My heart is so full.

This weekend, a group of friends came together at a very special place we all have in common: Hiram House Camp. Thirty-five years ago, we were young camp staffers spending our summers working, laughing, learning, and growing up together. This weekend, we came back to camp—not as counselors, specialists, directors, or lifeguards, but as old friends with decades of stories in between.

And somehow, it felt like we had never left.

We had been talking about a reunion at camp since around 2020, after we lost one of our own, Dwayne Smith. Life kept getting in the way, but thanks to Scott Wylie and S Latif Ali, the reunion finally happened.

There was plenty to catch up on. We talked about children and grandchildren, careers, upcoming retirements, aging parents, parents we’ve lost—and, naturally, multiple conversations about menopause and colonoscopies. Because apparently, that’s what happens when your camp friends turn 50-something.

We pulled out old photo albums and camp yearbooks, which was particularly hilarious considering we apparently needed an entire yearbook to document ONE SUMMER. We revisited old campers, old loves, old friendships, and stories we had completely forgotten, probably intentionally forgotten, or didn’t even realize had happened.

And then there was the discovery that Steve was a vegan and survived two entire summers on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Some things really are worth remembering.

Two Summers That Lasted a Lifetime

Our group represented so many different parts of camp life.

Courtney Nicolai was a day camp counselor. BJ Grundke was only 11 years old, growing up around camp while his dad served as Executive Director and his mom worked in the office. Barbara was the summer camp director, Lori led day camp, Seth was a Pioneer Boys counselor, T was the head lifeguard, and Julie was the camp nurse.

Steve and I were Wildlife Specialists. I was just 18 when Barb hired me. In fact, after my interview, I had to walk out to the car and ask my parents—who had driven me to Chagrin Falls—if I could work at camp for the summer.

Apparently, that decision turned out pretty well.

Today, it’s especially meaningful to see Courtney and BJ helping lead Hiram House Camp as Executive Director and Facilities Manager. People who were once part of our camp story are now helping write the next chapters.

A Weekend at Camp

The weather couldn’t have been better. Sunny skies, temperatures in the mid-70s, and the kind of weekend that makes you remember exactly why camp is so special.

We shared a potluck Friday night, complete with some absolutely amazing brisket from T, gathered around the campfire, shared stories, and enjoyed meals together—including one epic dinner at the Winking Lizard.

Former Camp Director Russ Grundke and his wife, Joanne, were also able to join us, adding even more memories and stories to the weekend.

Then came the giant slumber party in Cabin 11.

We stayed up way too late, sang a few camp songs (although certainly not as many as we would have if Scotty had been there), and generally behaved like the teenagers we once were.

We had brought games and cards, but never even got them out. We were having too much fun talking.

There was free time. Rest time. Swim time.

Basically, we had camp all over again.

We toured camp by golf cart, spent time at the new pool—which, thankfully, we didn’t have to walk uphill both ways to get to—and visited the places that had been so important to us all those years ago.

Same Camp. Different Time.

One of the strangest and most wonderful things about coming back was realizing how much camp has changed—and how much it hasn’t.

There are still wooden bunk beds. There are still cabins. There are still places in the woods that instantly bring back memories.

But there are also beautiful new cabins, flush toilets, updated facilities, and a pool that our younger selves absolutely would have considered luxurious.

We laughed about the metal beds that squeaked, the old cabins and tents, and the way things used to be. We remembered the camp as it was while appreciating the camp it has become.

Through it all, the spirit of Hiram House remains.

Remembering Those Who Couldn’t Be Here

Not everyone could make it this weekend. Work, family obligations, and life kept some people away.

And some couldn’t come because they are no longer with us.

Dwayne Smith. Kingsley Anderson. Don Nunney.

Their absence was felt, but so was their presence.

As we walked around camp, their memories were woven into the stories, the laughter, and the places we visited. Camp has a way of holding onto people. Their stories become part of the fabric of the place.

And as much as we laughed about the past, there were also quiet moments of reflection. Because the truth is, we don’t always know when we’re experiencing the last time we’ll see someone.

That realization hit hard on the drive home.

The Little Bubble of Happiness

As I wandered through the buildings and woods, I could almost hear the echoes of campers’ laughter, our laughter, and even our tears.

For some of us, those summers included plenty of teen angst—breakups, friends fighting, figuring out who we were, and the overwhelming process of becoming adults.

But camp gave us something that lasted far beyond those two summers.

It helped shape who we became.

It gave us friendships that survived decades.

It gave us stories that somehow become funnier with age.

And it gave us a place we could return to and still feel like ourselves.

Julie said it best: “We were leaving our little bubble of happiness.”

And that’s exactly what it felt like.

For one weekend, we got to step back into that bubble.

We were young again. We were camp staff again. We were friends again.

Then it was time to head back into the real world and “adult” some more.

But we’re already making plans to get together more often—and to return for a Hiram House fundraiser next spring.

Because if there’s one thing this reunion reminded us, it’s that you don’t really leave camp.

You carry it with you.

And 35 years later, the Hiram House campfire is still burning.

 

Written by:
Allison Chorpenning Shaw
Staff Member 1991-1992