I was just sitting down to write a column exploring my feelings on pork, the other white meat, when I read “Hunting Snipe,” Wendy Tweten’s June column on summer camp. And, just like there can never be too many camp songs or too many s’mores, I thought I’d add my two cents.

I only went to summer camp once, when I was 12. It was a church girls’ camp, mostly run by moms. The mom, who for some inexplicable reason volunteered to be our camp leader, was a woman who hated camping. She hated dirt, hated rain, hated cooking over a fire. She didn’t like putting up tents, didn’t like sleeping in them, and detested camp songs. I’m pretty sure she didn’t even like children much, especially children who were camping. When we found a nest of brand new, tiny, pink baby mice a few yards from our campsite, she did them in with a shovel.

The rest of camp was equally miserable. We were taught to hula dance, and when performance time came someone had imported a handful of teenaged boys for the show. Humiliating.

Now, when it was time for my daughters to go to girls’ camp, I had somehow forgotten how awful my experience was. “Go!” I said. “It will be so much fun!”

Jenna’s first year was pretty harsh, due to torrential downpours. But since then, she, Cassidy and I have gone together. Yes, I get to have my time as cabin mom! This will be my third year, and I love it. Of course, we have cabins instead of tents, and I’ve yet to be there on a rainy day. Also, there is a mess hall, so we don’t have to cook our own meals, which is also nice. The leaders provide cabin moms with chocolate, another perk. And the camp songs are way, way better than in my day: “Bazooka-zooka Bubble Gum,” “Midnight Train,” “Three Little Muffins in the Muffin Shop.” I get pumped just thinking about it.

One night during girls’ camp is always the best: we take our sleeping bags and lie out under the stars, and sing. We don’t sing silly camp songs that night, just hymns. It’s a church camp, so most of the girls already know them. A hundred teenaged girls singing into the night is a beautiful sound. I’m thinking that for houses neighboring our camp, Singing-Under-the-Stars Night must make up for all the other obnoxious noises we make the rest of the week. I hope.

One of the best things about girls’ camp is that my friend Corena goes along as co-cabin mom. Corena is one of those people who are good at everything, but also so likeable that you don’t hate her for it. Corena helps the girls learn about plants, first aid and knot tying. She teaches them crafts. I watch her, and then try to help the girls learn. The camp leaders say, “Look at your cabin! All the girls are certifying and learning everything they are supposed to learn!” I smile, and feel proud. Girls’ camp is very good for your self-esteem.

It wouldn’t be girls’ camp without the girls. I think girls are smarter than they were when I was a kid, more confident, very creative. They put on hilarious skits with minimal suggestions from the adults. They dare to participate in Bed-Head Day at camp, and have a great time looking absolutely awful on purpose. They watch out for each other and help keep the newbie 12 year olds from being homesick. They are boisterous and spirited one minute, and insightful and inventive the next. It probably helps that boys are strictly prohibited, and the girls get to just have fun being girls. Being with them more than makes up for my own less than desirable experience as a girl, and heck, even that makes for a good story to tell around the campfire.

Maybe if the good woman who volunteered to be our camp mom years ago had been provided with cabins, chocolates and Corena, she would have been more pleasant, too.

Denise Roundy of Kingston is already packing her marshmallow shooter and bug spray for camp, Yippie-ki-yi-yay, MOOSE!