Inflection point

BY TODD ORMISTON Executive Director

Outside of a math classroom, I’m not sure I’ve ever used the term “inflection point” before last spring. As a former math teacher, I know it’s the point in a smooth plane curve where the curvature changes its sign or direction, but inflection point has also become an everyday term used to describe many of the events of 2020. Over the past several months, I have found my- self reflecting on our own inflection points, and what they mean for Camp and School organizationally, as well as the impact of Camp and School on generations of children.

It is clear to me that our perspective as a society has changed, perhaps forever. A global pandemic and an unapologetic demand for social justice have gripped our country and the world. As we have been communicating with our North Country School and Camp Treetops community throughout summer and fall, we have realized that every individual has been affected by these events in different ways. But together we have confronted these educational, cultural, and health-related challenges with compassion, open minds, and a vision for the future.

Moving forward, we are focused on the next 100 days, 100 months, and 100 years. The past nine months have taught us that the delicate balance of a remarkable School and Camp can be affected by threats we couldn’t predict. But just because challeng- es are unpredictable doesn’t mean we can’t prepare for a stronger future, one where we are better able to withstand the unforeseen. With an eye on our future, we are in the early stages of building our next Strategic Plan, which will chart the goals and initiatives that will continue to provide a life-changing experience for our children.

While considering recent events and their consequences, I’m reminded of the thousands of personal inflection points that have occurred at North Country School and Camp Treetops. Remembering that an inflection point is the moment when a change in trajectory occurs, I know that every child who has experienced Camp and School has had at least one, if not multiple, moments where their trajectory has changed forever. That could probably be said about most counselors and teachers who have worked here, too.

The beautiful thing is, changing trajectory has always been woven into the Camp and School experience, but those inflection points are different for everyone. It could be diving into the cold water of Round Lake for an early morning swim lesson; a challenging relationship with a tentmate or roommate; passing your “clothesliners;” your first 46er ascent; paddling against the wind without making headway; writing the essay that won’t write itself; or being away from the comforts of home.

Adolescence is not a smooth plane curve as described in the math version of an inflection point. Instead, it is a winding, seemingly random path responding to influences...inflection points. Those moments are when growth happens. Trajectories are altered. We believe Camp and School are some of the most important influences in our young students’ and campers’ lives, leading to character growth, resilience, empathy, resourcefulness, persistence, and a connection to community. I'm sure you—a past camper or student or a teacher, counselor, or parent—have your own inflection points. The question I ask is, “How did you respond and where did the trajectory send you?”

Our world is still living through a devastating pandemic, and the conscience of our society has been shaken. We are forever committed to ensuring our children are healthy, safe, and continuously learning how to find their own voices in the global community. Wherever their trajectory eventually leads them, we want the shores of Round Lake to be a nurturing place to learn, grow, and transform.

BY KAREN CULPEPPER Camp Director

As Rachel Carson writes in The Sense of Wonder, “There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature—the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter.”

These days, assurance feels like it's coming in small doses. Moments of comfort and healing are too often truncated by troubling news or simply the continuation of all of the unknowns. It's in times like these that it feels necessary to get back to the elemental. When much else is in some state of upheaval, it's the natural systems—the rhythm of seasons—that may be all we can count on. And of course nature can be unpredictable as well. Comfort from nature may feel far off for those facing wildfires in the Western United States or for those in the parts of the world most prone to hurricanes. This summer saw record-breaking temperatures and severe drought, even in many parts of New England. Yet still, despite the challenges, or even devastation, that nature can hold, there remains a pulse, like a metronome keeping time with music. There is resilient predictability to be found in nature that punctuates an otherwise frenetic world.

I remember early this spring, and many springs before, finding great delight in the sounds of the first peepers. Of course, the start of the chorus of these small frogs signifies warming nights and that Camp is coming, which brings a great deal of joy all on its own, but there’s more to it than that. The familiar peeping each spring is also something to count on—something to show that, even when daily routines are upended and normalities are shifted, some things are constant. I have kept a nature journal for several years and each spring I record the first sound of peepers. This April, the start of that familiar sound of chorusing from the reflecting pond came within just one day of last year’s first peeps. It’s a small comfort perhaps, but it’s there. A little later, the song of the white-throated sparrow comes as a sure sign that summer is almost here.

After a summer of bountiful garden vegetables and our sheep grazing in Dexter Pasture, there was certainty in the change of seasons—nights became colder and the days shorter. The Canada geese, who seem to have been quite content this summer to be able to take up residence on the Lake Hill without any interruption from campers running down for swim class, started to feel the chill of the evenings and knew that it was time to get moving toward warmer climes. They may not be quite as predictable as the peepers, but there is certainty, at least for now, that they will go each fall, honking all the way and in that familiar V formation. We know, too, that we will see them back here in the spring, often decidedly hissier toward us as they give their young goslings the lay of the land.

The natural world may provide some foundation to build from even when the ground feels shaky. Though winters, especially here in the Adirondacks, can be long, cold, and dark, we know that the ice will melt from Round Lake (and that I’ll be in the water the same day!). We know that summer will come again, that we’ll sweep off the tent platforms and hang canvas—gestures that welcome a fresh start and a new perspective. We know that the maples, branches bare for now, will bud again—providing inspiration to be resilient, to keep fighting. We know that before too long, campers will lie on their backs on the Lake Hill again watching the same night sky we can see now—a reminder of how connected we all are. As we hurdle through this immensely difficult time, these natural rhythms, like the call of the spring peepers, may be the needed comfort that there is light at the end of the tunnel, or at least warmth after a long winter.