a letter from summer camp

In the spirit of a letter from summer camp . . .

Dear Mom,

I hardly know where to begin. Three weeks ago I had an incredible opportunity. I was given a scholarship to attend the PLANT STRONG Retreat in Black Mountain, NC, led by brother and sister duo, Rip and Jane Esselstyn.

I had read their dad’s book, Prevent and Reverse Heart Disease, and though I already believed what they were teaching, I needed to be with them. I was weary, empty, spent. I needed to know I wasn’t alone (or completely crazy). 

I needed to hear the voices of the doctors who joined them and taught us each day, and I needed to be surrounded by people who shared one thing in common: a willingness to change.

Be honest. Be curious. Be willing.

For almost ten years, I have tried to share what I believe about the power of food to heal. I have been ostracized. I have been grilled (pun intended). I have stepped back and soft-pedaled, and I was wrong to give in. I wasn’t wrong about the power of eating plants.

Eating plants can literally save lives!

To meet others who live their lives with a similar passion, speaking the same language of healing and hope seemed almost too good to be true. I wish you could know the joy!

And I wish you could have tasted the food. Every meal was a feast.

Granola, oats, pancakes. Berries, cantaloupe, mangos. Spinach. Arugula. Kale. Bowls with sweet potatoes, black beans, avocado, sweet fire dressing. Chili. Roasted veggies. Pastas and creamy tomato sauces. There was even a silky chocolate pudding for dessert one night. We couldn’t wait to get to dinner . . . and around the table there was curiosity. 

Be honest. Be curious. Be willing.

Our days were full, and I could fill pages in sharing it all with you. From hiking each morning to rest each night, I felt at peace. I felt encouraged. I felt free. I felt healed in ways I didn’t know I needed to heal. Honestly, I want the same thing for everyone I love and everyone I meet.

It’s not always easy to be honest about what we need.

It’s not easy to be vulnerable.

Being vulnerable about our health is something you learned when you were young - almost dying in your mid-30s, surviving long enough to raise three children, including me, then slipping away before our eyes at the age of 64. I wish I knew then what I know now. If wishing made it so . . .

And I wish you could have been there each night. After full days of exploring and learning, Dr. Asbill led us in guided meditation. How deeply moving to sit in a room of 100 adults, all faiths, all quiet and calm. Peaceful after a long day, soaking in new knowledge, some daring for the very first time, daring to dream of being truly, fully well.

Quiet. Centering. Still. Invited then to walk out into the mountain darkness, back to our spartan rooms in silence. The only sounds, footsteps. The only lights, phone flashlights. The only task, rest and reflection.

You are resting now. I miss you.

Please forgive me. I couldn’t stop your suffering. I’m sorry. Perhaps I can stop the suffering of someone reading this letter. I know you won’t mind if I share it.  You taught me to serve others, and if reading this can serve to help even one person avoid the suffering too many face, I will be grateful.

I love you dearly.

~your daughter, Deborah