Some of my earliest childhood memories are of a place called Skye Farm, in the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains. In order to picture Skye Farm, the first thing you need to know is that it is not now and never has been a farm. It is in a pine forest, full of steep hills and glacial erratics. It would be near impossible to farm that sort of land, and thankfully a wise soul turned it into a Methodist camp, instead. It was at Skye Farm, in only three days a year, that much of who I am was formed.
One weekend a year, our church held a retreat at Skye Farm. Dozens of my most beloved people would gather there. We’d share meals–always spaghetti the second night, my favorite. We’d sit around camp fires and sing good old camp songs, like Kumbaha,and An Ostrich Went Yodeling. [I’m being told the song was “An Austrian Went Yodeling.” That . . . makes more sense.]
We’d go for hikes, where I (as the designated littlest for the better part of a decade) would get passed from back to back. We’d paddle across the little lake where my dear Tanta Jane, a pillar of the congregation, taught me to “never let a man put you in the front of a canoe.” We children–from little preschoolers up to teens–all had a “secret” fort in some craggley bushes outside the main lodge, aptly named “the fort.” We spent hours in those bushes.
I formed core memories at Skye Farm, with those beloved people. But moreover, I formed core feelings. Family. Inclusion. Abiding love. Forgiveness. Care. Joy. Attributes of God made real–incarnate–all around me, never to be doubted.
I now have the privilege, as part of my ministry here at Epiphany, to plan our annual Parish Weekend Away. This past weekend, around 100 of us trekked up to Greenfield, NH, to spend three days together at the Barbara C. Harris Camp & Conference Center. It was full to the brim, overflowing in joy. Inclusion. Care. Love. Family.
My great prayer for this congregation is that our time together–on Sundays, at Midweek, or at Parish Weekend Away–forms in us core feelings, feelings that build who we are and how we see God. It’s never too late to feel truly loved.
With love,
Bryn
