What isn't my 4-H story? 4-H is so wrapped up in my life story at this point that it is hard to seperate the two... I started 4-H as an innocent fifth grade Cloverleaf. I remember getting my first achievement book and running down the driveway to show my daddy what I learned that day and to get him to help me with my projects. My father was always a very involved parent and being involved in my 4-H pursuits was no different. He went on almost every single trip we made every summer for the next three summers. He even helped me develop my own muffin recipe for a contest. My dad was an amazing man and I know that because of his involvement in my 4-H career, everyone was a better person.
The summer of 1994, the summer between my seventh and eighth grade years, our 4-H program went to camp on Tybee Island instead of Rock Eagle. I was so excited. The night before we left I could hardly sleep. Of course, the fact that there was a thunder storm, which I was terrified of, didn't help. An embarassing incident occured between myself and my parents because of that thunder storm, but the next morning we laughed it off as we brushed our teeth and headed off to the extension office. It was the happiest time of my life. I boarded the bus with my cousin and all my friends and waved good-bye to my daddy, tears welling up in my eyes, missing him already. But i was ready for a week of fun and adventure.
I had a blast that week at Tybee, despite the fact that I had forgotten to pack sheets or a blanket. My cousin and I horsed around, my best friend started dating her first serious boyfriend, I learned tons about the marshes and crabs and how to treat a jellyfish sting, and our cabin was so clean and creative that we won the coveted pink flamingo every day. We had a great time at the water park and ate the special counselor snowcones that had every flavor in them. I developed a very special bond with my counselor. He was my very first crush and he taught me to play guitar, not mention held my hair when I was seasick on the riverboat. I even sent my dad a postcard telling him that I was going marry my counselor! I couldn't have ever been happier.
Thursday morning, however, my cabin was awoken by a knock on the door, much earlier than any of us had anticipated after having gossiped and giggled our way in to the wee morning hours. I can remember every detail clearly. I sat up on my bunk, cold from not having any covers, and blinked blindly as my beloved extension agent opened the door. I couldn't see anything but black silhouettes. My best friend sat up in her bunk and rubbed her eyes as our extension agent gasped and turned her head to our remote corner of the cabin. My heart dropped; I knew in that moment something was terribly wrong. I watched Mrs. Nowicki tiptoe her way over to my bunk, taking care not wake any of the other girls. She said, "Holly, you're mom's at the door." I felt genuinely uneasy at that moment, but followed her in my nightgown, which was an old tee-shirt of my daddy's. I stepped out if the door into the early morning sunlight, taking in a deep breathe of the salty ocean air, and took one look at my mother. She wrapped me in her arms and whispered, "It's just me and you now."
My world came crashing down around me that morning. My cousin and I packed our bags and left Tybee, without ever getting to say goodbye to anyone except the head counselor, Captain Bull. I remember turning in my seat in the car and watching out the back window as the counselors and other campers trooped out of there cabins to watch our car roll away. I remember, in particular, watching my counselor walk in to the middle of the road, his guitar slung carelessly over his shoulder, waving sadly.
I was convinced the entire ride back to Atlanta that it was all a joke. But it most definitely was not. My father died July 20, 1994, from diabetic shock. I got the postcard I sent him in the mail the day I got back from camp, my heart broken in to a million pieces. It affected an entire, if small, camp; an entire, if small, community. This one event shaped my entire life and 4-H is in every way tied in to that. I continued with 4-H through my eighth grade and entire high school career. I was President of our county Senior 4-H club. I participated in DPA every year. I went to Cotton Bowl, Senior Council, Fall Forum, and auditioned for Clovers and Company. I ran for both district officer and state officer and made friends from every single county in Georgia. To this day someone can say a county and I can think of who I knew from that county and tell them exactly where it is.
