A Reflection on the Legacy of 4-H Memorial Camp
Before the rope-pulling camp game of “tug-of-war,” there was a war pulling young boys to fight in the Pacific from Illinois.
Before a scratched knee from a camper sprinting to first base, there was a bloody chevron removed from a soldier luckily back at his base.
Before the laughter subsides in a camp cabin full of bunks, there was a lonely head bowing at dawn in a muddy foxhole.
Before the screech from a camper reeling in a fish, there was the high-pitched searing sound of mortars flying toward a soldier eating sardines.
Before fingers gripped halyards to raise the camp flag for a fun day, hands once clutched a dirty firearm on battered soil.
Before a camper’s cannonball splash at the beach, there was cannon fire on a Pacific beach.
Before songs drifted through pines at a twilight campfire, past 4-H voices once cried in a foreign wood.
Before campers arrived to wear wooden nametags, names were etched into granite and folded flags were laid.
Before the 4-H pledge was repeated without deep thought to its words, soldiers whispered lifetime oaths to one another with sincere resolve.
Before morning reveille called campers to rise, a bugle mourned the souls of sons and daughters from Illinois.
Before the clink of marshmallow sticks around the campfire, there was the clatter of weapons in rushing trenches of mud.
Before giggles ricocheted off the walls of a packed dining hall, cries echoed through jungles carved bare by the shelling.
Before sneakers squeaked on the rec hall floor, boots slogged through mud thick with silence and dread.
Before whistles signaled the start of color team games, they warned of falling steel from far-off skies.
Before laughter erupted during bedtime pranks, sobs were muffled by gas masks and fear.
Before the pine scent mingled with sunscreen and charcoal, the air reeked of sulfur and burned powder.
Before the glint of flashlights danced on Allerton trails, flare light traced danger across midnight seas.
Before warm towels wrapped kids fresh from an afternoon swim, bandages wrapped wounds in field tents and the only medicine was hope.
Now the future can be charted by young hands at camp, all made possible by the selfless bravery of a generation - before.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Curt Sinclair is the 4-H Youth Development Extension Specialist for Shooting Sports and Environmental Education. He received his B.S. in Forestry from Southern Illinois University in Carbondale in 1982 and his Master's in Recreation Resource Administration from North Carolina State University in 1988.