I reckon that we all have moments in our early years that make indelible marks on who we are. One of those moments for me was the summer of 1964, when I spent six weeks in a YMCA summer camp program and two weeks at the national Boy Scout Jamboree in Valley Forge, PA. That summer just replayed itself as I visited the Okefenokee Swamp in southeast Georgia.

Interestingly, another life changing summer – 1974 – also involved the Boy Scouts. It led to my doctoral research and career. But 1964 was no less significant: it led to my love of the outdoors, my sense of environmentalism, my confidence in the face of utter uncertainty, my sense of social and racial justice, and my love of large communal meals.

I was 15 years old and had always attended summer camp. That summer broke the mold. Instead of “attending” a summer camp, I experienced 8-weeks of summer camp-like activities, all out of a tent.

The first four weeks were with the Y in the north Georgia mountains: One week hiking the Appalachian Trail, one week horseback riding (which included being totally responsible for my horse all week), one week whitewater rafting, and one week on a lake boating, skiing, and fishing. It was exhausting, exhilarating, scary, challenging, memorable, etc., etc.

The 1964 Boy Scout Jamboree filled the next two weeks. We cooked all of our own meals, heard the President speak, met other kids from all over the world, and generally had a wonderful time. One of the best parts was that my father went too, though in a different troop, and my experience of him may be my most indelible memory.

My father only agreed to go because he would have a chance to be the Assistant Scout Master of the first racially integrated troop from the Atlanta Council. To be in that troop, the scouts all agreed to be part of the experience. Together, they elected a black scout — Jimmy Williams — to be the Senior Patrol Leader. My dad and Jimmy fell in love with each other and stayed close for many years! Jimmy paid for his college by working for my dad. Jimmy became my first black friend. I have no clue where he is now or what became of his life, but he humanized an entire race for me, a naïve southern kid from Atlanta. I am deeply grateful for his gift.

After the Jamboree, I returned to the YMCA experience, this time spending two weeks with about 18 other boys and two guides canoeing the Okefenokee Swamp. We carried two week’s worth of food in the canoes. We set up camp each night on firm land, securing our jungle hammocks to pine trees. We fought off mosquitoes, communed with endless alligators, marveled at the wildlife and birds, and hoped that we would not encounter any poisonous snakes.

After two weeks in a swamp, we all emerged as transformed people, with amazing new levels of self-confidence. That might have been the moment when I realized that I really could do virtually anything.

This trip to the Okefenokee was not nearly so adventurous. In fact, it was incredibly tame. Our food entailed two fabulous restaurants: Steamboat Lilly’s in Hilliard, Florida, and the Steeplechase Tavern in Vidalia, Georgia. (Yes, that Vidalia: home of the Georgia Sweet Onion.) Our time outdoors covered a couple of miles of walking along trails and boardwalk. The wildest life we saw was a foraging raccoon and one sunning alligator. We only encountered one carnivorous plant, a lonely but beautiful pitcher plant. A couple of Great Egrets provided terrific entertainment.

Nevertheless, the visit provided a real window into why I am who I am. Not bad for a few hours.