Once, when I was a teenager, I got a shoe polish stain on my blouse while polishing my father’s shoes. My mother did not make a fuss about it. “You can’t wear it to school [in those days the only uniform was the one every Jewish girl got at Mount Sinai, namely, the uniform of tznius. You could wear whatever you wanted, as long as it conformed to the rules of tznius] but you could put it away to wear in camp.” If you let down the hem on an outgrown skirt or dress and it left a mark, you also put it away for camp.

You took the oldest, most worn-out linen to camp. Some even raided their grandparents’ attic, looking for the linen that their father used in camp or yeshiva. If a green set of linen was missing one sheet and you found a worn-out blue one, that too was good for camp. No one felt like a neb (our word for “nerd” in those days) because almost all of the campers came with such stuff, not like today, where a 12-year-old girl is outfitted for camp with nicer and better things than those that made up a bride’s trousseau in those days.

It sounds unbelievable, but camps once accepted campers as young as 5 or 6. Boy, did their counselors work hard, because such little girls cannot do much for themselves.

There were practically no campers whose parents were in the country. If you are in the country, why do you need camp? You were allowed to call home once a week, before Shabbos, and that conversation had to end after three minutes. (Overtime charges on long distance calls were high.) But the camp encouraged the girls to write home, and once a week, usually on Monday or Tuesday, rest hour was officially designated as letter-writing time. The biggest thrill was receiving mail during lunch, answers to your letters home. If anyone’s grandmother happens to still have some of the “letters from camp,” rereading them would show how much charm they possessed. Today’s kids know how to press the buttons on a phone, but they do not know how to write a letter. They don’t know what they are missing.

On two Sundays during the summer, parents were allowed to visit.

The camp organized a bus and either the mother or the father (rarely both) shlepped all the way from the city, a trip of at least four hours each way, to spend half an hour visiting his or her daughter (and tipping the counselors).

You ate whatever camp served. If camp served tuna, you ate tuna. If cereal was on the menu, that’s what you ate. But it never occurred to anyone to bring tuna or cereal from home.

The only nosh you took along was for the long trip. Camp had a canteen with some nosh (not nearly the variety that today’s kids shlep from home). If you wanted an ice cream or soda on Shabbos, you were able to order and pay for it on Friday.

Camp supplied vats full of lemonade and punch. If you wanted plain water, there was as much as you needed coming out of the faucet. If someone would have said that our grandchildren would be coming to camp toting 24 bottles of plain water, we would have said that she’s nuts.

Once in camp, we did not go on any trips. Going to camp was in itself considered to be a trip. Thursdays were hike days. Lunch was sandwiches because the cook was busy preparing for Shabbos. I remember one rainy Thursday when the head counselors shepherded all of us into the casino and made a fun activity. Boy, did we enjoy the “walk in the rain,” and peanut butter and jelly and tuna sandwiches never tasted so good.

I don’t remember ever being bored in camp. Camp hired the best girls as head counselors and they always came up with original, imaginative ideas. Once it was field day, another time color war, a great carnival or a major play, though that was not nearly as sophisticated as the performances of today. Races and contests livened up the atmosphere.

Swimming was the most beloved activity, and the swimming races were really special.

Our spiritual well-being was also not neglected. We davened Shacharis and Mincha, we bentched out loud, and everyday there was a short study session. At least we knew which parsha was being read that week, and we were reminded during the three weeks, to mourn the Churban.

As I watch my grandchildren and neighbors getting ready for camp, I am reminded of the saying (Pirkei Avos) “Marbe Nechasim Marbe Daaga” (The more possessions one has, the more worries he has). Shlepping so much to camp means that the bunkhouse shelves are not big enough for everything, so they also take along portable drawers or bins. Every camper “must” have her own camera, blow dryer, music player and perhaps even an iron. (Who ironed when I went to camp?) Shoes fill up one entire box; sneakers, Shabbos shoes, everyday shoes, crocs, Floafers, pool shoes, shower shoes, even rain boots! This is besides the bottled water and bins full of nosh.

Of course I fargin (don’t begrudge) today’s youth their new unstained clothing and their beautiful linen. But I wish that they come home with memories from camp as sweet as those that I still think about even after all those years.

And may I wish one and all, wherever you chance to be, a happy and healthy summer.