It was a hot
June day in 1964 and
I was crammed inside a crowded bus, full of screaming, singing, excited kids
heading to camp. I wasn’t one of the
campers. I was about to turn 17 and
about to start my first fulltime summer job.
I thought I’d be working in the kitchen at Camp Arowhon, but when the
bus got there, the kids got off and a small group of us were told to stay on.
The next stop was the sublime
opposite of the camp. Arowhon Pines was
a luxury resort nestled among tall pines on a peaceful lake. The rustic setting was spectacular and
completely foreign to me. I was 100% a
city girl. I’d never even gone camping,
and, here I was in the middle of Algonquin Park. Little did I know, I was about to start the
adventure of a lifetime.
We were shown to our
quarters in what is now called the “L”.
The girls were on the left side, the boys on the right. The communal washrooms were in the junction
of the two wings. I was so
self-conscious. I’d never shared space
with so many people before.
We got our rooms and
assignments. My first shift was in the
laundry at 7am the next day. The good
news was, I would have afternoons off.
The bad news was, I had to earn them by working in the steamy laundry,
washing bedding in huge machines, putting sheets through the mangle (a giant
set of cloth covered rollers that pressed the sheets and pillowcases flat), and
ironing campers’ shirts. The work was
hot and repetitious, but I loved my new-found freedom.
I remember that first
morning at Arowhon. It was 6 a.m. The air was cool and fresh. A pale gray mist covered the ground and swirled
around my legs as I walked. The only
sound was that of leaves rustling and a lone chickadee somewhere in the woods.
As the weeks passed
friendships formed and the “L” became a community. Like any community, it was rife with
characters. The matriarch and owner,
Lillian Kates, was a small solid woman with tanned skin, snow-white hair and a
commanding manner. She visited on a
regular basis, even though she’d passed on most of the responsibilities to her
son Eugene. When she was on the
property, we all knew to look smart and look busy. Her philosophy was that everything should be
done correctly at all times.
Then there was Aunt
Sarah. She was as fiery as her bright auburn
hair and fire engine red lipstick. Aunt
Sarah ran the snack shop. She kept everyone
supplied with junk food and entertained us with outrageous stories about her
life.
My boss in the laundry was
Mike, a large man in overhauls, who revelled in the noise and steam let off by
the giant machines in his kingdom.
There was also a rotating
crew of short-term workers. They were unshaven,
older men who sat behind the staff cabins drinking on Saturday nights.
 |
| Lucia and Melinda |
My real education came
from Melinda. She was from Altoona,
Pennsylvania, and she’d graduated from Penn State. I thought she was the smartest, most exciting
person I’d ever met. She owned a
motorcycle. She read poetry for pleasure!
She talked about world affairs and literature
and religion. No one I knew talked about
that stuff. She had joined the Peace
Corps and worked in Afghanistan for two years.
In 1964, I didn’t even know where Afghanistan was.
All I knew was that I wanted to be like
her. I wanted to go to university, read
poetry and change the world.
I learned so much that
summer. I learned to be independent, to
make beds properly, to mangle sheets, to work collaboratively, to open my mind
to ideas and possibilities. I developed a lifelong appreciation for people in
the service industry.
I also learned
that meals could be more than overcooked meat, boiled potatoes and limp
veggies. The generous chefs at Arowhon informed
my palate, offering me exotic, delicious
foods that sent me into waves of rapture.
I learned to paddle a canoe on my own and discovered that not paddling
and just floating on a silent lake could be transformative.
I returned two more
summers and became one of the veterans.
I cleaned rooms as chambermaid and eventually worked as waitress. I remember the giant fireplace that dominated
the dining room even then and the linen covered tables filled with guests
“dressed” for dinner: men in sports jackets and ties and ladies in cocktail
dresses and heels.
In September 2023, just
shy of sixty years later I returned, as a guest, fulfilling a promise I’d made
to myself decades earlier. Wonder of
wonders, little had changed. It was
perfect, just as I remembered. And the
food, it still set off waves of rapture.
Instead of getting treats from the chef out the back door of the
kitchen, I had my choice of fresh exciting meals with sublime flavours.
The greatest impact was
when I walked over to see the former staff quarters. The building sits on a little hilltop
surrounded by trees. It is now used for
storage. As soon as I saw it, I felt a
rush of emotion. The years disappeared;
the cabin doors flew open and the ghosts poured out. I saw us bustling back and forth to the bathroom,
getting ready for work. In the evening,
sitting at the edge of the walkway swinging our legs and joking. The cabins were alive again, filled with
laughter and talk. We sure did talk and
talk and talk.
The summer of ‘64 was a
magical time, one that helped shape the adult I became. I did keep learning and never stopped being
curious and open to new ideas and experiences.
I didn’t change the world, but spent most of my life reporting on global
events as a news writer. A few years ago,
I searched for and found Melinda. She is
in her eighties and living in Hawaii. She
said she still rides a motorcycle.
***
 |
| Lucia visiting former staff quarters at Arowhon in 2023 |
Lucia Saja spent most of her
professional life with with CTV New. She started in the News Library in 1979 and over the
next 30 years she to learn every aspect of news production, including video
production, story development, line-up, and script writing.
She retired as
Senior Script Writer for CTV News, which meant she edited scripts for accuracy
and grammar before going to air. She also trained new writers and worked
on all the news specials over the decades.
In September 2023, Lucia returned to Arowhon Pines Resort for one of our writing retreats. See upcoming retreats at Arowhon and elsewhere here {and scroll down}.
See more pieces about our writing retreats, or inspired by them, here.
See Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend retreats here.
