In attempting to recall camp some sixty years ago, I can easily summon fond memories of the sacred council fire gathering.  Campers took Indian Lore as a clinic where they not only stitched moccasins and designed charms, but learned dances, prayers and other aspects of various tribal rituals.  Last evening was gorgeous on Lake Tarleton and a full moon was rising as Jay called Leo forward to place one of the first logs on the growing blaze.  With decent success, I convinced the gathering to make believe we were having a serious tribal meeting to discuss such life and death issues as hunting for game and warding off enemies.  Thereupon I told a few stories about the early days of Kingswood, especially as pertained to Webster Cliff — across the expanse of the lake — where at that very moment several overnight campers were sending signals with their flashlights from their summit rock perch.  A beaver made his way quietly along the shore just in front of us as the musicians took their turn to play guitars and sing along songs.  Todd and Tim were good as usual, but Michael Ferster took a grand applause with some of his heartfelt lyrics.  After learning the Kingswood Alma Mater and singing “taps,” boys were released one cabin at a time, in complete silence.  Just as the Guides were called upon to drift down to the fire’s edge, a fresh breeze  mixed with raindrops hit us, sending all happily scattering in different directions.  Exceptionally good camp.  Enjoy the photos that corroborate the story.