Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • If I had relied on my memory I would have never found this street. Much had changed since 1971, my first time riding into Camp Glyndon and even 1982, when I was last here as a counselor.

    This place way out Reisterstown Road occupies a key spot in my life story. Camp Glyndon was a summer camp for diabetic children, and a key place for me when I was diagnosed as type 1 diabetic in October 1970. That first year out here, I was what? maybe 7. There were only two bunkhouses then, at the bottom of a hill, and it rained the first 3 days. I was miserable.. and then I wasn't.

    Being the only kid with diabetes in your school maks you stand out; being in a camp full of 100 kids makes you want to stand out in different ways. I came here every summer, and then worked 3 more years as a counselor. My time here was instrumental in learning how to take care of this disease, how to eat right (even if I did not do it all the time). how to give myself my oen insulin shots. It was also the place I kissed a girl for the first time, learned how to shoot a bow and arrow, how to be a lifeguard, my first girlfriend at 16 (hey, it was not the first kiss one), it was LIFE. It was away from school.

    The camp is gone.

    It was sold.

    It's now a private school and summer camp has moves to something with a different name in Virginia. The swimming pool and ball fields are gone. The infirmary and the building we did urine tests in, gone. The dining hall building might still be there, but there is a new multi story building on top of it it. The pavilion is walled in and the horse barn is gone. I drove in warily, technically trespassing. Those first bunkhouses at the bottom of the hill are still there! Now I begin to ponder walking the trail out to ole Mount Smoky,

    What for?

    Camp lives vividly in my memory and my story fragments. In a few weeks I would meet up in DC with Terry, who was a counselor when I was a camper. I starte a group in Facebook and watched it grow, mostly among people I did not know.

    But standing here under the big oak, I can travel back to that first year, Mom and Da driving me out in their blue Landau rook LTD II, my in some horrible plaid pants and toting the green footlocker my Aunt used in World War II (and now I have i my home).

    I'm thinking it odd that the school that bought the property would keep the entrance road as "Insulin lane". But I am glad they did.


    Hey, Camp Glyndon, that’s where we go,
    Swimming and hiking, they help us test real low.
    We learn our exchanges, about insulin too,
    Doctor Silver’s the one to thank, for a camp to go to!

    Up in the morning, off on the run
    Insulin and testing, they make it so much fun.
    They teach us how to care for ourselves to last the whole year through
    Camp Glyndon, we’re for you!!
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.