A Letter to Camp

Dear Echo,
I don't what it is about you that keeps me coming back exactly. Everyone always talks about being who they are and the freedom to act like yourself - but honestly, I think I'm just as much myself at home as at camp. Looking at my experience from the outside, it doesn't seem like I should enjoy my time at camp as much as I do - all my good friends are at home, I don't know people as well.
And yet.
There is something undefinable about you, something that makes me miss you the second I'm gone. It's what makes me look through photos on Facebook, and sing campfire songs to myself in my kitchen.
You give me perspective all the time. You remind me how easy it is to have fun, without needing much planning or extra equipment. You show me how much difference one person can make, and how little effort it takes to pick up that piece of litter lying on the ground, or be patient with someone when they're being difficult.
You allow me to push the limits of my comfort zone every year. You have taught me that it's okay to ask questions, that people are seldom as scary as they look, and that the effort I put into something is directly proportional to the reward I receive from it.
I love so many things about you. Campfire songs, taps talks, kissing the moose (on the lips). The way the sun sets on the lake. Flo bread,  weather characters, Wacky Wednesday (and MuuMuu Mondays). The stars on a clear night. Hot chocolate at every meal, the smell of campfire on everything, A&C, snaps, sleeping on the porch during a thunderstorm, music in the mornings, quotes at flag raising. You are my second home, the thing I wrote my college essay on, the place I will someday send my children and my grandchildren. I do want to wake up in the morning at dear old Camp Echo; it is indeed the finest place I know. Without a doubt.
Love, Anri