Birch bark on the ground

Written by Matthew Ranville sometime in 2023.
Matt loves biking, exploring, playing hockey, hanging with his trusty pup, and his cool wife, Erin. Matt writes for fun (and for work), and we think he should keep writing fun things about camp because this one, and the other stories he has written for us, are just so great.

As I walk from my car to my cabin, taking deep breaths of the fall air, my eye lands on something on the ground. It is white, and curved, marked with tears at the edges, and little streaks of black and brown.

It's a slice of birch bark, of course. Something I have seen all my life in northern Michigan. While there are few birches near home in SE Michigan, it's not like this tree is a stranger. Still, it seems startling to see it there, large pieces of its skin cast off on the ground. I almost pick it up. 

This particular piece of bark feels perfect in curve and shape and dimensions. I pause to look at it repeatedly for the next few days, each time, wondering if I should pick it up. And I pause to look up, to see the swaying trees, including the one this bark fell from.

Maybe, I think, that is really what amazes me. Not simply seeing birch bark on the ground, somewhat rare back downstate, but then looking up, seeing a stand of trees with nothing else, no buildings, no road, stretched out in front of me.

One of the wonders of this place, Camp Chickagami, is that it exists in a world of expanding and encroaching development, and somehow holds a balance between works of man and of God. If I turned back from the woods, I'd see my cabin, the dirt road, other cabins, a lake surrounded by houses. All those things are also dear to me, each holds memories, many hold people I love.

But the chance to turn and look at the trees, including that one amazing birch tree, and see only things God crafted, that is rare in my life right now, and in many lives, and it's just one of the blessings provided by camp.

I walked past that piece of birch bark every day for a week, and when it was time to leave, I picked it up and held it for a minute. Then I set it back down so that the earth could have it back. I have pieces of bark, rocks, dried flowers. They are nice mementos.

But this time, all I needed to carry home was the memory of this place, its little things that stop me in my tracks, and why I love it so much.