Mary (Marigold) Goldsmith Westhuis – Hagan 1960-1970; Miller Hagan 1971-1974

Poison Ivy – 1937

Once upon a time there was an old jalopy named Poison Ivy. It was a second-hand, two-passenger convertible with a rumble seat and a spare spoke tire mounted next to the passenger side door above a wide running board. My Uncle George, a Camp Miller counselor, was particularly fond of Poison Ivy because it served to transport the latest girl he was dating from Camp Hagan into Stroudsburg for the evening to take in a show at the Sherman Theater or have drinks at the Penn Stroud Hotel.

There was only one hitch. The car wasn’t his. Poison Ivy belonged to his older sister Kitty, or Skipper as she was known at camp. She was Camp Hagan’s first aquatics director. If George wanted to go for a wild, bumpy ride down River Road in a rumble seat with a Hagan girl, he had to find someone to fill the front passenger seat.

Enter his good buddy Charles, Miller’s camp doctor. He and Kitty were opposites of sorts. Her German ancestry, Latin flavored from the French influenced Alsace Lorraine region, allowed her to soak up sun like a sponge. Charles on the other hand, with his chestnut hair and fair skin, got sunburned sitting in the shade. Kitty, one of five children in an artist’s family, was outgoing, assertive, fun-loving and artistically talented. Charles, an only child, was quiet, thoughtful and well-mannered – an attentive, sweet guy.

My parents married in 1941. Their Miller Hagan romance produced three second generation campers and lasted sixty-three years.

Neverland – 1960-1970

Attending Camp Hagan was never an option. Any mention of Hagan began with, “When you go to camp….” and ended with, “You’ll see.” It was not my imagination that feeling anything but devotion for what must be Oz or Neverland was also not an option.

The summer of 1960 at the age of eight, I packed my footlocker according to the camp packing list and threw in a couple of Bobsey Twins books before closing the lid. If I made no friends, at least I’d have Freddy and Flossie. My two brothers were five and six years older than me, and I was used to spending time by myself.

The Junior 1 cabin counselor greeted me with the biggest smile ever. Making friends was easy – instant sisters! Activities were fun, especially swimming, and Great Hall, where we sang our hearts out, may have been my favorite place. (I was not a fussy eater.) My cabin mates wondered how I already knew many of the camp songs. Didn’t everyone bounce along in station wagons next to their moms singing The Cannibal King with a big nose ring…, Boom boom ain’t it fun to be crazy?…, I’ve got sixpence, jolly, jolly sixpence… Tell Me Why was my favorite, but we saved that for quieter times.

I moved up through the Hagan ranks, as a camper for eight years, then as a CIT, JC and cabin counselor the last season before the Miller boys invaded our territory.

One summer, when I was a senior camper, the CITs performed the musical Peter Pan. For the rest of the camp season we sang our favorite song from the show –

…If growing up means it would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree,
  

I’ll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up. Not me!

Most of us thought we’d remain in Neverland forever. If growing up meant we had to leave camp. Well, we just wouldn’t grow up!

Boy Meets Girl – 1971 – 1974

But the inevitable happened. One of our first exercises in growing up was accepting the idea that boys would be moving into our camp. (Boys at Hagan? No way!)

We all understood that our time by the river was limited. Why not make the best of it? The Miller men were nothing but nice, and both camps managed to keep the meaningful traditions that made Camp Miller-Hagan a success. It was a peaceful transition. I upheld my mom’s tradition as waterfront director the summers of 1973 and 1974.

Then I followed another tradition by meeting my husband at camp. The director hired five counselors from overseas the summer of 1974, and I ended up marrying one of them. No, not immediately. I finished a master’s degree the following summer and headed off to The Netherlands for a year. Arrien (the exchange camper) and I returned to the States after he was accepted into a master’s program at Penn State. Thus began our hobby of changing households, eighteen at last count.

1980-2012 – On the Road

Arrien and his affiliation with the mining-construction industry moved us from Pennsylvania to New Hampshire and Texas, and then five foreign countries: Mexico, Singapore (twice), Japan, Sweden and Germany. During the twenty years that we circumvented the globe, I worked professionally when possible, held a director’s seat on the school board of an international school, and volunteered as an ESL tutor to neighborhood children. With the help of tutors and formal language classes, I picked up three languages along the way.

My most rewarding endeavor was raising three children, Kate, Drew and Mark (plus one mischievous yellow Lab), and keeping our lives running as smoothly as possible while living abroad. In each country, a lap-swimming pool, tennis courts and a book club supplied me with friends.

One evening toward the end of 2004, my family and I took an unexpected flight from Singapore to the East Coast, destination Allentown, PA where I grew up. My mom had passed away at the age of ninety. She was an interesting, lively and loving camper to the end.

Arrien’s last international transfer, 2012, brought us back to the Lehigh Valley where his company’s headquarters were located. Talk about a 360!

The Lanyard – 2015

Several years before returning back to The United States, we scoured eastern Pennsylvania for a retirement home. Our intention was to reside within reasonable reach of the New York City area where our children were living and working. We found a place to our liking – plenty of nature and some privacy with a mountain view. On the other side of this mountain, the Mosier Ridge, the Delaware River meanders by. As a crow flies, our house is about three miles from the Camp Hagan site.

When my dad died at the age of 97, we decided to leave the Lehigh Valley and move permanently to the Poconos. During this process, I tried to force boxes of “treasures” on our kids that we had been storing for them. Our son Drew dug through one of his boxes and pulled out a tin can which contained some snapshots, a deck of cards and a black and white lanyard with a whistle.

“Hey look, Grandma’s whistle,” he said.

“What?!” I exclaimed. I had never seen it before. “Give that to me!” There was a Hagan reunion coming up. It would come in useful for, well, I don’t know. I just wanted it!

“No way. She gave it to me. It was my waterfront whistle.” Drew was the Aquatics Director at a YMCA camp a half hour north of Bushkill during his college years.

I eyed the large carved pig that we bought on the side of the road in Mexico. Drew wanted that pig in the worse way, but, for sentimental reasons, I couldn’t part with it.

“I’ll trade you the pig for the lanyard,” I said.

“No.”

We worked out a deal. He is letting me borrow the lanyard in return for the continued storing of his junk in our basement.

Besides safeguarding a vintage lanyard, I volunteer as a National Parks Trail Steward for the Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area. As a show of appreciation for fifteen idyllic summers down by the river, I hope to help preserve the beautiful river valley that we Hagan girls all know and love.