MegaZine 2024 by The Cabin, a center for readers & writers

Summer 2024 Writing Camps

This is an imprint of The Cabin.

801 South Capitol Boulevard, Boise, Idaho 83702 (208) 331-8000

TheCabinIdaho.org

Book design by Adie Bartron

2024 MegaZine Summer Writing Camps

Introduction

Caleb Merritt | Teaching-writer

You should really read this at the end.

I don’t say that to diminish the honor that it is to introduce the extraordinary work of the campers this summer. I only say this because I want nothing to stand in front of the extraordinary work of the campers this summer.

My hope for you — reader or parent, guardian or friend, community member or art aficionado — would to be to flip open this anthology and dive into the immediacy of camp, into the closest experience of camp as we can offer in print. For example, dive into attempting to feed a Vonnegut-Poem to a surprisingly social squirrel, into ephemeral chalk-poems-turned-biographical-sketches, into coil pots and clay persons, into painting vibrant watercolor landscapes into the startled-to-life animated stickpeople that leap out of a first flip-book, into written-blind observations turned idea turned story — and these are only some activities of my own camps!

The summer flew by: each camp offered each camper a pair of wings and an invitation to jump, to leap, and then to soar. The writings and artworks created here are products of those invitations. They showcase a germ of an idea, the courage to accept it, to work with it, the frustration, the joy, the revision, the beauty. This “Megazine” is a record of accepted invitations, of courageous steps into strange, beautiful work. (And, truly, the neologism “Megazine” is apt; as would Epiczine, Awesomezine, These-Campers-AreAmazing-Zine…)

Campers from all over the Treasure Valley and beyond joined us. To our delight, they often taught us about the act of creation through the construction of written worlds, the close observation of the natural, their painterly passions, their sculptural prowess — any and everything they made. It has been my honor to put my words here, to offer a celebratory introductory note to this collection: artifacts in memory of an incredible summer.

But I still hope you skip this, that you dive right into the work — as I got to, as the campers got to — and that you open immediately into a small taste of the experience of camp: of making, of creating, and of becoming.

BOISE IS AN OLD GIRL

Helen Bigley | Grade 8, Boise

The city we live in is an old girl, so old it seems like her skeleton could shatter. Over 100 or so years she stands, hidden tattoos of graffiti on her back.

Her name is Boise, the lover of trees, of all nature, from maggots to giraffes. Her old and petite nails touch together, building a bridge over fast, flowing fingers of water.

THE BORING NAME OF DAVID

David DeVore | Grade 9, Mountain Home

I have never really been a fan of my name, David. To me, it has always given me the representation of someone old, boring, and serious. Most Davids I have met are far older than me, as it is not as popular a name as it once was. The name David is not unusual, and it’s far from unique, yet from my experience there are not nearly as many people named David as you would think.

The idea of changing my name is something I’ve always enjoyed. Growing up, some of my biggest role models were baseball players I watched on TV. Some of these players’ names that come to mind are Corey, Clayton, and Cody. I always wanted to be just like them, so sharing a name with them was a dream of mine. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll change my name.

YOU SHALL NOT TAKE IT

Vivian Gendler | Grade 7, Boise

So take me from your concrete fingertips, defy the articles we lay upon your honest frame, so one day your outline will be true. Feeding the soils and sage as you always will.

And as the melted candles form shields, take it as a symbol of another flame to come, replacing and restoring our earthy construct. May we never blanket our sorrows in skyscrapers like the greasy businessmen and drug sellers in the east.

Hear my tokens, and let our tears sink into the foothills as we cry.

“You shall not take it.”

MOTHER NATURE

Anneke Vos | Grade 9, Boise

Mother Nature, a woman as infinite as time itself, as green as can be, and as beautiful as the things around us.

She stalks us. Whispering into our ears. Our goods and bads. She watches. Tick tock, she whispers. Time itself is slowly coming to an end, and it’s all your doing.

Tick tock, she says, her voice getting louder. I’m here, but maybe one day I won’t be, for Earth is mine and your home. But, I am the only one doing anything to help it. Think of those you love. And think of the world you are putting them into. Is this truly for the best?

Mother Nature stalks us, laying in wait. Tick tock, she screams, what could you do?

MY NAME

Rayne Brent | Grade 7, Boise

Rayne. NO. It’s not rain from the sky or reign like a king or a queen. R.A.Y.N.E. Rayne. Ray or Rae comes from basically my whole family line. My great-great grandpa, Ray, my great grandma, Raymah, my grandma, Raylene, my mom, Tanesha Rae Brent, even my sister’s name, Dorothy Rae Bassett. In English, my name means counsel or helpful friend. In Latin, queen or lady. In the Bible, wise leader. I don’t want my name to define me. I don’t want people to look to me as some type of leader. I like my name, but I don’t like the meaning or the way people treat me because of it.

MY NAME

Aliya Bohren | Grade 9, Boise

My parents chose my name after a famous singer whose name only differed from mine by a letter. My name is a short one to pronounce, however, that doesn’t stop people from coming up with semi-clever nicknames for me. Those included “Ali” and “Li”. I—and nobody I know—uses those nicknames. They refer to me only by full name.

Despite the fact that people mispronounce it in many ways, I wouldn’t change my name for anything. It’s meaningful and unique, with a rich European history; it reminds me of a deep green forest, of freshly picked olives, of a tumultuous wave, of the scale of a reptile, or the sap of a tree.

Like many who travel heights to find their destination, my name means “to ascend.”

The vast world is full of unique names, all full of history, all meaningful in their own way, all special to oneself, or many. No matter how common one’s name may be, it’ll always carry its original meaning, and will always be beautiful.

WANTING

Beatrice Hurwit | Grade 7, Boise

I don’t know how it happened. One minute I was sitting in the old rickety coffee shop, and the next, out in the dusty alley on the ground by a shattered window with a drop of the same red that was running down my arm. But I do remember the old man in the grimy jacket who came up to me. The way he repeated the words in a raspy voice.

We are each a storm, with an eye that only we can find but many choose not to find we are like glass, easily shatterable by ourselves and others but we still want even knowing it won’t last forever

And then he pointed outside, indicating that he wanted me to find something. But now I don’t know if it was an object I went looking for.

