When I posted about this little stool the other day!!!!
If you are clueless about that of which I speak, see my previous post and then return here.
You see to me this little stool represents loss replacement. It is a very happy thing. I didn't even realize I was going to bring tears to eyes with the FIRST part of the story. But, evidently I made quite a few of you sad because you inundated this blog with sad comments. Well, OK, there were only 6 sad comments - - - but I call that a true inundation.
Then there were two of you who urged me to try to find the original stool - - - something I HAVE thought of trying to do. And my daughter, who knows the depth of my propensity to follow rules (that's a nice way to say I'm legalistic) said I was silly because I didn't just TAKE it when I saw my name on the bottom of it - - - in retrospect she may have a very valid point.
BUT - - - here is my response to all these things.
First of all, there is a certain tug at my heart strings wishing I could have my own Grandpa-constructed stool. That would be nearly more nostalgia than my little heart could stand. Because you see, not only did I ADORE that particular grandpa, but Burr Wesleyan Camp is deep in my veins. Deep in my veins.
I'm a PK who lived in three different communities as I grew up, but we spent at least three weeks at Burr Camp each summer, so it was HOME. It was our ROOTS. The other PKs were our siblings. We played "war" in the woods, gave each other really ridiculous nick names (which we thought were quite fabulous at the time), made a club house under the stairs, and engraved our names on the hallowed walls of Harmony Hall.
As we grew older, we found the most interesting boys on the planet at Burr Camp. We moved out of our parents' cottages and into the dorm. We dreamed of getting married someday in the tabernacle. We sat in the Pump House and played Concentratino for hours. Some of us (that would be my Sister Pam and her best friend) tried elaborate schemes to sleep somewhere other than our dorm room without getting caught by "Aunt Lois" the counselor, who just happened to be Sister Pam's and my REAL Aunt. (Oh that woman could walk on silent cat feet and was everywhere at once, so even though Sister Pam is a Sumna Cum Laude, she never succeeded in tricking Old Eagle Eyes.)
Burr Camp is where, at twelve years old I gave my heart and life to Jesus and understood what I was doing and stuck with it. Burr Camp is where I realized I needed to give 100% of the control of my life to the Lord, did so, and stuck to that. So Burr Camp is hallowed ground to me. (And to many others over many generations)
But I digress - - - back to my little stool. You see, mine was not the ONLY stool at camp. There were 5 or 6 of them. Mine may have been made for me, but when I was finished with it, it remained at camp, in the window sill, for future generations of camp children to use. That is why when I refound it as a 40 something year old adult who certainly didn't NEED to sit on it any more, I felt I should leave it there - - - allow it to continue with it's primary function of helping to nuture current and future camp children. It had it's own legacy to pass down.
Little did I know at the time that Burr Camp and all of it's trappings were going to be sold.
Now as for what happened to those little stools, mine included, I can only guess. You see, they were meant to be utilitarian. Though mine was well built by Grandpa, none of them were stained or varnished in any way. They were just little raw wood stools which had become gray and weathered over time. They didn't look like much when I found them still in the camp windows 36 years or so after I was finished using mine.
My guess is they were either discarded and burned, or were carted off by some folk who "squated" in the dining hall for the better part of a winter when the camp was no longer in use. If they were still in the window sills when the camp was sold, I would guess the current owners threw them away as their use may not have been obvious to modern day humankind. They may have just looked like trash.
However - - - the NEXT time I am near our beloved Burr Camp (which I think is now called Burr Ridge Rustic Retreat) I shall stop by and enquire. If I find my own precious little stool, I shall be sure to post about it here.
Now - - - please all my hordes of blog fans, dry your little eyes and REJOICE with me that the Lord chose to send the above pictured replacement to me. I am keeping it in my possession and in my sight. I am a happy, contented, peaceful stool owner again.