The first Sunday of August featured a reunion of the Trinity Music Camp, where former campers sang songs from past plays, and three former crew members performed original pieces. Kiara Strijack began with a compilation of Bible verses set to melody, and Julian Neufeld sang an original song. AmandaLyn Wayland wrote a tribute to the annual events held at the church from 2006 to 2018:
“An Ode to Music Camp”
mudgeons in highlighter yellow t-shirts, leaving me in their dust as I tried to keep up. My cheeks hurt from smiling.
“Grammy,” I said one day, “Point Roberts is a magical place.”
livered through my earbuds, the jolt of an electric guitar riff, the soft blurry quality of a perfectly overproduced pop song. There’s a direct line there, a shortcut to reminding myself that, oh, it’s okay to feel, okay to connect because that is where the stories lie, that is where we are built.
The first time, we got lost. It was the middle of the night, and the world felt like a tight, black coat of stars. I’d never been so cold, bundled in a warm jacket that made me waddle like a penguin whenever I flopped out of the car. We were in a foreign land, surrounded by so few lights that the stars seemed to beam directly above. Asking strangers for help, I was tired, my grandma was tired, yet I felt safe. We were going home –a place I’d never been.
My first trip to Point Roberts, December 2006. The house was purple, my breath was visible, and everyone smiled at me as if I had something important to say. I didn’t understand, but I was happy. My first group of companions were old cur-
Just when I got used to the routine, another curveball came my way: Music Camp. I pictured kids slumping around, blowing into tubas and clarinets, and didn’t see myself fitting in. But my memories of happiness are like clear spring water slipping through my fingers – hard to distinguish from what was already there.
Music Camp was one long stream of sunlight, where I could be loud, wild, silly, or hopelessly dramatic. It was the first place where my “too much” didn’t feel like a bad thing. I could be myself.
Music has always been personal to me, a shortcut to reminding myself that it’s okay to feel and connect. There are days when I wake up, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest, my gaze convinced that I’m still in a dream, that if I reach out and touch, the world won’t hold there, just dissolve. On those days, I lean on big Broadway productions filtered through tinny phone speakers, sobering rap lyrics de-
$15 for 15 words (plus 25¢ each additional word).
At Music Camp, I met myself and got to know people who were way cooler than I was, who could do backflips, sew new clothes, and sing with angelic voices. It was where I learned that acting is about sharing deep truths, where I learned to
trust, to try, and to turn mistakes into opportunities.
Everyone has a place at Music Camp, whether front and center or behind the scenes. We all get to expand our talents and learn about the less-comfortable areas. I used to think I had to leave home to be free but Point Roberts has become my home. I’m learning to settle down, open up, and tell people how I really feel. It’s hard and scary, but I had a great teacher to draw from – one week, every year, as July turned to August.