LAKE REGAN

Layla Bohren | Grade 9, Boise

Cassidy met a point to where he was making eye contact with Bonnie; with that came fear. She had beady blue optics, unnaturally small, the size of coins likely. And her skin felt like wet plastic bags with mounds of raw meat inside. It was all public, forcing Cassidy’s mouth shut. Locking him tight alongside young suspicion.

CLOUDS

Nora Jackson | Grade 7, Boise

Sitting on a park bench

Standing on a sidewalk

Running on a road

Calling your boss

Texting on your phone

Blasting loud music

Just sit Just stand Just run

Look around you Look up

The clouds will clear Their dull gray film Across the stars

And then you may Maybe for the first time See true beauty Let go of this Electric current

I must be somewhere else I must be looking at something

Even clouds must sometimes rain themselves dry

Enjoy your life. Then you may Maybe for the first time Know true peace.

Look around you. Look up.

THE CITY

Andrew Hacking | Grade 6, Boise

Maple trees stretch over the park

A yellow butterfly flitters over everything

Engines roar through the cavernous garage and smell like gasoline

Vibrant birds of all color chirp a welcome of wishes

A siren screams a sorrowful warning to everything

Cool water runs throughout the river, blue as can be

A baritone blows a delightful tune to the entire town

THE LOST FAMILY

Audra Densley | Grade 6, Boise

Prologue

Petal curled up to her mother-tiger. She felt as if life was perfect. Nothing could harm her and her siblings. Their names were Flower, Sniff, and Growl. Growl was the biggest and fiercest of the kits while Sniff was the smallest. Flower was the most connected to Petal because of their sistership. Nothing could separate them. For now...

Chapter 1

“Snake!” screamed Petal. But she remembered that no one was going to help her. Her whole family was either lost or killed . . . or worse. She was going to kill this snake herself. Petal spun around and she swiped at the snake and killed it with one swipe.

“Maybe I should believe in myself more,” thought Petal. Then she decided to look for some prey. Petal took a deep sniff and caught a scent of deer. She followed the scent until she saw a deer.

But unbeknownst to Petal, there was someone else stalking her prey. Petal got close enough to pounce. “3 … 2 … 1 … pounce!” thought Petal. Then she saw a black and orange blur pounce on her prey! The deer started running toward the other tiger. He landed squarely on the deer, and Petal killed it with a blow to its neck.

Panting, Petal saw the other tiger hauling away the deer. “Hey!” roared Petal. “That is mine!”

“Well, why don’t we share it?” said the other tiger.

“Fine,” growled Petal. So they ate together.

When they were done, they talked. The other tiger, called Firey, said, “I know where your sister is.”

To be continued...

WATER ON THE ROCKS

Ava Schell-Mesler | Grade 6, Boise

Water running like a track star over rocks smooth as a light bulb

Now the water is joining its friends on a trip downstream

It hits a patch of white water and gets tossed around It finds itself in a creek and trickles over rocks shhhhhhh the water is cooling to the touch

CLAM CHOWDER

Kennedy Keating | Grade 5, Meridian

Hi, my name is Eddith, and my best friend is a pangolin named Winni. Winni lives in Pengolin Puppy Place. Winni and I went to dinner at Morgan’s Monazallon. Then we went to the movies and saw “Big Beetles.” And the last thing we did was have a sleepover.

The next day we went to breakfast at the Sunny Side Up café, and when we got back, we got a phone call on Winni’s green phone, as green as grass. When Winni finished her phone call, she said, “We have a mystery on our hands! To Rufus’s house,” shouted Winni.

At Rufus’s place, he told us all about what happened last night. “I was helping my mentee when she got hungry, so I made her my favorite clam chowder. She loved it and she put her paper down by my recipe and here it is. She came when I was getting ready for bed when Evie, my mentee, came to grab her paper and left,” said Rufus.

“Can we go to Evie’s house?” said Winni.

“Yes,” said Rufus. At Evie’s house, Winni asked for the paper and Evie gave it to her and Winni gave the paper to Rufus.

SUMMER CITY

Leona Washington | Grade 6, Boise

It smells clean, like there’s nothing stopping me, as if no one was there before me.

A soft roar comes from what sounds like a humble motorcycle starting its engine.

Irises are happily growing with peace.

The gentle ripples of the river are as calming as my dreams.

I see the ants collecting food from what has been dropped.

The emerald green plants and trees are thriving everywhere I look.

I feel the thin grass beneath my feet as I wrap my fingers around it.

Marcus (Ham) Schell-Mester | Grade 6, Boise

THE LOST TIGER

Mila

Traugott | Grade 6, Boise

In the morning we were hunting for food when I lost my sisters. I didn’t know what to do so I went looking for them. I found them, but one was dead. I was sad and confused, but I didn’t have much time to figure out what to do because a human came and grabbed me, but Ella (my sister) didn’t get caught.

The next thing I knew I was in a zoo! I looked around and people were all around me. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t. I saw a chunk of meat so I grabbed it like it was prey.

To be continued...

THE INVISIBLE GEM

Nethra Radhakrishnan | Grade 5, Boise

There once was an elephant named Winnie who had a friend monkey named Dona. These two had one thing in common: They liked to laze around. One day their teacher told them to study a rock. Out of the little knowledge they had, all they could see was a gem that would do work for them. One day they decided to find this gem that, in their minds, was colored in vibrant blues and green.

“Where do you think it is?” asked Winnie.

“You think I know?” said Dona. “I think I have an IQ of zero.”

“Fine, let’s walk around the world until we find it,” said Winnie.

“But that’s a lot of work. Wait, how do I know this? Because all I do is laze around,” said Dona.

“But the work that we won’t have to do after this will add up,” said Winnie.

“Fine,” sighed Dona.

Ten days later, after they went around the world two times, they still had not found the gem.

“Where is it?” said Dona. “How come we still haven’t found it?”

“OK, let’s think about where we have and haven’t been,” said Winnie.

“I only know two places. Ugi with the heat and Ant arcitici with the cold,” said Dona.

“Do you mean Egypt and Antarctica?” asked Winnie. “Wait, we haven’t been to Antarctica!” she exclaimed.

To be continued...

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE?

Simon Nekl | Grade 6, Portland, OR

If you want to be an animal, please take this advice. Monkeys are magnificent Kangaroos are kind Elephants are extraordinary while Lions have their pride. Tigers are terrific while being terrifying, and even if you’re daring Dinos are dangerous while Pandas are the opposite. Toucans are tropical along with others too, but no matter what you choose and no matter what you are, a friend will help you go far.

