Day 2
The grass danced and bent subserviently to the winds that blew  across camp this morning. At first, the thick blanket of clouds that had  sought in vain to dampen the sprit and ruach that greets this corner of  the Catskills every morning had -in combination with the gale-force  winds- created the impression that we would soon be privy to the washout  of the summer.
But, true to that old adage “ There is NO  rain in  Camp Simcha”, nature’s trickery let up to reveal that the rumble in the  distance was not a bird, plane, or the whole lot of Dembi’s lost socks  coming back home. It was the din of impossibly large, imposing blades;  those part of the helicopter that would take up campers and bring down  pilots. Donning bright yellow tees with the proper credentials, campers  were hoisted in threes to the skies over Glen Spey. Through the smoky  fog eerily rising from the pines and the rain drops running up the  windshield, all (save for the unlucky counselors) were treated to  magnificent views the streams, complacent in their stillness, and the  gently rolling hills that surround Camp Simcha Special.
It was not  long before our new pilots needed to come in for a landing. Even as the  soft thud reminded them that they were back on solid footing- even  hundreds of feet below those elusive, solemnly beautiful  skies, the  smiles that beamed across hundreds of faces were a collective testament  to the fact that the past 5 minutes had  made soar not only campers, but  spirits and hearts alike.
By, T.P.




