What makes Fowler "home"?

A lot of campers refer to Fowler as “home.” I just got back from spending 3 days with 29 campers for our annual Winter Camp which we hold during the President’s Day school break. We snowshoed and slid on the ice and played a lot of games warmed by the big fireplace in the Chi Rho House. Camp, in so many ways, is so different in the winter.

And yet, the sense of “home” was there. A place where you are welcomed, where laughter comes quickly, and you can safely be yourself. There is no magic to creating this atmosphere, just a lot of intentionality. Like Uncle Jorden making grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch; Aunt Josey cutting the lake hike short because of the cold wind; or Aunt Melissa playing guitar and inviting Billy to join her.

When I returned, I found the following poem in my in box. It is from my friend, Fatimah, who now lives far away, but who would come every June for 12 years to spend time with Shaykh Mokhtar and 60 other brothers and sisters from the Islamic community. She too speaks of coming home here.

It seems as if Jesus was fond of welcoming people into a sort of home: a place where they could truly be themselves and really engage in the world. Enjoy the poem and see you at camp…

-Uncle Kent

I miss my special space. 

I miss the stillness. 

I miss watching the leaves spiral to their resting place. 

I miss every creek and squeak. 

I miss every meteor streak. 

I miss my special place. 

I miss the sounds. 

I miss those grounds. 

I miss ripples 

And the waves

I yearn to be in my special place. 

And my friend the rock

That let's me sit and talk

And cry and talk, and talk and talk. 

Oh my friend the rock. 

I miss the hearty laughter of my brother Kent

As he walks in balance with time well spent

I miss Chi Rho and the warmth it shares 

I miss my room filled with all my cares. 

I miss my home, my special space. 

Fatimah Bhutan

Kent Busman