WHAT AM I?

Theo Mathias | Grade 6, Boise

A long neck, not a giraffe

Strong legs go very fast

Many seals I do see

And I chase them in the sea.

Arctic wolves must not provoke me

Another meal I do see

Thick fur for the thicker snow

When I swim it is a show

If you see me, you should turn back

Unknown to most, my skin is black.

LISTEN

Brynn Hobbs | Grade 8 , Meridian

The clouds hung low above the camp casting shadows onto the thick vegetation.

Sunlight filtered through the trees, unwavering until the leaves rustled.

The sun glittered on the forest floor, dancing and swaying with the pines.

The tree trunks stood tall, though battered and cracked by wind. The forest whispered secrets, But no one cared to listen.

SUSPENDED

Harry Werre | Grade 7, Boise

I hold my favorite book in my hand as I’m sitting in my local bookstore. The book cover is a gritty, faded rose pink with black paint splotches. As soon as I open the cover of the book everything goes still. The movement. The talking. The way people are picking up books. Still suspended

I see a bookshelf suspended in the bookstore. Wait for someone to peak interest. I see me waiting in my chair for something… “Wake up.” The bookstore is closed.

THE INTRODUCTION

Ava Leary | Grade 8, Boise

It was an unusually sunny day in dreamland and everyone was walking to the park for a meeting that Lyla had called. The walk was long, up the rolling hills, down the giant water slide, and across the road. Eventually we all got there and the meeting began.

“Welcome everyone! You’re probably wondering why I’ve called you here…” said Lyla. Everyone replied with hundreds of yes’s and why’s! Lyla waited for everyone to be quiet until she said, “We have a new citizen!” I then realized who this meeting was about: me.

Of course! I hadn’t met anyone yet, but then my thoughts were stopped by Lyla’s voice through the microphone. “As you all know, everyone was transformed into an animal when they got trapped in the book. But somehow our new citizen remained human. The townspeople went silent from amazement, then Lyla grabbed me and pulled me on stage. “Everyone meet, what’s your name again? … ahem, everyone meet Ray!”

ELEVEN FEET UP THE ROAD

Molly Steenhoven | Grade 9, Boise

There are still seeds in her teeth but her ivories are gone her call no longer.

My elk skeleton is cradled by the piles of fur that once concealed her powers. Her ribs are wide with childbirth, like a tsunami hugging the shore. My elk skeleton, where are her legs? The akimbo foundation to her temple? taken by coyotes they also have young to feed

I took my cousin to her grave, a few blocks and eleven feet up the crumbling road. I stole her jaw, cleaned it up. I peeled off the layers of skin clinging to her bones. molars like goat eyes just watched

my elk skeleton, she still has lips. Pyramid’s form, carved by the slaves of evolution, between her front teeth and gummy flesh. Tendons force her together. The beetles didn’t fit in such a canyon.

My elk skeleton stands, taller in death. Too bad her bones are the Vegas lights of the valley.

HUMMINGBIRDS

Darcy Van Bussum | Grade 7, Boise

The streets of Manhattan are filled with the hustle and bustle of the city’s workers. Snowflakes swirled through the brisk morning air as a girl patted her way to the bookshop. She arrived before the afternoon rush to start her job.

She hung up her jacket and took her place behind the register. The days swirled by. The rush of customers flooded in at exactly 12:05 per usual and soon 5:00 came dancing around the corner like a savior.

She helped one final customer then closed up shop. She put her jacket on and went to the little clearing far from the city. Her friend fluttered by and landed in front of her.

“Hello Tammy,” she said to the bird as she crouched down and stroked the bird’s soft, vibrant feathers. The bird chattered happily in response as the snow swirled around them, creating a shimmering blanket of white.

MEDUSA

Amelia Scales | Grade 7, Meridian

A monster, snakes curl and drop around her neck. Everyone in fear of her, hurt and cast away. Beautiful features hidden beneath the snakes and ragged clothes, no one cared to ever know. Lost, alone, a monster. Unlovable, they said. Under the scaly monster lay just a lonely girl. Seeing nothing but darkness and hate that echoed screams of all who saw her reign. Bitterness haunting her mouth. Feeling of falling into the cold, her self drowned out by the darkness and horrible monster, until she was gone. Lost, no more.

EXPLOSION BEHIND MY BACK

Arabella Champion | Grade 8, Boise

Oh! how I am so naive with my head down and eyes wide hands holding what controls my life unaware of my surroundings my mind sucked into a vortex focused on what I think matters the texts to which I reply the videos I watch the games I play my thumb swiping from video to next as I focus on the light of my screen an explosion behind my back but how I’ll never know for my mind is like a tiger trapped in a locked circus cage so clueless I am not paying attention to what occurs behind my back an explosion I just stare at the light that sucks me in I’ll never know about the explosion behind my naive back

GHOSTS

Kennedy Hood | Grade 8, Nampa

I don’t believe in ghosts. Because if ghosts were real why would they choose to exist on earth? So forgotten, so alone, only able to watch from afar. Because if ghosts were real, yours would still be sitting beside my empty skeleton.

Because if ghosts were real, I’d still feel your presence.

JANE

Madeleine Brown | Grade 7, Boise

In the little Paris bookshop the book woman’s daughters the little thieves left for dead in the midnight library the third daughter, Jane left in the city of ghosts

THE ROOM

Allison Cantlon | Grade 7, Eagle

Writing is a room, the door, a title. It is vague and surreal. A telescope, looking upon a star.

The pencil, the pen. Flying over blank pages, and leaving behind traces of what I wonder.

Then it’s over. The pen no longer flies. The pencil won’t trace. The page is filled.

As you step outside the room and close the door behind you, you think upon the memories and tales you filled that room with.

