Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, July 4, 1993 TAG: 9307020026
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-1 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: MADELYN ROSENBERG STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: RINER LENGTH: Long
But at 7:45 a.m., Jess Barrett steps outside her cabin in a long nightshirt and sneakers, rubs last night's dreams from half-closed eyes, and blows into a battered bugle.
What comes out is a hybrid barnyard sound, something between a bleat and a moo.
Bird songs are joined by the rumblings (and grumblings) of 35 campers, girls between the ages of 6 and 16, waking up in stark cabins that could've been owned by sharecroppers.
It's what Toni Baughman, owner of this camp, calls "classic mountain construction." In town, these houses probably would be flanked by junk cars.
But in this secluded 200 acres between the Little River and the day lilies, the slanted porches have what Baughman probably would call "mountain charm."
To some campers, it's a second home; to others with diplomat fathers or State Department mothers, it's the only continuity they have each year.
Some campers come back for two weeks, others for the whole summer. And many come back, year after year, bringing new recruits: little sisters or friends.
Baughman bought Virginia's oldest camp for girls about 15 years ago from a Northern Virgina couple.
When she took over, the motto was "Noblesse Oblige," which translates as "the obligation of the nobility."
Baughman swept that out the first day she cleaned these cabins, and she never looked for a motto to replace it.
But she does have certain ideas of what a camp for girls should be.
"We focus on each unique camper," she said. "We want to help with self-esteem and self-awareness, move them toward adulthood."
Part of that is "no boys allowed," with the exception of some staff members and a staff member's young sons.
Baughman runs a coed day camp in August for $110 a week.
"Here, if there were boys, they would be worrying about who's the cutest and who has the most boyfriends," Baughman said. "They'd be blow-drying their hair and putting on make-up. We have more important things to do."
That means development, in addition to arts and crafts, swimming, hiking and shooting.
And Baughman wants to do it all in an environment that is supportive and diverse.
"Diversity is real important to us," she said. "I purposely recruit that way. We're not a fancy camp."
She worked with a group called "Movement for Understanding" to bring some Russian campers to Carysbrook this summer.
And she sometimes slashes the $2,620, eight-week fee for low-income families she thinks could benefit from a summer at camp.
This month, accents of campers from Virginia, New Mexico and Pennsylvania mingle with those of counselors from Holland and Russia.
At breakfast, Australian counselor Fiona Veasey shakes her small bottle of Vegamite onto biscuits and sausage.
At another table, teens from Siberia talk in animated Russian. As the weeks wear on, they will speak a little more English. Then more.
"The other night they came down here and told me, in no uncertain terms, what they needed: flashlights and batteries," Baughman said.
It is the songs that give them some of the most trouble, says Ildar Nourmoukhametdinov, a counselor from Moscow. "They can't get used to this singing after breakfast."
"Father Abraham," the "Hokey Pokey," "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes." Counselor Tierney Stowe pokes Diana Yarulina in each body part as the songs progress.
During activity time, there is a flurry of hand gestures.
Especially near the barn, where the Russians are preparing to ride horses for the first time.
Nourmoukhametdinov, who instructs the campers in fencing, comes along for the horseback riding lesson to interpret Veasey's instructions.
"Diana is not afraid," he says, after a short exchange, and the camper does look confident on Tonto's back.
Everyone can understand Oxana Ivonova, as the more stubborn Midnight starts to move. "Mama mia, Mama mia, Mama mia."
There are Americans, too, who have spent little time in the heart of American culture.
Jessica Mallett spent most of her childhood in Nicaragua and Honduras.
There wasn't much for her to do there in the summers, she said, so her parents, both in the State Department, sent her here.
It is her 12th summer at Carysbrook, and now she's a counselor.
"We'd been moving around a lot, hopping around some," Mallett said. "I think my parents thought that if I did come back to camp, even though I was going to a different school or a different country, this was something to come back to, a familiar atmosphere."
Through the years, summer camp has changed slightly.
Carysbrook has electricity now, for instance, and has added activities like climbing and repelling.
A poster on the wall of the mess hall reads: "Environmental Studies and Ecology (Formerly known as Nature)."
The rifle range is larger than it used to be.
But other parts are what the campers' parents knew, and perhaps that's why a second or third generation of campers is spending the summer at Carysbrook or any of the 2,000 or so camps accredited by the American Camping Association.
Baughman started going to camp when she was 6 years old.
She returned when a nurse quit at her daughter's camp.
"Call my Mommy. She'll come," is what Sarah Baughman, who now helps run this camp, reportedly said.
Baughman did.
She hasn't left camp since.
by CNB