Ron's Camp Gordonwood Reunion Tour

On 8/5/12 at about 11:30am, I got in my car, rolled the windows down, and headed east.  Destination:  Gordonwood Camp and Conference Center.  Mission:  Scatter Ron Clark’s ashes into Turtle (Ron’s name for it, but it was originally Tadpole) Pond.  

 Ron told me, long ago, that he wanted some of his remains to be at Gordonwood, the idyllic camp scene where he had some of his happiest memories, made some of his dearest friends, and met his first love.  Specifically, he wanted the ashes to go in his favorite pond.  Ron adored Gordonwood, spent many entire summers there, and told me how his heart broke when they shut down the camp.  Even though it is not running the way it was during its heyday, he still wanted to be there when he was done living.  As he got nearer and nearer to the end of his life, he talked about this with more frequency and I assured him I would see that his wish was carried out.

Originally, Ron just wanted me to go put him there.  Private.  Me and him – just the two of us.  Me letting go, releasing him to be forever where some of his more joyful moments in life took place.  Ron never wanted a big fuss.  He liked to keep it simple. 

However, as we talked about the logistics of this, me never having been there and camp having been closed for many years and trails likely having grown over, we realized I might need some help.  So, when camp friends Jen and Jo were visiting us last winter, we asked if they would guide me.  They agreed.

Then, when Ron and I were talking about his final wishes with his mother and sister while they were visiting one evening, his sister expressed that she wanted to be there, too, since she had also gone to camp and, in that way, it was a shared experience.  Ron was hesitant.  He knew the camp was closed and he didn’t want anyone to get into trouble on his account.  He worried about too many cars drawing attention.  I believe he told her she’d have to wait and see.

When the time came to follow through on his wishes, I felt that if Ron’s siblings wanted to be there, they should be.  So, I told them of the date Jen, Jo, and I had set and they were both free and wanted to join us.  From there, I offered that Jen could invite her sister, Liz, who was one of Ron’s camp friends, and Liz would also be welcome to bring her husband, Rick (I met them both when they came to visit last winter).  Then I learned that Ron’s former girlfriend, Ann, was going to be in Michigan that weekend and that it would probably mean a lot for her to be invited.  And another close camp friend, Nell, was also going to be in Michigan.  Ann lives in Washington, DC and Nell lives in New Hampshire, so it’s not like they are here all the time.  Something aligned and they were here at the same time, on this particular weekend, and it just seemed like it was meant to be that they should join us.

I would be lying if I said it was not a hard decision to expand the group.  Anything beyond just me and Jen and Jo and I knew I would not be able to grieve as openly (even with Jen and Jo I don’t know if I could have).  So, making the decision meant shifting my perspective a bit from this being something for me to do for myself and for Ron to something for me to do for Ron and for others . . . and if I could get something out of the process, too, great.  I had never met Ann or Nell, so that was stretching a bit further.  I have a hard time grieving in front of anyone, let alone folks I do not know.  The biggest leap was Ann. 

Ann was Ron’s first girlfriend, first kiss, and first love.  They met at Gordonwood and Ron shared many memories with me of their moments there.  The whole concept of a camp love story is so romantic.  I told Ron, when we were first dating and talking about such things, that I was jealous not of Ann, but of both of them, for having such a beautiful first love story.  Ron and Ann stayed together for five years, making the relationship work outside of camp and after it closed down and even from long distances/different states.  They remained friends after parting ways and she sent him encouraging messages when he was sick.  She even reached out to me after he died.  So, although I didn’t know Ann, I did have a connection to her and knew what she meant to Ron and could guess a bit at what he meant to her.  Still, meeting her for the first time without Ron and in the very location where their story unfolded made me very nervous.  Since Ron’s been gone, I often have anxiety (which was not there when he was alive) when I think of him and Ann . . . they shared more years together than Ron and I got to and in many ways I worry that it was a happier time (you know, since they weren’t burdened with battling terminal cancer and all that goes with it). 

In the end, I felt like every one of these camp folks needed to be there.  And everyone wanted to be there.  The night before we met, I had some very sacred time with Ron dividing his ashes.  He stuck with me and was there when I woke the next morning.  Surprisingly, I felt calm.  I could hear Ron in my head.  Initially, he was saying, “Stay true, Babydoll.”  I didn’t really know what that meant, but as I drove east and could hear that over and over, I (or Ron?) began to tag onto the end of it ‘to yourself’ so it became “Stay true to yourself.”  I still wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but I figured it meant not to let my anxiety overwhelm me.  To stay true to the mission for Ron.  To stay true to my emotions.  To stay true to my memories of us.

Ron's siblings, Heather and Doug

So, on that Sunday, I made it to a place I had never been before and met up with Doug, Heather, Jen, Jo, Liz, Rick, Ann, and Nell at the gates of Camp Gordonwood.  Rick and I were the only non-campers of the group, but we fell into step and began our tour.  It was both a beautiful and sad day for many reasons.  Even though I had never been there before, my heart sank at the sight of stripped plumbing, broken glass, and boarded up windows on the buildings.  I can only imagine how it would have felt if I had been one of the returning campers, seeing youthful memories altered that way.  The tour was a mix of laughter over hilarious nostalgia and somber silence at what had become of some of the treasured locations.  Just being in the hallowed spaces of Gordonwood brought on a mix of emotions and tears for all of us.

