Chapter 4: Mrs. D's Place

I collapsed onto the couch in my office, exhausted but exhilarated. I had just bid farewell to the last of the kids attending this week's session at the camp that we had held for soon-to-be fifth and sixth graders for the last ten summers.

Hearing Darren and the boys approaching the cabin, I smiled as they shushed each other in an attempt not to disturb me in case I had fallen asleep. "Guys!" I called with a tired smile, "Come on in!"

"Sorry, honey," Darren apologized with a sheepish grin, mirrored on Harry's and Van's faces. "Some people just can't be quiet!" He mock-glared at our kids, who were closer than I wanted to admit to being young men.

Harry and Van plopped down on either side of me, leaning their heads on my shoulders and holding my hands while Darren gazed fondly at us while leaning on my desk. Our oldest would be a high school freshman in the fall, so he was a junior counselor for the first time this summer. His younger brother was a camper for the second year in a row, since he was going into sixth grade. Despite my assurance that their participation was voluntary, both boys insisted that Mrs. D's Place was where they wanted to be for the six weeks we spent alternating between preparations and camp sessions.

Darren snuggled beside Van and we soaked up the quiet and each other's company, and I thought back to how the camp had begun.

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What started as a seed of an idea that Mrs. Donovan's bequest had allowed us to plant had grown into a six-week summer extravaganza that I spent the rest of the year getting ready for.

We had a team of coaches - including me, a gaggle of college and graduate students, and Jeff, our former neighbor in LA and now one of my closest friends - who stayed the whole six weeks. My niece Eliza had been our first junior counselor back when she was in high school, and now she was working on a doctorate in education as well as being my assistant director. It gave me a thrill when I compared the confident young woman she had become to the sweet girl who I had worried was suffering from OCD.

This had turned into a family project, so while Kevin kept the home fires burning in PA, Beth conducted age-appropriate makeovers, my mom taught weaving classes, my dad had a photography studio on-site, and my nephew Billy, who was now an accountant, kept our books in order. Darren's mother, Cerina, helped in the office while the camp was in session, and Charles, his father, had been an indispensable fund-raiser. Amazingly, when Grandma Criss had passed away between our first and second summers, we found out that she had established an endowment for the camp that allowed us to attract the exceptionally qualified staff that made our efforts so successful.

Guest experts visited to share their particular skills, and no one we knew was safe from an invitation. Chris managed our writing workshops, and had lured in many fabulous kids' authors over the years with his connections in the publishing industry. Darren took a hiatus from his label each summer to coordinate our music classes, and of course, he sweetly strong-armed his friends and colleagues, including his brother Chuck, to help. Lea had participated every summer since we had started as a one-week experiment, and the four of them organized end-of-session concerts interspersing professional musicians with campers sharing their blossoming performance skills.

The camp was open to kids going into fifth and sixth grades, as I had determined early on that the middle school transition was huge for all kids, but especially for gifted kids. A large percentage of them had spent their childhoods so focused - either by themselves or by their families - on acquiring knowledge that they really didn't have the social skills to survive and thrive once they moved into an environment requiring more independence.

The foundation of the camp, though, was not traditional education. My half-kidding motto was, "We don't teach anyone anything," meaning that this was not school which equaled pressure and guilt for these kids. This was a chance to explore the interests they didn't have time for during the rest of the year in a safe and relaxing environment. Our watchword was fun, but we also conducted sessions on social skills and etiquette, similar to the ones that I had organized back at my first teaching job.

In order to guarantee an ongoing learning process, we sent them home at the end of each week-long session with ideas for practicing socializing with other people. Harry, my computer geek, maintained a website that allowed them to continue interacting with each other and our staff, and we often heard from kids for years after they were officially one of Mrs. D's kids.

Back when we were in the planning stages, I had everything figured out down to what we would serve for lunch, but was at a loss as to where we would build the camp. During one of our weekly phone calls, I mentioned this to Rita, my former neighbor and honorary grandma to Harry and Van, and she burst out laughing.

"Oh, Rhi...I know just the place. Are you doing anything this weekend?"

Jeff drove them up to Oakland a few days later, and Rita directed us to a beautiful piece of land about an hour from our house, surrounded by tranquil woods and dotted by patches of wildflowers, all centered on a sparkling lake. We stood in awe at the majestic natural scene spread before us.

"Rita...this is...amazing. I didn't see a sign. Is this a state park?" I asked.

"No, honey, it's your camp."

Darren, Jeff and I just stared at her while the two men each carried one of our boys. My husband was the first to regain his voice. "What...what do you mean, Rita?"

"When my second husband - and my favorite, truth be told - passed away, he left me this property, and I could never think of anything to do with it but couldn't bear to part with it, so now I'm giving it to you. Don't you think it would be perfect? You could set up a dock so the kids can swim, and you could scatter the cabins over there at the edge of the trees in the shade, and there's plenty of room to expand, and..."

I walked over to stand directly in front of the second woman who had adopted me as her granddaughter and said, "Rita? Are you sure?"

She answered me with a teary smile, "Rhiannon, I wish I could have met Mrs. Donovan in person, but I feel like I know her. I can't imagine that it's a coincidence that you ended up living next door to me, can you?"

I shook my head with a lump in my throat, and hugged this sweet lady who was providing the final piece of the puzzle.

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We were all dozing on the couch, Harry and Van curling their growing bodies - apparently they had both inherited my dad's height gene - into Darren and me, when a tiny squeak roused me from my reminiscing. It sounded like a...no...it couldn't be...

I closed my eyes again, and then Van asked, "Mom? Did you hear that?"

By then all four of us were fully awake. As a group we went to the door of the cabin and peered out. Sitting on the stoop was a white and black kitten meowing and staring back at us with an expression that clearly said, "Aren't you going to let me in?"

Harry did and she sauntered by us to sit near my desk. She looked the whole family over from head to toe, and then slowly approached Darren who crouched down to let her sniff his hand. My husband grinned at me as he scratched her head, and I said, "You must have done this before," with a matching smile.

He nodded, not looking away from the kitten, and replied, "Kids and animals, Rhi."

Harry started, "Mom? Can we..."

"Keep her? You bet, honey."