I hate to say “never,” but please don’t…

When I was a kid, for four wonderful summers I went to sleepaway camp in Westchester County — only two weeks at a time, but that’s all I remember of those four summers. Canoeing, hiking, horrible “bug juice” in the mess tent, bonfires, cabins, and the girls I became friends with. And, well, there’s a certain kind of chill in the air this morning that makes me think of summer camp — all you have are shorts and t-shirts, which you pile on under the only sweatshirt you packed, then huddle with your bunkmates and watch the rain outside, sharing treats sent from home in brown-paper-wrapped care packages, passing around the few books you brought with you.