To get to Turtle/Tadpole Pond, we needed to take a few trails.  The only problem was, many of the trails had grown over significantly in the eight years since Gordonwood closed.  The main trails we could find fairly well and the returning campers remembered the general whereabouts of the pond.  So, we pushed through the brush and brambles, alternating leaders at the head of the group, changing direction when needed, consulting one another about the best route.  It was a sunny day and we were trekking up and down some small hills, through overgrown forest.  Eventually, Nell located the pond, but it was surrounded by thick, thorny brush.  There was no place to stand all together as a group and hold space for Ron, as we had planned.  There was supposed to be a grassy area, on the other side of the pond from where we were, but we could not see any way to get to it.

Jen asked me how I would feel, if we didn’t make headway soon, about holding space for Ron at Lake Ekelund, the larger body of water on the property where Ron had once served as a lifeguard and invented a game called Water Ultimate Ball.  I understood where she was coming from.  I was hot and sweaty and thirsty.  Most of us were bleeding from some part of our bodies or another, on account of all the brambles and thorns.  I have no idea how much time had passed, but I can confidently say at least an hour . . . maybe two.  I could understand the appeal of glistening Lake Ekelund, especially for everyone to gather and remember Ron without incurring further injury. 

Lake Ekelund beckons in the sunlight beyond the trees

But, I also knew how specific Ron had been about where he wanted to be for his final resting spot.  So, I told Jen sure, the group could hold space at the lakeside, but I would need to get Ron into that pond.  Certainly, as a last alternative, I could crawl through the brambles to the pond’s edge.  Before resorting to that, though, I told Jen I wanted to go on one more scouting trip to see if I could find any semblance of the grassy location I’d heard about.

I am a short person.  I stooped even lower and could see a thin trail through the branches.  It may have been just an animal trail.  Or it may be that animals were just keeping tapped down the larger trail, upon which, I am told, Ron once drove his red Ford Festiva.  I got real low to the ground and just started moving, following what I thought I could see as it wound around.  I put my arms in front of my face, ignored my braids as they got caught in the thorns, and basically just started almost jogging, pulled in a direction.  I believe I was guided along by Ron.  Before too long, I arrived at a grassy spot, big enough for us all to stand in a circle, just as I had envisioned it.  There was a white swing sitting still in a shaft of sunlight.  I knew this was the spot and began calling to the group, playing a real life version of Marco Polo until they arrived.  “Just take it low and fast,” I called to them.

This is the "trail" that led us to the pond 

photo taken on the way out, so it has already been passed through ten times

look real close in the middle toward bottom and you might see Ron's sister's head

We spent some time just sitting in the grass.  Catching our breath.  Observing the beauty of the spot.  Letting the very clear feeling of Ron fill us.  

Turtle/Tadpole Pond

I could hear crying from behind me.  I had barely shed a tear and did not feel comfortable crying . . . I felt like the odd one out.  The non-camper.  Like I didn’t have a right to be sad in this place, because these were not my Ron memories, because I was not there when they happened.  Yet I was sad.  And the stories Ron told me of camp had become like my memories.  I was here to fulfill the wish of my deceased love.  How could I not grieve?

I knew I had to move away from the group for a moment in order to let it out.  I stood, pushed through some more brush, deep belly sobs escaping as I moved, and found a mossy rock in the woods where I could cry by myself.  Doug came shortly after.  He was there to comfort me, which instantly made me stop crying.  I just do not do well grieving (like, really grieving, from the core of my being, the way I need to) in front of others.  So, I pulled it together and took reassurance in his calm presence.  After we talked for awhile, we headed back to the group where everyone was sharing memories of Ron.

Hearing about a Ron that I didn’t know initially had me feeling left out.  The stories are from this great, epic part of his life that I did not get to experience with him.  I hate that (darn my Presbyterian upbringing – why couldn’t I have been raised Episcopal, too?)!  I so wish I could have been there, not just to be with Ron, but also to have the camp experience, meet all of his wonderful friends, and enjoy the beauty of Gordonwood.  Later, though, I would recall the new stories I heard of Ron as if they were new memories of my own, so I was glad to hear them . . . glad his friends shared them.

We stood in a circle and I passed around the bottle of Ron’s ashes that I brought.  We each took a handful and held Ron in our hearts and our hands as Liz and Jen led us through some selections from the Book of Common Prayer. 

Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant Ron. Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive him into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light. Amen.

In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our brother Ron, and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious to him, the Lord lift up his countenance upon him and give him peace. Amen.

Then we turned to the water and took turns sprinkling and pouring Ron’s ashes in.  Some of them scattered on top of the lily pads and looked like snow.  Some sunk to the bottom where they shimmered and stayed put, beacons of Ron’s life and his attachment to this place.  Those who knew it sang Peace Prayer, which was a camp favorite, while we held hands.

