As I walked to the infirmary in early July of 1970 I noticed a little boy sitting on the lawn in front of the building. I asked him his name and replied "Oran David Gianotti". He was barely three and I was 12, but I knew even then he was unique child (how many three years olds recite their entire name when asked?) He had a little beatle type haircut and was extremely precocious. Three years later I was assigned to the infirmary as a nurse's aide and lived in the infirmary with the Gianottis. Oran was six then and quite serious. He was blessed (or cursed) with two little sisters Keara and Danielle. As time went on Oran decided he wanted to leave camp with John (who I believe had to attend to some teaching issues). I realized that Oran was not afraid to express his needs, and his wish to go home was respected by both parents. He was an admirable person. I never saw Oran again and read with sadness in this blog that he had died. I work for a Hospice and have seen many young people, including young children die before their time. I have never forgotten Oran, or that time I spent with his family. I wish them all peace and hope they know that he is remembered even after all these years by someone who only knew him briefly, but was nevertheless deeply affected by him.And here Kim reflects generally on her time at Frost Valley:
I first arrived at Frosy Valley in late June of 1970. I was 12 years old and had been to three other sleepaway camps before my Mom found this one. I was to be a camper in the Tent Village, a small enclave of two large tents on a little piece of land behind the Ad office. My two counselors were Anne-Marie Kremer and Susan Ambry (later Sue's sister Meg joined us as a third counselor). I was to be there for ten life changing weeks. We hiked and campred, climbed mountains and were taught how to survive in the woods on our own. Anne knew the area well and led us on dozens of bucolic and awesome adventures. All three counselors played the guitar and Anne had one of the most beautiful singing voices I have ever heard. I was a wild and wacky kid, the product of a "broken home". I learned how to be part of a team, was never judged, and was comfoted and praised by three caring people who incidently, were barely out of their teens themselves. I was there for three more summers but this particular one resonates for me. I learned to respect nature and in turn to respect my peers. Each of us was from a different backround and came to together for one magical summer. Thirty eight years later I drove into camp and stood outside the AD office listening to the sound of singing coming from the boys dining hall. I almost think I heard them singing the Titanic song or the first chorus of Blowing in the Wind. Frost Valley will forever signify a turning point in my life. The smell of campfires, the sound of singing, and the feeling of peace. It was what I had been craving for in my young life, and it was there that I found it.
