CAMP AAN-ZI-NAA-GO
By Nick Young
That first morning, the sun had barely crept halfway up the tall stand of white pine edging the glassy lake when the door swung open and the chirpy notes of a recorder filled the cabin. It wasn’t much of a tune really, but it got the attention of the six girls sleeping in their bunks.
“Time to rise, campers, and make ready for the new day,” sang Maggie McDonough, the unflaggingly cheerful girls’ counselor at Camp Aan-Zi-Naa-Go. “Breakfast in the mess hall in twenty minutes, and then we’re off on our first exciting adventure!”
Beth Harmon sat up and stretched, bleary-eyed, as Maggie merrily piped her way out of the cabin. Beth was thirteen, like all but two of the other girls, who were twelve. One of them, Wendy Scotto, spoke up first.
“God, that was annoying. Are we going to have to go through that every day? For two whole weeks?” From nearby came the shrill notes of a trumpet, the preferred instrument the leader of the boys chose to rouse his charges in the next-door cabin. Another girl, Sue Quant, winced.
“Maybe we’re the lucky ones.”
“And what’s with taking away our phones?” Wendy complained. “No cell phones? For two whole weeks?” That drew some grumbling from the others. Not Beth. Naturally quiet, she thought to herself,
This girl? For two whole weeks?
#
Dean and Mindy Harmon had been born and raised in Harvard. It was a comfortable community of nine thousand an hour northwest of Chicago, and the couple had made a good life for themselves and their daughter. Dean owned a paint supply store while Mindy crafted elegant paper flowers which she sold out of their two-story clapboard house on the southern edge of town. They lived quietly, went to church on Sunday, saluted the flag and supported the police. In short, they fit in. But Beth was something of a square peg. She was bookish and extremely shy, so much so that it had become worrisome to her parents. How to bring their girl out of her shell?
When Mindy stumbled on the camp, they felt they’d found the key.
“This looks really wonderful, Dean,” Mindy had said as she scrolled through the camp’s bright, appealing website.
The Ojibwe people had a name for it—Aan-Zi-Naa-Go—change, transformation, metamorphosis. It’s at the very heart of the Camp experience. You won’t believe what two weeks in the beautiful southern Wisconsin countryside will do for your child!
The more they explored what the camp offered, the more excited they became, willing to overlook the steep price tag in the belief that it was the answer to their prayers.
And so, despite Beth’s weak protestations, she was signed up and driven to the remote camp on the first June weekend after school let out for the summer.
#
“Okay, campers, let’s stay together,” Maggie called out as the line of girls worked their way up a sharp incline through a dense patch of trees. Beth lagged behind. Not the most athletic girl, she struggled to keep up.
“Where are we going?” Wendy complained. “I’m tired.”
“Come on, you can do it,” Maggie said, clapping her hands. Soon enough, the group reached the crest of the hill, and the girls loudly sighed with relief when they saw the trail angle down into a small clearing. “We’re almost there,” said Maggie, leading the way across to a yawning hole in the rocky hillside. “Okay, girls, gather ‘round. This is the entrance to an ancient cave, one known to the Native Americans who once lived here.”
“It looks really spooky,” said one of the girls. Maggie laughed.
“Well, don’t worry. It may look kind of scary, but inside is where something very special lives, and that’s why I’ve brought you.” This piqued the girls’ interest, and they began clamoring to know what the cave held. Maggie raised a hand. “Let’s go in and find out. Careful—watch where you walk—stay in my light.”
The opening was small, requiring the girls to duck as they followed Maggie. Beth did not like dark places, so she had edged her way closer to the front and Maggie’s flashlight beam.
The farther the group crept into the narrow, serpentine tunnel, the cooler it became. And it was damp, smelling of must and decay. Right on cue, Wendy started whining.
“I don’t like this place. Why do we have to go in here?”
“Patience, Wendy, you’re about to find out,” Maggie answered as the tunnel began to widen. In a few more steps, the group entered a tiny grotto. On the other side there was an indentation in an outcropping of rock. Maggie turned her flashlight on the spot, revealing a mass of wiggling caterpillars, each about two inches long, lime-green in color, every segment marked by a black band with evenly spaced orange dots.
“Eeewww,” said one of the girls.
“Just wait,” said Maggie. “Now watch.” With that she snapped off the flashlight. In the pitch blackness, the caterpillars came alive in a thrilling way, pulsing with luminescence, their colors dancing and quivering.
“Awesome!” two or three of the girls said in unison. Beth was mesmerized, her eyes growing wide.
“Are they not the coolest?” Maggie said to excited agreement all around. She let the girls marvel for another minute before she turned on her flashlight again. The caterpillars returned to their natural appearance. “Now, you all brought your glass jars? Good. Each of you will take one of these beautiful creatures for your own and nurture it during you stay and then take it home with you to show off to your parents. So come closer, take turns. Pick one up—don’t be afraid. Beth, how about you going first?” Beth never took the lead, but she didn’t want to look bad in front of the others, so she came forward, tentatively reached into the mass of wriggling insects and lifted one out. She gripped it gingerly, and just as she was about to drop it into her jar, she felt a tiny prick on the tip of one finger.
“Oh!” she said, letting the caterpillar fall into the container. “It bit me.”
“No way I’m picking one of those things up,” sneered Wendy.