Peace before you
Peace behind you
Peace under your feet
Peace within you
Peace over you
Let all around you be peace

Look close and you will see Ron's ashes scattered on the lily pads 

and gleaming white from the bottom

Nell told me how much she could really feel Ron in this spot.  I know it was where he needed to be and I am so grateful that he guided us to it and allowed us all to gather together.  I could tell this was a cathartic experience for his siblings and his camp friends.  I know it meant so much to me to fulfill his wish/my promise to him and to feel his calming presence with me throughout the whole day.

Finding our way out was much easier.  On the way, I heard the distinctive, familiar call of the Sandhill Cranes.  Migratory birds that use southern Michigan and northern Ohio as stopping points, I see them often in the fields surrounding my house.  When I first moved here, I only saw them in the fall, but they have gradually been spending more and more of the year here.  Ron loved their haunting sound and he loved it even more when we spotted them while out walking or driving.  Leaving the trails of Gordonwood, there were the Sandhill Cranes, previously spotted so rarely at the camp.  Jo recalled talking with Ron about them.  Seeing them that afternoon was one more sign that Ron was with us.

When we got back to the cars, we decided to go have dinner at a place called Bullfrogs where Jo said she and Ron had come before to watch hockey.  We got a table outside, overlooking a lake.  We drank and drank, mostly water to quench us after a day of hiking, but also some beer to soothe us after mourning such a great loss. 

Our food had been ordered, but was taking a long time to arrive.  I was talking to Ann about her travels to and from Michigan and asked whether she had enough time to eat before making her flight back to DC that night.  She checked the time and then Liz and Rick began calculating how long they needed for her to get to the airport and it became clear that it was going to be tight and they needed to get their food to go.  Just then, right in the middle of this very conversation, Ann’s phone rang.  It was the airline delaying her flight by a half an hour, thus giving her and Liz and Rick enough time to stay and eat with the rest of us.  “That was Ron,” I shouted, “This is the kind of shit he can do!”  And it’s true . . . though I don’t often blog about it (for fear you will all think I have gone mad), I have had a few encounters where I wished for something/wrote something/needed something, and it happened exactly then.  I am always sure, when this happens, that it is Ron making things work out.

I know Ron had not envisioned the nine of us all getting together for Mission Scatter Ashes.  He was so humble and he thought small and simple and private was the way to go with this.  But it still was small and simple and private.  It was people who loved him dearly, who needed the opportunity to celebrate his life, share memories, and pay respects by carrying out this last wish.  Although I didn’t follow how he and I talked about it happening to the exact letter, and I know he would have been exasperated with the self-induced anxiety I experienced in the days beforehand, I also know he would be (is) so pleased with how it worked out. 

Nell, Ann, Rick, Liz, Jen, Jo, Heather, and Doug

For me, it will be a day I remember very fondly.  I will remember golden light falling through the trees and the smell of pine needles underfoot.  I will remember Ron’s voice in my head and his spirit pulling me through overgrown brush.  I will remember all of us taking turns at the front of the group, softly talking and gently laughing and crying as we found our way.  I will remember voices rising in song over the pond, lifting to the trees, to the heavens, to Ron.  I will remember the way his ashes looked lace-like on the lily pads.  I will remember his people . . . Nell’s voice cracking and heart exposed as she tried to tell me how perfect the spot was and what a great human Ron was; Jen’s arms around me and gentle spirit enfolding me with love as I cried out that my heart was broken; Jo’s reassurance, when I needed it, that Ron loved me so much and was truly happy with me; Heather’s steadfast, sisterly presence by my side as we navigated the near nonexistent trails and sat beside the water’s edge; Ann’s shoulders in my arms as I hugged her long and tight after we scattered ashes, knowing that we both, at different times, shared a similar special place in Ron’s enormous heart; Doug’s comforting words when he knew I was distressed and came to my aid to sit beside me on a rock in the woods as my brother; Rick telling me that he still reads this blog, encouraging me to keep on writing for as long as I need to and letting me know it is OK to be me in whatever state I am in; and Liz’s eyes welling up and over as we talked about how much we each wish we had know the other one sooner, that we might have somehow conspired with our helping profession skills to get Ron the lifesaving care he needed more quickly.

The whole gang in front of the pond

Back: Doug, Heather, Ann, Liz, & Rick

Front: me, Jen, Jo, and Nell

I love Ron so much.  It is a love that grows each day, even without him here to nurture it.  I know I have honored him and demonstrated that love by getting him where he wanted to be and inviting others to be there, too.  Ron has given us all so much love by allowing us to share in this process together.  And I feel like he has blessed me with new friends and family . . . people I hope to know more and more in years to come.

For anyone interested, the latitude and longitude of Ron's ashes in the pond are 42.839362,-83.458225.  (Thanks, Rick, for figuring that out and sharing!)  You can plug these into Google Maps and with the satellite view, zoom in to see the grassy area and swing where we were standing . . . this way, via computer, we can all visit Ron's requested resting spot from wherever we are.