WHAT WE ARE MADE OF. A love letter to a sign that welcomesWe hear a lot of talk about the power of community.We all want to belong to one in some sense. Find our tribe, find ways to give back, to make life mean more to ourselves and others.This past weekend we came to appreciate its power when a group of people decided to give up their evenings and weekends to build something for strangers in another state.Weve wanted a welcome sign since the day we opened. It turns out that the big lodge resorts pay 20k for them. Which is why after 14 yrs, weve never had one.So my little brother Sam decided to clear his barn to build us one. He opened his doors for volunteers to come help. Folks came in from everywhere to donate their time. Some harvested the cedar from the backwoods - some mitred chunks of it to form the letters. Others donated poles. Then he brought a few with him on a272 mile haul tocomeinstall it. When the man-lift broke, he scaled the poles in linemans leg irons. They rigged rope pulleys to level set 700lbpoles intocrushed rock.. and they finished it the night before our Kids camp. The crazy thing is that we couldnt get anyone to take our money. It was a labor of love gifted to camp by people that we love. I came to a realization this morning: every time someone walks under this new entryway, they are entering through the gates that were physically built out of the pure generosity of others. Its a towering reminder of what will remain long after we are dust. The things we build together - for others - is what sustains us, and will ultimately stand the test of time. This sign made us realize that selflessness & generosity towards each other are our lasting legacy.To us, thats the measure of community. Its time to pay it forward, we want to open the gates to more neighbors. More church goers to our 50-plus year tradition of Mass-in-the-Grass.Weve decided to christen it as a gateway--- for the community that people who come here are building for themselves, each other & future generations. Next time you come visit us, look up as you pass underneath the gates. Those log letters say many things, the least of which is our name