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Here campers speak on how Camp affected them throughout their life.

A relatively new (and beloved) Unirondack tradition is to ask last-time Ballou campers to write a letter that starts with “Dear Unirondack.” What follows is usually a tribute to the friends and the memories and to the place where they have felt more at home than anywhere and usually tears. 

We had the realization that someone can write one of these letters at any age! 

Hannah Niles Letter

Dear Unirondack,  

A few years ago, a student asked me why I decided to become a teacher, and my immediate and visceral response was “out of spite.” I had a close enough relationship with this student to have the freedom to graciously elaborate on what was, in my opinion, an important answer without important context.

That context is this:  

If you can picture an angsty 12-year-old, stuck firmly between insecurity and overcompensation, lots of eyeliner, then you can picture me. I was a below average student, a below average rule follower, had an above average social battery and was (mostly) kind. School sucked. I grew up angry that I wasn’t better and smarter and that adults passed me by because where my connection seeking thrived, my inconsistency, sarcasm, insecurity and exhaustion overshadowed every time. Teachers used to say things like “Hannah has a high awareness of social dynamics but is consistently behind her peers in her reading comprehension. Time spent talking should be spent reading.” So, when I was asked why I feel particularly drawn to students who are struggling, or why my capacity for forgiveness is unrelenting, or why my classroom is full of beanbags and tea and coloring books, my initial answer was in spite of the adults who did not show me that same grace. Not because of them.

My time on Unirondack leadership staff echoes the same lessons. How can I create security in the midst of intentional chaos? How can I be more creative in the spirit of learning? The simplest one is this: How can I make sure I get to send my kids there one day?  We are, at the end of the day, the amalgamation of the love we receive, and I can’t imagine raising kids without this community. Next year marks two decades since Unirondack welcomed me and I’m certain that my time spent there is the source of the love I can share.

As I end my 7th September teaching, there are parts of me that continue to be driven by spite. In an angry world, I think a healthy sprinkling of spite keeps the doctor away, or whatever they say. So, spite certainly is a beautiful part of this story. But instead, I welcome the idea that the children are actually a better version of us not because of our teachings or our wisdom, but because they just are. They just are. The adults, or the school system, or I don’t know, the American government, certainly have a voice and an influence. But, if nothing else, kids are spending more time learning and listening to each other than to us. Spaces that celebrate children as full thinkers and knowers and doers are more important now than ever. We are raising children to question authority, to be louder and more vibrant. And both at camp (and hopefully in the classroom) we are entrusted with giving them the scaffolding to a joyful life. And thus, the dichotomy of camp, to recognize the pain and to be joyful in spite of it.

I read recently the hypothetical: Imagine you are outside a closed door. Let’s say you have no idea what is on the other side. It could be dangerous. It could be riches. It could be miserable weather, or just miserable people. You get to pick one person to go with you. Who do you pick? At first, a weird question, but I think, truly, a good barometer for love. When I started to make a short list, it turned into a very, very long list, and disproportionately full of people I’ve loved from camp. Greeted with the task of raising the next generation, I turn to these people over and over again. Kristen’s humor, Eliz’s warmth, Luke’s energy, David’s forgiveness, Arson’s taste for life, Lauren’s tenacity, Sami’s kindness, Caleb’s patience, Kellen’s curiosity, Riley and I even agreed that if we weren’t married by 30, we’d marry each other (30 came very fast, we punted to 40).  We are regularly walking through unknown doors and hoping that whatever we find is made softer with good company.

And if it’s true what they say about the company you keep, Camp has done something really right.

With deep admiration,

Hannah Niles  - October 2025