My first summer at Hagan began on one of those pouring rain change days. On the way to Junior One, I remember seeing ponchos with legs and boots but not much else. The shutters were lowered and there was just enough light to unpack and get the bed made. When I was through, my mother stood in the doorway and stared at me. She said I told her, “Go.” I’ve never been one for scenes.
Over the years, I discovered the culture at Hagan to be nothing short of magical. Once you put on that little brown uniform, you were on your own. Those in search of state-of-the-art equipment and pampering need not apply. This system was strictly merit-based. Hagan culture held a kind of distain for anything and anyone even remotely pretentious. And above all, loyalty and devotion to the place were so entrenched it was practically a cult. The catchphrase “A camp with character” was no lie. (“A camp with tennis courts” would have been.)
For twelve summers I returned and went up the ranks. By the time I’d become a counselor, Hagan had morphed into Miller-Hagan and the end was in sight. I dropped out of college for a year, moved to DC and bumbled around doing odd jobs. Then I enrolled at American University and took up filmmaking. One thing led to another and I ended up working as a freelance film editor for about fifteen years. In the meantime I got married and had two girls. Then onto a fulltime position at National Geographic for twelve years. Now I’m working independently again, producing and writing for TV or websites or whatever.
I’ve read that our most profound and indelible memories are the product of the experiences we have while coming of age. If that’s true, I think one of the reasons Hagan still matters is that it was such a respite from all the other coming of age crap we endured. My early years were hardly unpleasant. But life in a small town, no matter how outwardly appealing, can be deadly. I had no idea what was going to happen to me but I knew that if I stayed in Shillington, PA, surely nothing was going to happen. Hagan helped open my eyes. So I started my journey, based not so much on where I was headed, but by what I knew I wouldn’t settle for. It’s still a work in progress.
My husband, Rob Senty, retired this past September after over 40 years of service with the US Environmental Protection Agency. 
The girls. Sarah Senty (left) went to UVA on a soccer scholarship, played professionally in DC and Philly and now lives and teaches school in DC. Meg (right) went to VCU for the Sculpture program. Now lives and works in West Philly. 
Me, just outside Shanghai. I was there as a judge for the Shanghai International Film Festival.