GREEN GRASS

Isabella Fonseca | Grade 4, Boise

Green grass is pretty

Running in fields is fun

A corn maze is hard to solve

Yelling in the house is not allowed

YELLOW

Gavin Brown | Grade 4, Boise

You Eat Lovely Lovely Oranges Weekly

ART OF APPLE

Yee-LingSin | Grade 3, Boise

Artistic fun art

Juicy apple meter fun

Buttermilk cake fun

HAPPY PINEAPPLE

Ruby Wilks | Grade 4, Boise

Happy pineapple

Lives in Hawaii but loves to go

Skiing all the time

I AM THE TURTLE

Eleanor Zelda Olson | Grade 4, Boise

Turtle slow lazy

walking eating hiding

tortoise turtles amphibian tortoises

eating biting swimming

scaly sleepy

Turtle

SHARP TOOTH

Josiah Briones | Grade 3, Chandler

Jaguar has sharp teeth long tail black spots

CAPYBARA

Paige Keating | Grade 3, Meridian

This is Bob

He is fun

He is so cuddly

He lives at the zoo

THE RAINBOW LEMUR

JJ Erlebach | Grade 3, Garden City

This is Precious

She is rainbow

She is funny

She hops in the trees

With her friends Daisy and Trey

She eats bananas

She spits rainbows

She cries rainbows

Her teeth are rainbows

THE RED PANDA

Madeline Duff Jenkins | Grade 4, Boise

It is a red panda

Its name is Mackenzie

It has some white on it

They have four legs

She is really fast

She has some claws

She has some fur

She is really fluffy

She can climb up trees

THE BASKETBALL GAME

Arvin Sarpatwari | Grade 4, Boise

One huge orange basketball flew across the room. It was so tense because all the players were playing in orange so it was hard to see who was on what team. You’re upset about why your team changed its colors. Rounding the points, the referee is frustrated. A large crowd makes the game more exciting. Now people are leaving the game when it’s ending.

I AM

Ainsley Chalfant | Grade 5, Boise

People think I am quite a little thing but they don’t know the rest. There is more to me than getting As for eight straight quarters or being a rule follower. My dad always says live in the gray, break some rules. I do that once in a while. But there is more to me than school. I am strong. Strong from the start. Never broke a bone. The other half of me: soccer, swimming, basketball, golf, skiing and more. I am quiet but strong.

WHAT CAN I DO TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE?

Ainsley Chalfant | Grade 5, Boise

A SPLASH OF SPORTS

Norah Oliver | Grade 5, Boise

SPORTY ME

Norah Oliver | Grade 5, Boise

I love everything about sports. I play two sports—volleyball and softball. They are my favorite hobbies.

WATERMELON SHOWER

Emily McElwain | Grade 5, Boise

Feel the warm water soaking your hair and body

Inhale the sweet smell of melon and watermelon

Exhale the worries and stress you have been carrying

As you step out of the warm haven

You feel relaxed and calm

That is a true watermelon shower

THE ANGEL IN YOUR HEART

Emily McElwain | Grade 5, Boise

On the outside you may be plain and normal

You may be pale and fragile

You may be boring and quiet

But your heart yells out the opposite Your inner self, your inner angel It calls to you, your soul and mind It calls to you, telling you what you really are

An Angel.

FLOWERS

Iris Cluff | Grade 5, Boise

Flowers cover the world; A rainbow to rival the one adorning the sky. They begin by reaching for the earth’s heart And their future yearns for the light. They dance in the fields, carried by the wind.

SELF PORTRAIT

Iris Cluff | Grade 5, Boise

WORLD DOMINATION FOR CATS

Isabelle Skillern | Grade 5, Boise

One day a cat learned to hold a pencil and drew up some fabulous plans. He invited the cats of the world to join him. He had his plans in one hand and a spear in the other. Humans were destroyed with a sudden explosion and cats finally ruled the world.

LIVE KAHLO

Lucille Hammett | Grade 5, Boise

Live Life, said Frida Kahlo.

Even though Frida dreamed of being a doctor when the accident happened, she didn’t give up on her life. She started painting, and that is why we know her today. Frida Kahlo, the Mexican artist.

So next time something happens to your dreams, think like Frida and live life!

SOCCER DISCOVERED

Lucille Hammett | Grade 5, Boise

MAMMOTH HUNT

Seung MinLee | Grade 5, Meridian

Sixty-seven million years ago, men lived in a cave. One day, a mammoth walked in front of the cave, and the cavemen happily hunted the mammoth down.

COLLAGE

Seung MinLee | Grade 5, Meridian

A FOX. A MOUSE. A CHEESE.

Izzy Pankau | Grade 5, Pocatello

Foxes are a blur. A blur of fur. Red and white fur. We track them. They eat mice. It is very precise.

Mice live under the ground. Hiding from the hound. Mice eat cheese. They beg please, please.

The mice find the cheese, the fox finds the mice.

It is the way of life.

A WORLD OF CATS

Izzy Pankau | Grade 5, Pocatello

WATER BOTTLE

Gabriel Swope | Grade 6, Boise

This is used on bad cats. It can also be used to keep cool and garden.

CASTLE

Gabriel Swope | Grade 6, Boise

THE TWO BELIEFS

Luciana Flitton, Emily McElwain, and Gabriel Swope | Grade 5, Boise

Two tribes:

They lived in peace

Until they found a flower And went to war.

One believed it was for good, The other thought bad times were ahead.

BURNING LAND, TOXIC AIR

Norah

Oliver, Ainsley Chalfant, and Izzy Pankau | Grades 5 & 6, Boise

The evil king and queen were hurting their people by shutting down businesses and selling the land. A family filled with hope and courage decided to send their three sons to overthrow the royal family. They succeed and the family leads the villagers to America where they host a giant celebration. A memorial was erected in honor of their history.

ROCKY RIVER CANYON

Lucille Hammet, Seung MinLee, and Iris Cluff | Grades 5 & 6, Boise

Once there were two tribes. They had been at war over Rocky River Canyon for years. Today is the day of peace and the people decided to have a party in the clouds.

INSPIRED BY ‘POPHAM BEACH SUNSET’ BY DAVID HENDRICKS AT BAM

Oliver Bullard | Grade 7, Boise

I am sitting on the beach at around 8:00 pm. I am waiting. Waiting for one of the most spectacular light shows on earth. All of a sudden the sun falls behind the clouds. I panic. All I can see are rays of sunlight shining behind the clouds. Then... when I think it is over and I stand up to pack my bags, a blinding yellowish-orange appears over the clouds as day falls prey to the night. The clouds light up and fall dark at the same time. Above them, the sky slowly turns from yellow, orange, and red to increasingly darker shades of blue as I keep my head tipped back toward the sky.

WILLOW WEEPING

Anastasia Canham | Grade 8, Meridian

Willow weeping

Weeping willow

What sadness

Do you hold?

What cares burden

All your branches?

