Surviving Jonas

Remember Jonas? The wintry storm that buried vehicles and tiny innocent dogs alike?

Well, I lived Jonas. I survived Jonas; somehow, I made it out of Jonas alive.

Heading into my ninth work shift, I knew there’d be some inclement weather that week. But I had no idea this weather would include a winter storm with its very own (made up) name.

At the time, I also had no idea it would be my final week with this job — though I kinda had a feeling. To say the least, it would be a doozy of a last week in the woods.

It’s been nearly two months since my last shift, and I’m antsy returning to the woods on the other side of Thanksgiving. It’s the height of winter in the Blue Ridge, I’ve invested in a warmer sleeping bag and cold-weather clothing in hopes that I don’t perish this week. Walking into Base, it’s strange to see the staff all bundled up when it was just yesterday I was still in training and hired in a tanktop.

I’m disappointed to see my name written under the girls group this week. I’ve only worked with the girls once, and it’s just harder to connect with them as a dude staffer. The connection component has been the biggest draw for this job – not the adventure, not the nomadic work schedule, not even these gorgeous mountains.

I hope I make some sort of difference this week.

As the day’s therapeutic groups unfold, I learn that not one but several girls here have been sexually abused. They share their stories of triggers and night terrors and bed-wetting, and I feel utterly unprepared for this.

All these innocent 15- and 16- and 17-year-old girls: their stories inflicted, their lives never again the same.

~ ~ ~

It takes a solid couple days to feel part of this group, but eventually my witty jokes resonate with these girls. It starts snowing the second day, a gentle Narnian snowfall, and it’s quite serene. I’m warm in my winter gear, sipping my instant coffee like therapy, and this week isn’t so bad, I say to myself.

Base sends out two giant tents for us in case the weather worsens, but I sleep by the fire as the lone male in the group. Usually all the staff huddle under the same tarp, so this new-found space and privacy is kinda nice.

The next day the sky is clear and sunny, but apparently the worst is yet to come. Base doesn’t want us trapped in a tree-ridden area (a common issue in “the woods”) that may succumb to icy, falling branches. So, they transport us to another area. The girls are gleeful, some of them riding in vehicles for the first time in months.

We get dropped off at an open field on the side of a mountain. Yesterday’s snowfall has nearly melted away already, and we re-construct the girls’ tents on grassy slush. That night, it lightly rains. Once again, I go to sleep alone under a tarp by the fire, jazzed by my own personal space away from twelve females in two tents.

I awaken somewhere around 1 or 2 am — I’m not exactly sure when. Because my awakening involved a giant tarp crashing onto my face.

~ ~ ~

For the next two hours, another staff and I struggle to reattach the an ember-burned tarp to the trees, the snow coming down with a weighty vigor. I move my snow-covered things into a narrow gear tarp and struggle to sleep the rest of the night, forced to pound the tarp of its snowy covering every twenty minutes lest history repeat itself.

The next morning, I walk over to the girls’ tents and see that one of the tents did not survive the night, the roof collapsing from all the snow. A third tented fortress is sent out from Base, but the next day’s 40-mile-an-hour winds blow our tent walls horizontal — the newest tent even flies off its stakes and rolls across the snowy field.

It’s a comedy of errors this week. We’re cooking the kids’ meals (something we never do), breaking out packs of hand-warmers, and trying to dry our clothes and gear by the campfire. But the increasing snowfall and winds make it near impossible to get dry. Our socks and feet especially are drenched and cold.

The wind chill falls below zero, and as we all sit huddled in a tent, we staff start to wonder when this comedy might turn tragic.

~ ~ ~

Our tents just aren’t holding up atop this gusty mountain, and our spirits aren’t exactly chipper. Base hears our cry of desperation, and they send in the transports.

We’re going back to Base.

As soon as we know we’re headed indoors, you wouldn’t believe the euphoria that swept over our camp. Crowded in a single tent, the girls start singing Justin Bieber. You’d have thought they’d gotten word they were all going home.

Staff is happy, too. Normally we must wait to shower until our shift ends the following Tuesday; suddenly, Saturday night brings an unexpected recharge.

I get dry, I get warm, I sleep well on carpeted ground.

And then, yet another plot-twist in a week already full of them.

~ ~ ~

The next day, I’m told I’ll be transferred to the middle school group because a staff member got sick and left. I’m disappointed to leave the girls group, partly for the guarantee of another night at Base whereas the middle school’ers will be back in the woods.

But I’m also disappointed to leave the girls themselves. They have me play MASH at Base, and even though it’s been a crazy week and I haven’t gotten to know them that well, I will miss them. I’m astounded by their openness and rallying around each other.

I think they’re going to be okay.

By 33, I’ll have a house in London married to Lupita Nyong’o with 6 kids and a Ford pickup.

My work week with 10 teenage girls. #MASH

— Thomas Mark Zuniga (@thomasmarkz) January 24, 2016

~ ~ ~

Ah, middle school’ers. They’re so great. They require so much more maintenance than the older kids. It’s unbelievable. You have to repeat yourself at least half a dozen times just to get them to pick up a single stick of firewood or brush their teeth before bed.

I can tell my new staff-mates are burned out after spending not one but four days trapped indoors at another base with this group. We’re all going back into the woods today, though, and it’s almost poetic. One of the staffers is a guy I’ve not worked with since my very first week on the job, and another is the person who trained me. I’ve never worked with the last staffer, and he’s brought a djembe and flute and ukulele into the woods with him.

There’s a tired/goofy energy on our staff team as we watch one of the kids faking altitude sickness, and I actually feel energized to be here with these guys for a two-day mini-shift. For maybe the first time in nine go’s at this job, I feel I have something to bring to an exhausted team.

The final day of our shift, we take the kids on a short hike to a waterfall, massive icicles hanging from the cave ceiling. The breathtaking scene hearkens back to week one’s gorgeous sunrise hike to the top of Georgia’s second highest mountain.

What a poetic way to end my time on this job, I think from within the waterfall.

~ ~ ~

After re-showering and returning to civilization, I learn that I’ve been hired for another job. And I’ve never been more thrilled by a work opportunity.

I’ll have more to say on this transition as time progresses. If you’re on my email list, you already know the start of it. If you’re not already following me, join today and I’ll shoot you today’s big revelation.

I’m so grateful for my now former job in the Blue Ridge and all I experienced there. The kids, the staff, the mountains themselves — all of it was wonderful.

Surprise, surprise – just like at camp, these mountains changed my life all over again.