The Pump House
The old pump house was a magical place. I'll tell you how to get there. From Eau Claire you go down Highway 94 to Tomah where you find Highway 27. That's where the anticipation begins we are on the way to Wesleyan youth camp. It is a hot summer day but our minds are full of the adventures of last year and how they can be re-created this year. We get behind a motorcade of army vehicles, must be 100 of them heading for Fort McCoy. Frustration, they're holding us up. Since they only go 45 mph we pass them one by one until we can get our speed up to 65 again. We make good time because there aren't many towns to go through until we get to Cashton. On hot summer days when we were at camp we would garner up a carload of teenagers and head to Cashton for a swim. I didn’t go very often. Things were too much fun at the camp meeting. Cashton means we're close. We turn east on Highway 33. If 27 is the number of anticipation then 33 is the number of scoot up on the edge of your seats and watch for it out the open window. We drive slowly through Ontario because that is the home of Karen a dark-haired beautiful girl who was the unmaking of two of my best friends. And after that the nature area called Wildcat Mountain where we have to stop to not only see the view at the top but to wade in the Kickapoo River at the bottom. (at least we called it that but it didn't matter because we were kings and gods at that age and whatever we said was, was to us.) and then the final stretch. One time we hiked it. Up a hill we come with a curve at the top. We can see a group of buildings on the right of the road, not farm buildings. We turn to the right on the gravel road. Anticipation pops into reality for there it arises out of the Misty heights of Burr Ridge, the old pump house.
I ran across a blog about the camp which included a wonderful description of the pump house which I will append here. I think the author is one of the Butchers. Her name is Keetha Broyles if memory serves. Charlie Butcher founded the Eau Claire Wesleyan Church. My mom and dad held him in a next to God like esteem.
Here is what she wrote and it is spot right on:
“The Pump House. In my lifetime, this was never the source of the camp's water - - - though when I was young one could still prime the pump and a crystal clear, icy fount would gush forth. Oh the fun we had splashing and drinking in that fount! This little building housed more than water - - - it was the very social center of teenage camp life. These wall benches were crammed with kids, more hanging in from the sides, as fellowship happened - - - ghost stories, laughter, games of concentration, and romance. How many hands were held or lips were touched with first kisses? - - - Only these white arched walls could tell.
It is still the icon of Burr Camp.”
You all know my friend Nate. Well that little dark haired girl, Karen, from Ontario broke his heart one camp meeting. He asked her to sit with him in Chapel and she said no. There was no coming back after that. Nate, (I can tell the story now that He is with Jesus,) actually cried. He sat in the pump house the whole rest of camp listening to one song over and over, on a little portable record player he had. “Why does my heart go on beating, / Why do these eyes of mine cry, / Don’t they know it’s the end of the world, /It ended when you said goodbye.” Another friend, Dale, who you all met at the family reunion at Reedsburg, tried with Karen. He did, at least get to sit with her once, toward the end of Camp. But then after camp, when he tried to visit her in Ontario he got the verbal Dear John letter. He too was devastated but on the other hand, there was always Mary Alice.
I suppose you’ve figured by now, Camp letters were G and g.
You probably think the big G stands for God but no, it is for Girls. God although spelled with a big G came in a close second. I know, it is a sad thing and not the only mistake I made in those days. On the other hand the way of a man with a maid is a thing of wonder in the book of Proverbs. 30:19
There would always be a mourning time for me, back in Eau Claire after Camp was over. The high point was letters to write to new and old friends. I was pining over Camp down in our basement at Vine Street. I have told how Dad, Rog and dug it out. Well, on the west wall, a space about 8’ by 12’ I painted a mural of the pump house. It truly was an icon. It stayed on the wall all through the years we lived there and all through the years we rented out the apartments. It was still there when we sold the house. It probably is still there, and people wonder what that is. It must be some ancient altar of worship. Little do they know how close they are.
The old pump house was a magical place. I'll tell you how to get there. From Eau Claire you go down Highway 94 to Tomah where you find Highway 27. That's where the anticipation begins we are on the way to Wesleyan youth camp. It is a hot summer day but our minds are full of the adventures of last year and how they can be re-created this year. We get behind a motorcade of army vehicles, must be 100 of them heading for Fort McCoy. Frustration, they're holding us up. Since they only go 45 mph we pass them one by one until we can get our speed up to 65 again. We make good time because there aren't many towns to go through until we get to Cashton. On hot summer days when we were at camp we would garner up a carload of teenagers and head to Cashton for a swim. I didn’t go very often. Things were too much fun at the camp meeting. Cashton means we're close. We turn east on Highway 33. If 27 is the number of anticipation then 33 is the number of scoot up on the edge of your seats and watch for it out the open window. We drive slowly through Ontario because that is the home of Karen a dark-haired beautiful girl who was the unmaking of two of my best friends. And after that the nature area called Wildcat Mountain where we have to stop to not only see the view at the top but to wade in the Kickapoo River at the bottom. (at least we called it that but it didn't matter because we were kings and gods at that age and whatever we said was, was to us.) and then the final stretch. One time we hiked it. Up a hill we come with a curve at the top. We can see a group of buildings on the right of the road, not farm buildings. We turn to the right on the gravel road. Anticipation pops into reality for there it arises out of the Misty heights of Burr Ridge, the old pump house.
I ran across a blog about the camp which included a wonderful description of the pump house which I will append here. I think the author is one of the Butchers. Her name is Keetha Broyles if memory serves. Charlie Butcher founded the Eau Claire Wesleyan Church. My mom and dad held him in a next to God like esteem.
Here is what she wrote and it is spot right on:
“The Pump House. In my lifetime, this was never the source of the camp's water - - - though when I was young one could still prime the pump and a crystal clear, icy fount would gush forth. Oh the fun we had splashing and drinking in that fount! This little building housed more than water - - - it was the very social center of teenage camp life. These wall benches were crammed with kids, more hanging in from the sides, as fellowship happened - - - ghost stories, laughter, games of concentration, and romance. How many hands were held or lips were touched with first kisses? - - - Only these white arched walls could tell.
It is still the icon of Burr Camp.”
You all know my friend Nate. Well that little dark haired girl, Karen, from Ontario broke his heart one camp meeting. He asked her to sit with him in Chapel and she said no. There was no coming back after that. Nate, (I can tell the story now that He is with Jesus,) actually cried. He sat in the pump house the whole rest of camp listening to one song over and over, on a little portable record player he had. “Why does my heart go on beating, / Why do these eyes of mine cry, / Don’t they know it’s the end of the world, /It ended when you said goodbye.” Another friend, Dale, who you all met at the family reunion at Reedsburg, tried with Karen. He did, at least get to sit with her once, toward the end of Camp. But then after camp, when he tried to visit her in Ontario he got the verbal Dear John letter. He too was devastated but on the other hand, there was always Mary Alice.
I suppose you’ve figured by now, Camp letters were G and g.
You probably think the big G stands for God but no, it is for Girls. God although spelled with a big G came in a close second. I know, it is a sad thing and not the only mistake I made in those days. On the other hand the way of a man with a maid is a thing of wonder in the book of Proverbs. 30:19
There would always be a mourning time for me, back in Eau Claire after Camp was over. The high point was letters to write to new and old friends. I was pining over Camp down in our basement at Vine Street. I have told how Dad, Rog and dug it out. Well, on the west wall, a space about 8’ by 12’ I painted a mural of the pump house. It truly was an icon. It stayed on the wall all through the years we lived there and all through the years we rented out the apartments. It was still there when we sold the house. It probably is still there, and people wonder what that is. It must be some ancient altar of worship. Little do they know how close they are.
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