What thoughts

Weigh you down?

Why are you

Weeping, Willow?

Willow weeping

Haidyn Thompson | Grade 9, Boise

STAINED GLASS WINDOW

Liza Galitsyna | Grade 7, Boise

BOTH SIDES

Maren Thompson | Grade 7, Boise

APPROVAL

Maisie Murphy | Grade 7, Boise

PINE NEEDLE

Morgan Labbe | Grade 9, Meridian

NEED 4 SPEED

Sam Couch | Grade 8, Grand View

RAINBOW SCULPTURE

Seung Hyuklee | Grade 8, Meridian

MODERN CONVENIENCE

Oscar Hallam | Grade 5, Boise

The winds came. The plant, the nest, the foxes all blown into the water. The bird saw the foxes, thought they were her own babies, took them to her nest in the water. She saw a plant and thought it was a worm drowning in the water. She tried feeding it to the foxes, and then the vines started wrapping around one of the foxes, and it started choking it. So, the falcon used her sharp beak and pulled the vine loose. Then, she looked very closely at the cubs and realized they were not baby birds. Then, she looked, and on the banks of the river, she saw an angry fox growling at her. The falcon knew what to do. She pushed the nest over to the bank of the river, and the baby foxes climbed out. They walked away, a happy fox family of three. The falcon used her strength to pull the nest out of the water. Using every last bit of strength, she flew the nest back to the tree where it originally was, and she found her own chicks clinging to a branch for dear life.

OLIVER

Layton Willis | Grade 3, Kuna

I love Oliver because Oliver’s beak is as pointy as a mountain. Oliver’s eyes are as dark as the bottom of the ocean. Also, his feathers are as soft as a cat, and his talons are as sharp as a knife.

WHEN I AM A FALCON

Sutton Bennett | Grade 3, Boise

When I wake, I stretch and see I have feathers and one pair of wings. I yell with happiness in squeaky sounds. I say, “Let’s go for a flight.” I look down and fall. I start to dive. I say, “I’m hungry.” I dive again. When I see a mouse, I stretch my talons, and catch the mouse. “Mmmmmm,” I say. I wake. It was just a dream.

THE OWL OF FUNGI

Eve Wald | Grade 6, Boise

A barn owl looks out into the distance, A mossy wing made of bark, A fungi crown with earrings made of mycelium. Blues and oranges blend together. Amber eyes and a silver beak.

A chest of little mushrooms.

A castle made of deep blue fungi. Mother Mycelium watches over the quiet forest.

ARGENTINA

Delphine Ward | Grade 4, Boise

If I were a Swainson’s hawk, I would fly in the clouds all day long. I would also eat all the grasshoppers I want. I would play with my friends all day long. I would dive for meat. I would fly to Argentina in the winter. That is why I would be a Swainson’s hawk.

HOW THE PEREGRINE FALCON GOT ITS SPEED

Rowan Wuthrich | Grade 3, Boise

One day, the harpy eagle challenged the peregrine falcon to a race. The peregrine falcon begged the harpy eagle to call off the race. The harpy eagle said, “No.” The race started, and it’s neck-and-neck, but the harpy eagle was faster. Here came the dive. The peregrine falcon folded its wings and dove with so much speed while the harpy eagle was just beginning to dive. The harpy eagle was so astonished that he just hovered there, staring at the falcon. The race ended, and the falcon was the winner. And that is how the peregrine falcon got its speed.

SWAINSON’S HAWK

Liam Mark | Grade 6, Meridian

If I were a hawk, I would swoop down to the ground and catch some grasshoppers. I’d bring out my wings and fly in the wind, soaring over the sagebrush. I’d catch lightning in between my talons in the clouds.

I’d fly above the blazing fires of burning cheatgrass, feeling the heat under my wings. I’d perch on a power pole searching for prey if I were a hawk.

TWISTER

Aviyah Post | Grade 5, Boise

If I were a peregrine falcon, I would soar through the clouds just before a twister touches down. I would swoop down in the cheatgrass that is like a weak army in my soul. I would hear a noise behind me. The twister was playing games with me and giving me a head start. I would have no choice but to fly above the terrible level five monster. I would open up my eyes and see a city in the clouds. I knew I wanted to stay here, and that was what I would do if I were a peregrine falcon.

OLIVER

Grace Warrington | Grade 4, Boise

Oliver is a milky eagle owl. I like Oliver because of his big dark eyes. Owls are my favorite bird of prey. I especially like Oliver because of his sweet behavior and beautiful color.

Oliver! Eyes as dark as midnight. Beak as shiny as the stars. Feathers as gray as smoke. Talons as sharp as scissors. Eyelids as pink as bubblegum. Feathers as striped as the sunrise at dawn and dusk. Wings as wide as a river. Strong as a waterfall. Majestic as a pegasus. As big as a mountain. Sleepy as the moon. Oliver, I love you. You are great!

PHOENIX & HER ODE

Ellie Emoto | Grade 3, Nampa

Her beak is as gray as a mountain. She is as still as a waving tree. Her talons are sharper than swords. Her feathers are as brown as a log. When she preens, her feathers are spread like a peacock. Her beak is as sharp as a knife. Her talons are as yellow as the sun. I love Phoenix because the red-tailed hawk flies gracefully.

ALL ABOUT OLIVER

Teagan Tesar | Grade 3, Boise

OLIVER. His eyes are as black as a black hole. His beak is as sharp as a needle. He is as soft as a cat. I like Oliver because he is beautiful and calm.

ODE TO LUCY

Avery Ruckh | Grade 4, Boise

Head as pink as a thousand sunsets.

Wings as black as the night.

Legs that are two pale ghosts.

Amazing to see her in flight.

She hisses like a cat.

Her beak is sharp as a claw.

Lucy is a great bird,

she slices through meat like a saw!

THE FOX AND THE TECH

Camille Arnold | Grade 4, Boise

MOUSE

Emily Christensen | Grade 4, Boise

SCRIBBLE ART

Laurel Thompson | Grade 4, Boise

MOUSE BY THE CLOCK

Leona Zarse | Grade 4, Boise

THE CAT IN THE BARN

Leona Zarse | Grade 4, Boise

L.O.L.