My 4-H story doesn't end there though. The counselors and staff of Tybee sent me a card that I still have to this day. Every one wrote me a note of encouragement and those five amazing counselors gave me more strength to go on with my life than I can ever give them credit for. Inspired by their love and support, I apply to be a counselor intern my junior year of high school and to my unending joy, I was accepted to be a session one intern at Wahsega at the beginning of April. I spent the entire last two months of junior year on cloud nine. I had been selected to be co-captain of my marching bands colorguard, I was President of 4-H for the second year in a row, my mother had become my best friend, and I was headed to Wahsega. Alas, life was to hand me another tough lesson. On May 21, 1998, at my end-of-the-year band banquet where I was being named co-captain of the colorguard, my mother died of a sudden heart attack. I was in shock. I couldn't feel anything, I felt as though I were walking through life in a daze. One week later school ended and two weeks after that I was scheduled to head off to Dahlonega. everyone told me that I didn't have to go, but little did they know that I did have to. My Sunday school teacher drove me up to camp, my mom's Marlboro duffel bag full of tee-shirts, shorts, and underwear. She talked in hurried whispers to the camp director and I stood in the middle of the road, breathing in the fresh mountain air. Giving me a brief hug, my Sunday school teacher left me standing there, not knowing what to do.
I was the first intern to arrive. Dawn showed me to the cabin and I flopped onto the buynk in the middle of the room and cried. Until Samara showed up. Samara, Jennifer, Heidi, Tiffany, Kim, Fred, Durrell, and Crystal. My fellow interns. Then the counselors showed there faces: Kristie, Jennifer, MR, Tyler, Adam, Brad, Jason, and Jocelyn. I don't know if they know it, but they all gave me the strength to pull through. I still had my moments of course. I had just become an orphan three weeks ago. Sometimes we'd be in the middle of KP and I would run off to the cabin. Occassionally a cheer would set me off. Sometimes Tyler could look at me wrong and I would be under my covers, bawling my eyes out. But those two weeks at Wahsega helped to heal me in ways that I never could have healed if I had been left on my own that summer. We went white water rafting. MR introduced me to the music of the Indigo Girls. Jocelyn always found a way to make me laugh. Brad drove me crazy, in that way that only an older brother can. We helped with an Indian family reunion and had the most wonderful Indian food ever. I was introduced to veggie burgers, which I still love. We told ghost stories by the fire and pulled "bear" on the campers. We hiked, we canoed, we went tubing (well, Kim and I tubed), we did the ropes courses, and I finallt climbed the rock wall. Samara and I made green sun tea almost every day in a glass jar. We played with the snakes in the herpetology building. We held whispered conversations in to the late night and in the middle of the day we would run to the phone so I could call home and cry. Adam, God love him, gave me the best gift of all. He reintroduced me to my beloved counselor from that terrible summer of 1994. He gave me a CD of his music after I mentioned seeing his picture in the paper after he won an open-mic contest with his songwriting partner. (Thus setting up a pattern of "stalking" of said counselor that would remain during the 1998-2000 years as I followed him around from venue to venue to listen to his music. And now has deflected to his one time songwriting partner. Thanks Adam! love ya bro!)
That summer could have been the worst summer of my life. I don't know know what I would have done without 4-H in 1998. After my two weeks interning, I spent another week at Wahsega as a camper (which was kind of weird, let me tell you. I had a hard time taking Brad seriously after having bought underwear for him.), then I spent another week as a volunteer leader at Rock Eagle with our Cloverleaf campers.
4-H has influced so many things in my life: my happiness, my sadness, my love of music, my love of laughter, my friendships, my leadership abilities. I went to UGA because of 4-H. I quit my first job because I didn't want to miss a 4-H meeting. (Don't worry! I got it back!) I even volunteered with the Richmond county 4-H program, helping some of their Cloverleafs with DPA projects, when I moved to Augusta. I can't imagine a world without 4-H. It creates life long memories, life long bonds, life long skills. 4-H is more than just a mere organization or club. It is a lifestyle. A lifestyle that I hope the Georgia legislature will find itself unwilling to wipe out, for the sake of all the girls and boys out there who need the support and encouragement, just like this little girl has for sixteen years.
