I wish I could see in the dark.The thought has crossed my mind many nights walking in the dark after I’ve heard an unsettling sound nearby. While the sky wasn’t too dark last week on our staff night hike, I thought of campers who might also experience heightened fear when darkness comes along.
The past two weeks I’ve been in summer staff training at the Dunes Learning Center inside the Indiana Dunes National Park. We’ve been learning the intricacies of camp while also trying out activities we’ll lead with campers. Last week we practiced the night hike we take campers on, and I was reminded how limited my sight is at night. Being a camp based in environmental education, we also learned about nocturnal animals like bats, raccoons, and owls. They all are adapted to the dark: bats use echolocation, racoons feel especially well with their paws, and owls have eyes built for the night. Each is tuned to function well in the darkness. I am not.
And so, I found myself wishing I could see in the dark.
This is not just a desire to see through the darkness that lays itself over the earth each night, but through the darkness found in uncertainty and in turbulent times. The darkness that causes fear to fester in what’s unseen and unknown.
However, on that night hike, I was reminded of two things.
First, I found that even as the sky became darker, by spending time learning about and being in the darkness, I became more comfortable and curious about what existed around me. For example, while I’ve heard many animals call at night, I didn’t know whose sound belonged to who. We practiced the call of a barred owl, and I learned that what could have been a slightly spooky sound was an owl. By learning about and being with the animals out in the night, I not only found myself more comfortable, but I also had a greater appreciation for the darker part of the day.
Second, our night hike was an opportunity to go out in the dark together. We walked sometimes in a line, other times in pairs, but even when we walked our “solo” portion, there were people waiting in front of us, and others stationed behind us. We were never really alone.
Our limited sight in darkness can make it appear that we are lost or that we must walk alone. This is especially true when we think no one will understand our fears in the darkness. But just like on our night hike, people are close by; their presence is grounding in the unsteadiness. Despite what our minds try to tell us, we are never really alone.
As the camper support specialist this summer, I am here to be a support to campers however they are. I anticipate there will be a collection of many experiences: happy and sad, excited and nervous, light and dark that I will see. But through it all, I’m here to be a calm reminder that no one is alone. There is so much to see, to learn about, and to grow in together. I’m grateful for the staff at the Dunes Learning Center who have been present, ready, and excited to show up for each other, and for the kids who come to camp this summer.
By Emma Johnson, Dunes Learning Center