Oakley Yang | Grade 4, Boise

THE RAINBOW

Robyn Cho | Grade 3, Boise

THE BOWL THAT IS A POND

Robyn Cho | Grade 3, Boise

FIGHTING WARRIOR

Stella Lazzaro | Grade 3, Boise

BARBIE IS A DINOSAUR

Siena Cook | Grade 4, Boise

THE MISSING TUXEDO

Sophia

Hoglund-Peariso | Grade 3, Boise

One day there was a bar of soap who was a detective and was friends with a squirrel, and one day, he got a note from that squirrel.

“I heard that my friend, Josie the Goose, is having a party at her castle, but someone stole her pet rat’s tuxedo.”

The pet rat’s tuxedo had to be found by the day of the party or else it would be canceled. Did he want to help?

Then he sent a letter back. It said, “Okay.”

The next day he heard his doorbell ring. Ding, Dong!

He rushed to the door, opened it, and there was the squirrel.

He said, “Come sit down.”

So they did.

The Squirrel said, “We should start the investigation.”

So they went on a long walk to the queen’s castle.

When they got there, the queen said, “Finally, you’re here!”

So they asked every person in the kingdom what they’d done on Sunday.

The librarian said she was busy stacking books. The music teacher said he was busy teaching his students. The king said he was busy polishing his crown.

Finally, the queen said, “Well, who stole the Tuxedo?”

There was a blank moment of silence. Then, suddenly, the squirrel jumped to his feet.

“The music teacher stole it because school is from Monday to Friday, not Sunday!”

So they rushed to the school, went to the music teacher’s room and found the tuxedo.

The end.

THE BANANA

Sophia Hoglund-Peariso | Grade 3, Boise

TWO SUNFLOWERS

Adithri Mallesh | Grade 4, Boise

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN EMPATHY AND SYMPATHY

Eve Gray | Grade 10, Meridian

A lot of people know what sympathy and empathy are. However, lots of other people don’t know what their difference is.

First, empathy. Empathy is a way you can experience other people’s experiences and know how they feel.

Sympathy is feeling sorry for others and not knowing what their experience is. Basically, it’s pity for others. It’s hard to empathize with someone, and it’s hard to be able to put yourself in other people’s shoes.

Empathy is a difficult thing to learn, and sympathy is something everyone is able to do. That’s the difference. It’s how you learn it.

PUZZLED

Marcus Aguilar | Grade 9, Boise

An exhausted nurse blankly stares at a nearby leaving plane. Chaos surrounds her and the maze of an airport. As she wakes from this stare, she looks around. TVs that are supposed to be showing airline departures instead show emergency broadcast systems, alerting everyone of the quickly ensuing dystopia. Eyes burning anytime she blinks, her head couldn’t be heavier, and her body couldn’t be more fatigued. In the distance, a bloody man screaming, “Get out!” But she is unfazed. She’s too weak to care about life, for she has already failed to save the lives of 50 other people caught by the virus. So why should she keep on living herself? As the world is crashing down upon her, life flashes before her eyes. She can only help but pay attention to the blank stare of her mother, recalling the events from the 2020s as she falls asleep.

GARDENS OF SPRING

Betty Clark | Grade 9, Boise

The sky darkens over Esper’s features. I look up, rain slowly trickling down from the clouds. Small drops land on some dahlias, some buttercups.

“Looks like we don’t need to water your garden today,” Esper claims.

I shake my head. “We’ll see,” I reply. Before we know it, thunder crashes down against the Earth’s surface. My gaze shifts back to the dahlias now, freshly planted.

POEMS

Em Groenert | Grade 9, Boise

What’s with the noise?

There is so much that no one stops to listen to the speaking. Now making noise is human but so is silence.

Is creating art to keep minds off the circle or is it to see the beauty of the circle

Keeping art in a cage

Your mind is its strings

Bird’s eye view doesn’t mean high up it means to focus just in case you need to flee

There’s a French snail that looks at you weird. Makes you think what came first the snail or the stereotype…

If you make a noise so weird and loud, people look at you…so maybe we have to be different to be heard.

NOVEL EXCERPT

Adele Hille | Grade 9, Nampa

The air vibrated with expectancy. Everything had stilled, no birds singing, no wind, nothing. It was the type of quiet when something big was about to happen. Even the temperature seemed to hesitate; the previous heavy heat was replaced with a blank nothingness. It felt like the world had just frozen in time. And then it came back with vengeance.

Imagine the loudest sound you can think of, maybe a baby crying for its mom, or a scream. Now triple that and combine it with a frequency so loud it hurts your bones. That’s what the bomb was like.

Rae scrambled back. Not fast enough. She felt it in her body before she heard it, a pressure building by the millisecond. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure racing toward her with an arm stretched out. She cried, “Wait!” Again, not fast enough. She flew back.

She never truly blacked out. Probably worse in the end game, although nothing made sense. Her vision was tinted pink and blurry, and she felt a numb tingling pain. The kind of pain you feel when the body can’t process the damage. She gasped out, “Not yet. I’m not, not done.” Then louder, “She still needs me.”

Rae blinked hard with tears rolling hard against her cheeks. She dragged herself over to a nearby pine tree, crying out with each inch. Pulling herself up to a sitting position, she leaned against the tree and glared up at the sky. She spat out a glob of blood. Her energy was draining quick. Almost out of ideas, she tried one last thing.

“You owe me. Just let me get to her. That’s all I need. I’ll never ask for anything again.” Out of breath, she laid her head against the bark of the tree. With a labored breath, “Please.”

Rae closed her eyes and slumped. Her body began tingling. At first kind of a painful stinging, but then more energizing. She sat up in wonder. Her body no longer screamed, and although she still felt weak, there was something else too. Power. Strength. Taking advantage, the girl sat up to assess her injuries.

Broken leg, collarbone, probably ribs too. There was a gash where some sort of shrapnel had torn into her shoulder. That wasn’t even half of it, but she could deal with everything later. All that mattered was finding Vera. Rae pulled herself up, testing her leg. It buckled under the pressure. Figures.

Determined, she put her hand on the rough bark of the tree. “Just a little more help, please?” The tree’s emotions crowded her head. “Yes, I know I got blood on you. Sorry. Yes, I’ll make it up to you! Later, if I’m still alive.” Rae rolled her eyes. She didn’t have time for this.

Startling her, a smaller branch fell down, the perfect size for a splint. She reached back into her backpack for some twine. Ugh, the one she left back at the palace. Hurriedly she scanned her surroundings for something, anything.