“Now relax everyone.” Maggie said, her tone soothing. “I should have warned you. Not to worry—it’s just their way of saying ‘hello,’ that’s all. It doesn’t hurt, does it, Beth?”
“No, it just kind of surprised me.”
“Good. See? Now, each of you take one and be ready to get your own little greeting.” So each girl in turn selected a caterpillar, and each in turn felt the same slight sting as Beth had.
#
Back in camp after lunch, Maggie had the girls together working on a craft project when Wendy began moaning that she had a stomach ache. Up to this point, Beth had found the other girl annoying, but she had to admit she wasn’t feeling that great either. Soon, everyone else joined in with the same complaint.
“Well,” Maggie began, “let’s see what we can do. Come with me.” The girls followed her to one of the other cabins marked “Infirmary.” Inside, the room was bare with only fluorescent light—there were no windows—and the air seemed heavy and hotter than outside. Along the walls, a series of evenly spaced hooks hung from the rafters.
“I feel really sick,” Wendy whined, her face pale.
“Me, too,” echoed one of the other girls.
“It’s probably something you ate for lunch.” Maggie’s voice was flat. “You’ll be fine in a little while.” But the girls only grew worse, holding their stomachs, some beginning to cry. Then, Wendy’s eyes bulged.
“I’m going to hurl!” she cried, opening her mouth wide. Immediately, a thick, white torrent poured out, a great gusher that didn’t stop as it oozed down her body, encircling her ankles and feet. Terror gripped the other girls as they began gagging. Beth wanted to shriek, but when she opened her mouth, like Wendy and all the rest, the sticky white substance erupted. Maggie’s eyes narrowed as she looked on, her lips pulled in a thin, tight smile.
#
Hours later, when night had fallen, Maggie returned to the infirmary with Ron Cramer, the boys’ counselor. Along the walls, suspended from the rafter hooks by glistening ropy cords dangled the dozen campers, girls and boys, mouths open, continuing to ooze thick streams of the white mucous that had enveloped most of their bodies and turned to a deep-green leathery encasement as they twitched spasmodically.
“Good. Excellent,” said Ron, running his gaze over the children. “By morning the pupae will be finished.”
“Yes,” said Maggie coldly, “and once they emerge from dormancy, we send them home.”
“One child…one family at a time.”
“And dominion will be ours.”
#
Beth fairly bounced out of the camp minivan that delivered her back home.
“Mom! Dad!” she beamed, rushing to embrace them warmly. Her face glowed with vitality; her blue eyes danced.
“My gosh, Beth, is that you?” her dad asked in astonishment.
“You can be sure it is,” laughed Maggie, who sat behind the wheel. “Quite a transformation, wouldn't you say?”
“If I’m not seeing it with my own eyes…” Mindy said, holding her daughter at arm’s length, marveling.
“Beth was one of our real stars,” said Maggie. “It was a pleasure having her.” As she prepared to leave, she turned to the young girl. “Now, don’t forget to show your folks your special project.”
“Oh, I can’t wait,” Beth replied excitedly.
“Have a great summer,” Maggie said with a smile and a wave as she pulled away.
#
Mindy had begun to clear away the dinner dishes when Beth interrupted her with mock annoyance.
“Oh, mother, finish those later.”
Since her arrival, Beth had bubbled over with one story after another about the camp—the friendly girls and boys, “awesome” leaders and exciting activities. “Even the food was good,” she declared. It was the best two weeks ever.
“We’re so happy for you, sweetheart,” her mom said. “We can’t believe how much you’ve changed.”
“Now,” Dean began, “what about that ‘special project’ your counselor mentioned?”
“Yes!” Beth said, “The best part of all. But you’ve got to come with me to the basement to see.”
“Seems awfully mysterious,” her dad teased, “but lead on, girl.”
Beth grabbed up her backpack from the hallway and led her parents down a short flight of stairs. Once in the basement, she set her backpack on Dean’s workbench and removed two small glass jars, each containing a fat, wriggling caterpillar just like those in the cave.
“My goodness,” Mindy said. “You raised them?”
“Yup,” replied Beth with pride. “Now, watch. Dad, turn off the light.” Dean clicked the pull chain over the bench and the basement was pitched into darkness, except for the two caterpillars, whose colors came alive, glowing and pulsing.
“Oh, my!” Mindy exclaimed.
“How cool is that?” Beth said. After allowing her folks to marvel over the insects, she told her dad to switch the light on again. “I want you each to take one out—this is what they made us do at camp. Go ahead.” Her dad unscrewed one of the jars and plucked up his caterpillar without hesitation, while Mindy was more cautious. “Aren’t they neat?” Beth exclaimed as the creatures inched their way around the fingers of her parents’ hands.
“Hey,” her dad said with a slight chuckle, “the little bugger bit me.”
“Ouch,” Mindy said. “So did mine.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Beth began lightly, “it’s just their way of saying hello. Kind of like a little kiss.” As she watched, the sparkle in her eyes faded and disappeared. Her smile melted away. Her voice turned dead-flat. “Pretty soon you won’t even remember. Or care.”
Nick Young is a retired award-winning CBS News Correspondent. His writing has appeared in more than thirty publications including the Pennsylvania Literary Journal, The Garland Lake Review, The Remington Review, The San Antonio Review, The Best of CaféLit 11 and Vols. I and II of the Writer Shed Stories anthologies. He lives outside Chicago.
