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smeciwThirty years after she thought she had bid her counselors good-bye forever, Patricia Marx returns for a summer camp reunion and discovers that Pinecliffe hasn’t changed. She has.

From the age of 9 to 14, I spent two months every summer at Camp Pinecliffe, a girls’ camp in Maine that stressed competitive sports and, if I remember correctly, desserts. Last summer I returned to Pinecliffe for the Alumnae 80th Anniversary Celebration Weekend. I wondered how the camp had changed, but mostly, I wondered if I–who today would rather not share a room with myself, let alone bats and spiders; hates weather unless it is room temperature; and never engages in any activity where there are points involved–would find Pinecliffe as sublime now as I did then.

I had loved everything about camp: sleeping with seven other girls in a bunk that had no electricity or …