None of the plants would work. The flowers couldn’t do anything either. Aha! She spotted a scraggly part of her dress, torn on a bush. She set her leg, and stuffed her worst wounds with moss. A temporary solution, but it worked for now.

“I’m coming,” she whispered finally.

HOMETOWN

Dylan Sweeney | Grade 12, Boise

Thick blankets of smog envelop me alongside the rest of the people in the city. We mill about, paying no mind to each other—this is the blessing of an urban habitat: complete anonymity. An easing boon to revel in your lackluster status hidden behind grand towers and a dream chasing attitude.

Although this cooling wonder halts, as I feel a sickly warm stare crawl up my legs; I twist my head up to see a cruel gleam in blank eyes belonging to an aging man in between his wife and daughter feigning suburban perfection. Glancing back at these carnivorous eyes I feel my mind tumble down into unwarranted nostalgia.

I dropped into a picturesque scene teeming with light greetings of a much smaller place—my hometown—a miniscule city which was set upon the coarse sands of a desolate desert like a model village trapped by an elevated table with little mummering people stagnant in their roles. Their whispers poured out woodsmoke which filters the fading sunny sky to develop a photograph which the likes of could only be found in a resting grandfather’s crowded basement.

The figurines’ wooden eyes all lethargically rolled towards me, and the smoke which poured from their hollow mouths coiled around my body and seared my flesh, as their incessant droning grew louder and more unbearable; an unintelligible static punctured my ears while the women looked at me with disgust, but their husbands and sons preyed upon me with avarice and lust. I jolted my neck up towards the beating heat of the sky to reveal the sun: an unrelenting burning eye sending barraging waves of flame-licked judgment directly to my mere body. The dry smoky heat seeped into my lungs and withered my form as the chanting dolls of wood burst aflame from the sun’s ravagement incinerating the scene into a charcoal void.

I open my eyes to the dampened city streets. The lurking father passes by like a memory. The big city is bustling yet private; it’s dark, yet refreshing neon lights illuminate a path towards hope.

I’m glad I moved away from my hometown.

JAILBIRD

Kiera Black | Grade 6, Boise

NO-ONE MAN

Penelope Adams | Grade 5, Boise

MYSELF

Charlotte Fisk | Grade 5, Boise

THE WHALE

Nora Orthmeyer | Grade 5, Meridian

SELF PORTRAIT

Carolyn Orthmeyer | Grade 6, Meridian

SUNSETS ON THE BEACH

Dahlia Fields | Grade 6, Boise

GOING TO INDIA

Mukta Shrotri | Grade 5, Boise

HORROR MOVIES IF THEY WERE FUNNY: FRIDAY THE 13TH

Violet Merrell | Grade 5, Boise

THE FRAGMENTS OF PEACE

Calla Yerxa | Grade 5, Boise

MY INTERESTS

Aiden Grunke | Grade 7, Boise

ENCHANTED

Gennie Burns | Grade 8, Boise

DONUT

Kellen Jensen | Grade 8, Meridian

STEROID STANLEY

Max Wyatt | Grade 9, Boise

RODGERS

Twyla Burns | Grade 8, Boise

COLOR THAT’S VERY COLORFUL THAT MAKES YOU BLIND AND VERY AWARE THAT YOU NEED A THERAPIST

Janie Shey | Grade 7, Boise

MAP OF SHU’UN

Wyatt Bolkcom | Grade 7, Boise

Acknowledgements

Summer Writing Camps at The Cabin touch the lives of hundreds of student writers and adults each summer due to the talent of our teaching-writers, the generosity of funders, and the gifts of time and support from volunteers, interns, board members, and community partners.

Thank you to teaching-writers Colleen Brennan, Sonya Feibert, Chris Mathers Jackson, Aurora Mehlman, Hannah Phillips, Hannah Rodabaugh, Daisy Rosenstock, Daniel Stewart, Cassie Kiyoko Woodard, Caleb Merritt, Ayotola Tehingbola, and Tracy Sunderland.

Many thanks to our 2024 interns, camper-support assistants, teaching-assistants, and Cabin staff: Amanda Cupp, Abby Ames, Trey Hayden, Kara Killinger, Jesse Cole, Brooke Warmuth, Eppah McFarlane, Leigha Rossi, Claire Cunningham, Mackenzie Cavender, Emma Cantin, Elanor Spring, Ada Hunt, Bellamy Lowman, Paige Porter, Dylan Bowes, Bee Cerrato, Catherine Waddell, Magdalena Wilper, Anna Leem, Joey Klaas, Adie Bartron, Hillary Bilinski, Hillary Colton, Chris DeVore, Gen Emerson, Jordyn Marcroft, Desmond Fuller, Joel Wayne, and Kurt Zwolfer.

A special thanks to Zoo Boise, World Center for Birds of Prey, Boise Art Museum, Boise Contemporary Theater, and Flying M Coffeehouse.

Writing Camps and publication of CAMP FIRE are made possible by generous support from The Idaho Commission on the Arts, The Whittenberger Foundation, Idaho Community Foundation, National Endowment for the Arts, Academy of American Poets, Amazon Literary Partnership, Zoo Boise, World Center for Birds of Prey, and Flying M Coffeehouse.

Teaching-Writer Biographies

Colleen Brennan is a freelance writer, editor, writing coach, and teacher with an MA in linguistics. Her stories appear in the Boise Weekly, Writers in the Attic, and A Year in Ink. A native Minnesotan, she has lived and worked in San Diego, Boulder, Paris, Bordeaux, and Boise. She is the recipient of a literary arts grant from the Alexa Rose Foundation.

Chris Mathers Jackson is a freelance writer and editor, an aspiring novelist, a teacher, a mom, an artist, and a lover of the natural world. Chris received her MA in English Literature from University of Montana in 2005. She taught English Composition at UM for three years before leaving to work with younger learners. She worked in the administration of Missoula International School for a number of years before becoming a full-time freelance writer, editor, and graphic designer. After several years, she stopped doing design work professionally to focus on her growing family and her passion for the written word. In 2019 she established a book review website (LitReaderNotes.com). She writes creative nonfiction and fiction, usually with a focus on environmental writing, and has been working on a novel since 2020. In addition to teaching, writing, and editing, Chris enjoys spending as much time outside as possible, adventuring both near and far, with her husband and two daughters.

