Return to Lookout Mountain
When I turned 11, my parents surprised me for my birthday with the best gift I could have imagined at that time: a trip up to Alpine for the day. It was November, leaves were off the trees, and as we rolled through the front gates, I felt the same familiar mix of joy and excitement that I still get now when I make a trip up Lookout Mountain, even as a full time staff member. However, as we walked through the empty cabin areas and eerily quiet grounds of Camp, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. This was definitely Alpine, but the well manicured grounds and beautiful sights and sounds of the property were missing something critical to them. I’ve shared this experience with other former campers and staff who echo the same sentiment. When Camp is empty- Alpine just isn’t quite Alpine.
The term “greater than the sum of its parts” ironically came into the vernacular as a misquote from parts of Aristotle’s writing, and it’s commonly used to describe something that is somehow better, or more perfect, than the individual items that make it up. We all undoubtedly have examples of this in our lives, be it our workplace, a team, or a relationship; and I think it rightly applies to Alpine. Many people have said that you can probably find (though not without considerable effort) a camp with fancier facilities, more extraordinary activities, or perhaps a more beautiful location. Yet, for so many of us, Alpine comes together to be so much greater than all its parts, and the key to all of it is simply the people. Mr. O and Glenn have often said that we could go to a vacant parking lot in any city with the right people and that place could be Alpine too. It’s why Camp felt so hollow on my birthday all those years ago, and why it still feels that way during the offseason.
All of us lost something in 2020. For so many of us, even those like myself who were not planning to be at camp last summer, seeing Alpine unable to open was a devastating blow. We felt the loss, Alpine wasn’t happening that year. No Moosetracks, fireworks, Mountain Days, or night activities. Camp would remain quiet for the first time in six decades. It stung. Everyone lost something last year, and some of us lost far more than others. Even though it’s tough to talk about, acknowledging it gives us all a chance to heal together.
As we set our sights to 2021, it would be easy to assume this summer is simply a comeback tour, where we set out to make up for lost time, but maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to call it a comeback. Mr. O and Glenn are right, Alpine is not just a place, rather a people. It’s people all over the country and even the world who have come together over the last sixty two years and been changed forever by their time and experiences. All those people didn’t just pack up all their memories in a trunk that was left in the attic last summer, they persevered. Through a global pandemic, economic hardship, and personal grief, I’d say we all needed Alpine then more than ever- and it was there. In our towns, churches, and families, that piece of Alpine that stayed with us long after we were gone came through.
So what is this summer if not a comeback? It’s a return to Lookout Mountain. It’s a chance to renew old traditions and show another generation what Alpine is all about. A time to come together and celebrate- if for no better reason than that we have the opportunity to celebrate. It’s time for the camaraderie and brotherhood to once again teach us all more about God and ourselves, and to carry those lessons with us into a world that needs them. So even if you won’t be here physically this summer, please know, you are a part of Alpine always because Alpine is a part of you.