The Tale of Camp No Friends
Parsley, 11/04/02
The story of how Camp No Friends got its name is really pretty stupid, but I thought it should be told before anyone had a chance to ask.
There is such a place as Camp No Friends, kind of, but probably not anymore. I guess.
Several years ago when I was being force marched across the state to look at colleges, we went to Penn State on a very hot day. Our car in those days was very small, and for all intents and purposes had no air conditioning.
There’s an old joke about the four seasons in Pennsylvania: winter, almost winter, still winter, and construction. This trip took place sometime around the construction solstice, when the Earth draws closest to a universe made entirely of dumptrucks, lunchpails, and safety vests. At a certain intersection in some pointless little town, they were repaving part of the street. This naturally required the road to be closed down to one lane for several miles. We waited in traffic for at least an hour, probably more like two. It sucked.
About halfway to this suddenly crucial intersection, there was an old house off to the side of the road with a sign that said “Camp No Friends.” No explanation of what the sign meant or why it was there. Was the house a camp - a hunting camp maybe? Was there a camp back in the woods somewhere? I still don’t really get it.
If I ever start a band I will call it “Hootie and the New Dylans.” If I ever buy a house I will call it “Camp No Friends” and put up a big sign made with a wood burner in front. Until then, here’s this crappy web page.