Aurora Mehlman is an emerging fiction writer who works with The Cabin, College of Western Idaho, and Boise State University teaching classes in Creative Writing, English, and Digital Arts. She is also active in her local community. Mehlman is on staff at Treefort’s Storyfort, where she organizes and facilitates great programming from both local acts and visiting authors, and she is the co-director of the Bishop’s House Writing Collective. Recently, she has been published in The Masters Review, 45th Parallel and Boise Weekly, and she shared her stories at the Idaho Botanical Garden, Scaryfort, and Story Story Night’s Grand Slam. Mehlman is currently at work on a novel.

Caleb Merritt is a poet in the Boise State MFA Creative Writing program who grew up in South Dakota, though he most recently resided in Alabama. During the pandemic, he married his undergraduate Speech & Debate duo partner, Alli, who he met at Hastings College where he received his BA in Studio Art. Before graduate school, he worked for Habitat for Humanity. You can find his work for free online at literarymerritt.gumroad.com.

Hannah Lucille Phillips is a fiction writer from the Endless Mountains region of Pennsylvania. She has BAs in creative writing and English education and an MFA in Creative Writing from Boise State University. She is currently working on a novel, and her debut TV pilot OUT, produced through BSU’s NTVI (Narrative Television Initiative) premiered in 2024.

Hannah Rodabaugh is the author of the collection Lost Cathedral (forthcoming, Cornerstone Press) and three chapbooks of poetry. Her writing is featured or forthcoming in The Indianapolis Review, Camas Magazine, Glassworks Magazine, Blueline Magazine, Wild Roof Journal, EcoTheo Review, Berkeley Poetry Review, and others. She is the recipient of a Literature Fellowship from the Idaho Commission on the Arts and has twice been an artist-in-residence for the National Park Service. In her free time, she volunteers for the Golden Eagle Audubon Society and grows rare desert plants from around the world.

Daisy Clar Rosenstock is a recent graduate of Boise State’s Creative Writing MFA program. When not writing strange and dreamy poetry, she can be found sitting in direct sunlight in her favorite adirondack chair with a good book.

Ayotola Tehingbola earned her MFA in Creative Writing at Boise State University. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Quarterly West, Passages North, Hawaii Pacific Review, Pidgeonholes, You Need To Hear This, Kalahari Review, etc., and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best Small Fictions. She is the recipient of the Winter 2022 Karen Finley Scholarship for Women and Nonbinary Writers at Hudson Valley Writers Center. She is also the recipient of a 2022 Glenn Bach Award for Fiction and an Alexa Rose Grant for her photography.

Index

Adams, Penelope 92

Aguilar, Marcus 86

Arnold, Camille 71

Bennett, Sutton 66

Bigley, Helen 7

Black, Kiera 91

Bohren, Aliya 10

Bohren, Layla 11

Bolkcom, Wyatt 107

Brent, Rayne 10

Briones, Josiah 31

Brown, Gavin 30

Brown, Madeleine 28

Bullard, Oliver 56

Burns, Gennie 102

Burns, Twyla 105

Bussum, Darcy Van 26

Canham, Anastasia 57

Cantlon, Allison 29

Chalfant, Ainsley 36, 37, 54

Champion, Arabella 27

Cho, Robyn 77, 78

Christensen, Emily 72

Clark, Betty 86

Cluff, Iris 42, 43, 55

Cook, Siena 80

Couch, Sam 63

DDensley, Audra 14

DeVore, David 7

Emoto, Ellie 69

Erlebach, JJ 33

Fields, Dahlia 97

Fisk, Charlotte 94

Flitton, Luciana 53

Fonseca, Isabella 29

Galitsyna, Liza 59

Gendler, Vivian 8

Gray, Eve 85

Groenert, Em 87

Grunke, Aiden 101

Hacking, Andrew 13

Hallam, Oscar 65

Hammet, Lucille 55

Hammett, Lucille 45, 46

Hille, Adele 88

Hobbs, Brynn 22

Hoglund-Peariso, Sophia 82, 83

Hood, Kennedy 28

Hurwit, Beatrice 11

Hyuklee, Seung 64

Jackson, Nora 12

Jenkins, Madeline Duff 34

Jensen, Kellen 103

Keating, Kennedy 16

Keating, Paige 32

Labbe, Morgan 62

Lazzaro, Stella 79

Leary, Ava 24

Mallesh, Adithri 84

Mark, Liam 67

Mathias, Theo 22

McElwain, Emily 40, 41, 53

Merrell, Violet 99

MinLee, Seung 47, 48, 55

Murphy, Maisie 61

Nekl, Simon 21

Oliver, Norah 38, 39, 54

Olson, Eleanor Zelda 31

Orthmeyer, Carolyn 96

Orthmeyer, Nora 95

Pankau, Izzy 49, 50, 54

Post, Aviyah 68

Radhakrishnan, Nethra 20

Ruckh, Avery 70

Sarpatwari, Arvin 35

Scales, Amelia 26

Schell-Mesler, Ava 15

Schell-Mester, Marcus 18

Shey, Janie 106

Shrotri, Mukta 98

Skillern, Isabelle 44

Steenhoven, Molly 25

Sweeney, Dylan 90

Swope, Gabriel 51, 52, 53

Tesar, Teagan 69

Thompson, Haidyn 58

Thompson, Laurel 73

Thompson, Maren 60

Traugott, Mila 19

Vos, Anneke 9

Wald, Eve 66

Ward, Delphine 66

Warrington, Grace 69

Washington, Leona 17

Werre, Harry 23

Wilks, Ruby 30

Willis, Layton 65

Wuthrich, Rowan 67

Wyatt, Max 104

Yang, Oakley 76

Yee-LingSin 30

Yerxa, Calla 100

Zarse, Leona 74, 75

Summer 2024

Writing Camps

MegaZine

The Cabin is a Boise, Idaho literary arts organization. We forge community through the voices of all readers, writers, and learners. Writing Camps nurture the imagination and awaken the senses through creative adventures in the art of writing.

THE OWL OF FUNGI

Eve Wald | Grade 6, Boise

A barn owl looks out into the distance,

A mossy wing made of bark,

A fungi crown with earrings made of mycelium.

Blues and oranges blend together.

Amber eyes and a silver beak.

A chest of little mushrooms.

A castle made of deep blue fungi.

Mother Mycelium watches over the quiet forest.