Camp Lessons for Real Life

How a small ranch in Northern California taught me what it means to build community and trust.

Oct 06, 2025

So much of what I write about here—body image, trust, recovery, compassion—comes down to one thing: learning how to be in relationship with ourselves and others. Long before I became a dietitian, I learned those lessons in a different kind of classroom: a summer camp tucked deep in the mountains of Northern California. This isn’t a post about camp. It’s a post about how we learn to belong.

When I think about where I learned how to build community, it wasn’t in college or at a professional training. It was on a ranch in Northern California, tucked back in the Shasta-Trinity forest and miles away from civilization.

Bar 717 Ranch—known to most as Camp Trinity—was where I spent my summers growing up. It’s where I learned to care for the land, for animals, and for each other. It’s where I learned that growth doesn’t come from watching someone else do the work—it comes from doing it yourself.

At its heart, Bar 717 Ranch, home of Camp Trinity, believes that growth happens through participation, not perfection. The camp was started in 1930 by Grover and Erma Gates. Grover’s family homesteaded the property in the early 1900s. The camp’s philosophy has centered on community, curiosity, and care for the land and the ranch. Campers build confidence by unplugging from technology and experiencing new things they might not encounter in the city. Things like milking a cow, tending gardens, riding horses, and completing ranch projects. It is a place where kids are entrusted with real responsibility, where “many hands make light work,” and where trying, failing, and trying again are celebrated as essential parts of the learning process. The camp’s non-competitive spirit and deep respect for nature teach that every person has something to contribute, and that connection to one another, to the work, and to the earth is how kids develop life-long confidence.

At camp, there was a saying:

“It’s not what the hammer does to the nail. It’s what the hammer does to the child.”

That philosophy, of learning by doing, has shaped how I view almost everything, including the work I do today.

Learning by Doing

As a camper, I remember going on overnights with friends. One summer, we rode horses across the river to the original homestead. We spent three days there, working, laughing, riding, and cooking our own meals. We cared for the horses, tended to small projects, and still found time to simply be: sitting in the grass under the trees, talking, and taking in the view and the smell of the forest.

Those were the first moments I learned that community isn’t built by talking about it, it’s built by showing up, by doing things together, and by caring for something beyond yourself.

Laying Foundations

Years later, I came back as staff. I worked at Bar 717 from 1992 to 1997, eventually joining the administrative team. One summer, I was in charge of the Campers-in-Leadership Training program, and our project was to help build a suspension bridge across one of the creeks, making the property accessible year-round.

We spent days mixing and pouring cement under the hot sun, setting the foundations that would anchor the bridge. You can’t see that cement now—it’s underground—but it’s still there, holding the bridge steady decades later.

That summer taught me something I think about often in my work now: the most important parts of growth aren’t always visible. Healing, trust, and community are often built quietly, below the surface. But without that groundwork, nothing else holds.

The Camp Trinity Way

At Bar 717, we had something called “The Camp Trinity Way.” It wasn’t a rulebook; it was a way of living.

You helped with chores because “many hands make light work.”
You completed a job completely because a meal is not over until “the dishes are done.”
You gave people second chances because we all need space to learn from our mistakes.

These weren’t just slogans; they were daily practices. They taught me that responsibility and care are shared, not assigned; they are a mutual obligation. That we take care of the place, and each other, because we’re part of something larger than ourselves.

It’s not lost on me how much that mirrors the work I do now. Healing our relationship with food and body isn’t a solo act; it’s communal work. We learn through experience, we show up for each other, we give grace, and we try again.

Full Circle

My connection to Bar 717 runs deep. My mom, uncle, aunt, and brother all went there. Years later, my kids and nephews became campers too.

I still remember picking up my kids after their first summer. They’d only been gone for two weeks, but they looked different. More grounded. More confident. Like camp had done what it always does—it gave them a place to grow into themselves.

What the Hammer Built

I think about that hammer quote a lot these days. At camp, it meant handing a kid a tool and letting them figure out how to use it, even if it takes all day. In my work, it means trusting the process, even when it’s messy and takes longer than expected.

You can’t rush transformation. You have to let people take the time to swing the hammer themselves—to make mistakes, to learn, to feel the satisfaction of doing the work.

That’s what Bar 717 taught me: how to be in community, how to care, how to build something that lasts. And most importantly, how to believe that the doing, the trying, the showing up, is where the real growth happens.

Learn More

If you’re curious about Bar 717 Ranch or want to see what makes it such a special place, visit bar717.com. Camp Trinity is still going strong—helping kids (and adults) learn, grow, and find a sense of belonging in the most hands-on, heart-centered way imaginable.

Here are some pictures of Bar 717, so you can see for yourself how beautiful the place truly is.