ROANOKE TIMES

                         Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: TUESDAY, August 16, 1994                   TAG: 9408230048
SECTION: EXTRA                    PAGE: 1   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: By NANCY BELL STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: NEW CASTLE                                LENGTH: Long


IN TOUCH WITH NATURE

Woody Fisher steps out of an old C&P van and walks directly toward us. He is wearing a United Way T-shirt, shorts, sneakers and a fishing hat. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead. It's humid but cool in the stand of walnut trees where we wait.

Fisher offers a warm handshake, then swats a swarm of gnats. The place is well-kept, friendly, beautiful. It could be a resort.

Kids walk arm-in-arm along sidewalks. Some carry red-tipped canes, otherwise, we would not notice they are blind.

About 100 kids between the ages of 7 and 15, all legally blind, congregate at the Easter Seal Camp in Craig County. Fisher, assistant manager for Roanoke's regional office of the Virginia Department for the Visually Handicapped, is happy to see us. This day his job is to show off the agency's many programs at the camp. The public, he says, should be educated.

The suspension bridge over the stony creek bordering Camp Easter Seal sways back and forth, moved by the blind children who make their way across: unafraid, smiling, talking, stopping, gazing off in the distance. Their hands glide along the steel cable that holds the bridge above the stream. Occasionally, the encouraging voices of counselors at the opposite end of the bridge guide them.

We close our eyes and try to imagine what it is like to be blind.

In my self-inflicted darkness, the bridge sways beneath my feet. I grasp the cable to steady myself, no longer noticing the gnats. Sounds are pronounced. I hear the rush of the stream in the distance. The wind brushes my face, tosses my hair, sends a shiver. Some kids speak of the beauty of the meadow on the other side.

Fisher tries some philosophy. ``I wonder which is more frightening. To be blind, and not know the distance from the ground, or to be sighted and know exactly the measure we are taking.''

Fisher's agency works with blind children of all ages and abilities. The children learn of the camp through the agency's work with their public and private schools.

``The really special part of this place,'' says Fisher, ``is that the children really feel they belong. At their schools and in their hometowns it is difficult for them not to feel different. Here, they spend time with kids who are special in the same way.''

All campers who apply are accepted for camp, which is free. Endowments make it possible for them to attend.

``For many of these kids, this is the only exposure to nature they get,'' he says.

Amy Six, a student at South Salem Elementary School, casts a line into the pond, then reels it in. Kids around her are catching fish. Amy, 9, catches only the skin on a counselor's forearm.

``Ouch! Wait, wait, wait,'' Kathryn Anne Dunlap, an Easter Seal counselor, says as calmly as possible.

She digs the hook out of her skin, then helps Amy cast once more. This time Dunlap stands out of range.

Dunlap works with children with all types of disabilities each summer. Visually impaired kids present the least challenges, she says.

``It's easy to be someone's eyes. The blind children are less disabled than most of the kids who come here, and theirs is a common disability.''

John J. Wiese, 22, holds a fish hook close to his face, helping a kid attach bait. Wiese, himself partially blind, spent many summers at ``blind camp'' before becoming a camp counselor. Children cluster around him, vying for his attention. They like him. But it may be his last summer working with them. Wiese recently was awarded a full scholarship to The Juilliard School in New York City. He will design sets for theatrical productions.

Timothy Williams, a partially blind Franklin County boy, idolizes Wiese and shares his love of art. As Wiese looks on Timothy, 11, draws, in great detail, a dinosaur. The pen never lifts from the paper, held several inches from the young boy's face. His dinosaurs are realistic. Proudly, he tears the drawing from the notebook and offers it to us.

It is noon. The sun beats down upon us. We are tired and thirsty. Fisher weaves through tables in the dining hall to our spot. Campers are grouped in ``families'' of eight to 12 people. We are part of Fisher's family for the day. We eat salad, macaroni and cheese and wheat bread with peanut butter. The cafeteria is happy and noisy.

``One of the things we look forward to at the end of camp is a quiet meal,'' Fisher says. He is interrupted by an announcement.

``Kiss the moose! Kiss the moose!'' the children shout. They point to our table, giggling. Our family files to the front of the room. Each person must kiss the moose, which is actually an elk head mounted on the wall.

``That moose stinks,'' says a child at our table, crinkling her nose.

We meet Brandy Conner after lunch. The Cave Spring Junior student, 13, is enjoying her seventh year of camp. It is hot in the midday sun.

I ask her if she wants to sit in the shade, then realize she cannot see where. I am embarrassed, then offer her my arm. She squeezes softly. I indicate where to sit.

Her voice is light and lilting, very clear. I watch her face - notice her beautiful complexion, but she does not see me. Brandy sees only light and darkness. At this camp, she has met blind kids who also are deaf. Two of the girls have become her friends. I ask her how she communicates with them.

``The way I told my new friend thank you was with a big hug,''she answers.

Brandy likes night best. Nights at camp are filled with hay rides, pool parties, canoeing and campfires. She wishes it could last longer than one week. She would like to come back and be a counselor someday. We talk for along while and find ourselves alone. I return Brandy to her cabin.

We walk the long walk to the last cabin at the end of the compound. Positioning my arm, Brandy tells me how to guide a blind person. I describe for her the late-summer blooms from a nearby tree that cover the sidewalk and blow across our faces in the gentle breeze. At the cabin she releases my arm and strolls confidently into the darkness, counting steps.

Glen Slonneger takes over as our tour guide. Slonneger is one of many counselors representing the Virginia Department for the Visually Handicapped. He comes from Richmond for the annual camp. Others come from regional offices across the state.

``Once a year it's good for me to leave budgets and administrative duties and come here. It provides the opportunity to remind myself what we are actually doing. This is the only time I actually get to be with the kids,'' he says.

The climbing wall, a new feature at Camp Easter Seal, is getting its first test. Eric Dresser, director of camping and recreation, is happy.

``We want to offer the same types of programs for kids of all abilities to enjoy and find adventuresome,'' he says. He scales the back of the 31-foot platform to encourage 9-year-old Lauren Conner from the top. She responds by hoisting herself up another foot or two.

``This is hard work,'' she shouts in our direction, breathless.



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