., and later his son, Frank, Jr., Chief ’s wife, Callie, ran a similar camp for girls, “Green Cove,” just around the corner from Mondamin. They often drew campers from the same families, and the campers often returned, year after year. I made friends from several states, those years, and looked forward to seeing them again the next year.

Tuxedo was a tiny town about 15 miles southeast of Hendersonville, which has itself grown in popularity in recent years, mostly with retirees. The area is in the southeastern part of the state, so the winters are not too bad, and the scenery is just mountain-gorgeous! The terrain was generally not that steep, mostly woods and hills, but very different from the flat land and marshes I was used to here.

That was my introduction to the southern Appalachian mountain country, which extends north into Virginia (home of the “Blue Ridge mountains” of my mother’s corner of Virginia) and south to the mountains of north Georgia, which I came to know later, and have hiked all over.

For a young boy from the flatlands of coastal Georgia, the mountains of southeastern North Carolina were a major experience, unlike anything I had ever seen, other than the infrequent visits as a child to see my mother’s parents in Charlottesville, VA.

I had been to a few one- or two-week sessions of church camp at Isle of Hope, in Savannah, when I was much younger, but the activities there were much less varied.

At Camp Mondamin, I learned to ride horses, paddle canoes and kayaks, sail boats, go hiking across the nearby hills, and meet a far wider group of kids than I ever had before.

And that was just the start of it.

I loved all of it! Even the “woods walk” lecture walk offered by an older gentleman named Ray Kroodsma, who showed us the various trees and plants, and taught us how to recognize them from their leaves – I still know how to tell poison ivy/oak from “regular” ivy, thanks to him* – to plucking black cherries off the bushes from my canoe beneath the cabins next to the sailing docks under the “juniors” cabins – I felt like I had died and gone to heaven!

(*”Regular ivy” has five leaf points, whereas “poison ivy/oak” has three leaves joined at the stem.

The rule was, if it had “five fingers,” it was OK to “shake hands” with it – but if it had only “three fingers” -- don’t touch it! A useful rule to know, and one that has saved me from misery itching many times since.)

It was an incredible experience. Campers lived in very basic wooden cabins, with screened windows open for the cooling evening breezes (no AC back then!), took showers and used bathrooms at a central facility at the gym down the road a short distance, had meals in a central dining hall next to the boat docks – basic food for in-house campers, better food for those who went on overnight hikes or trail rides. What wonderful summers those were!

Those who went on overnight hikes, trail rides (horses) or canoeing trips were expected to present a “trip report” at the “Sunday night campfire,” around a circular stone amphitheater, that everyone in camp attended. That was partly intended to serve as a group messaging center, and partly to inform those who stayed in camp during the week of all the exciting things that happened to those who ventured outside the camp – another reason those who went on trail rides, canoe trips, and extended hikes, got better food than those who stayed in camp. (We did not know that at the time we signed up for those activities, of course.)

More in my next column!

Rafe Semmes is a proud graduate of (“the original”) Savannah High School and the University of Georgia. He and his wife live in eastern Liberty County, and are long-time Rotarians. He writes on a variety of topics, and may be reached at rafe_semmes@yahoo.com.