Not as the teenage wrangler who helped round up a couple of dozen horses most summer mornings during the mid to late 1960s.
Nor as the 31-year-old Camp Director who presided over a gifted and dedicated staff in 1980.
I’ll return as a 60-something-year old professor in charge of a group of community college students.
Hidden Falls won’t have changed much. Still sits atop this majestic canyon, which will be decked out in its characteristically multi-colored, spring coat.
And my charges—in one way—and even though some are older students—they won’t be that different from the teens of the ‘60s. They’ll have that same energy bred of soon-to-be-realized dreams.
And I—I, of course, will still be me—in love with this beautiful place, changed and changing because of its incredible Maker, and, once again, renewed by the hopefulness of dreams.