That’s what we heard every single morning at the flagpole before breakfast at Camp Pinemere. And it was. A beautiful day, that is.

So last week when we took the boys to the Poconos as one of the stops on Summer Tour 2008, we took time out to see my old stomping grounds.

I was just planning to take a picture at the sign (which I did) but Andrew convinced me to stop in at the office and say hello. Thirty-two years later.

And aside from everything seeming smaller in scale, it was exactly the same. I heard the same cheers from the Mess Hall. The same pagoda on the hill. The same big tree where I used to meet my brother and sister after dinner.

With our visitor passes clipped to our shirts, Andrew, the boys and I walked to the Rec Hall. We went to the Dell where services were held. And I remembered.

I remembered the songs, the friends, the dances, the shows. I remembered the counselor who had this uncanny ability of knowing exactly how many letters were in anything you said. (Weird, huh?)

It was surreal.

Who says you can’t come home again?