A few years ago, a church from the East Side of Detroit sent a majority of its youth group up to Lake Louise for Senior High Camp. Now this was a unique church, reaching out to the communities on the East Side that were doing some experimentation with different forms of community etc. On of the major influences at the time were a group of anarcho-primitivists who’d taken up their mildly nomadic way of urban life on some of the newly reclaimed grasslands of Detroit’s more abandoned areas. Mostly while at “home” these youth survived by hunting the wild pheasant that had returned to the city, or by foraging for apples and other produce from the surrounding backyards.
But, an enterprising young United Methodist youth pastor had made some inroads with these youth and their families. Over the Spring he’d organized a community theater from the flatbed of one of the clan’s trucks. Recently he’d successfully encouraged them to make a tithe of their hunt – and now the Cappuchin’s soup kitchen guests enjoyed pheasant stew once or twice a month.
So, thought the young pastor, what better experience for these youth, than camp! They are already naturals at it, and maybe could meet some other youth, not of their own tribe.
So the 12 or so youth arrived on Sunday afternoon with the rest of crowd. Adorned in their traditional dress (black face paint, headdresses made from bits of construction site caution tape and dissassembled traffic barrels, etc). The other youth arriving for camp saw them and were immediately excited. They camp staff had gone all out with the themed costumes this year, they thought. By Monday afternoon, almost every camper had adopted similar styles of dress. Of course, those campers from more stayed suburban homes had to make do with headdresses made out of the ipod covers, kitchy ’80s leg warmers, and sacrificed J-Crew and American Eagle shirts in their luggage.
Tuesday brought a new afternoon activity to the camp. Unbeknownst to the counselors and deans, the Anarcho-primitivist youth led the 12th grade guys cabin on a quest up Mt. Pisgah to find sustainance. You can imagine the surprise of the faces of the kitchen staff when at dinner that evening three dead squirrels, a racoon, 4 morning doves, and a skunk were left on the counter to be prepared for tomorrow’s meals. (To be clear, the skunk was claimed by one of the suburban kids, but the anarcho-primitivists wanted to make him feel accomplished. Besides, they’d dealt with smelly kills before, and at least this one had been found in the forrest and not down by the old scrap metal yard.)
Throughout the week everyone enjoyed their time together. On Saturday, as all the other parents arrived in their mini-vans and suvs, the parents from the urban tribe came walking into camp from the wooded pathways south of C-48. They had taken the week to make their way up to camp via the rivers, and we’re planning a great nomadic adventure for they and their youth on the way home.
No one knows why the youth never returned for a second year. The pastor that had been working in the area was reappointed to the Thumb where he began a new farming-based youth ministry. But some say that once the tribe arrived up at Lake Louise to pick up their children, that they found it so beautiful, they didn’t want to return to the City. And cottagers nearest the East end of the lake sometimes claim that late at night they hear wild songs and see strange firelight coming from over towards Twin Lakes. But in the morning there is never a trace of anyone there.