When I was fourteen years old, I went away to Camp Tamarack near Hinckley, Minnesota. It was a beautiful place, set along the wooded banks of the St. Croix River. I loved it there.

Flash forward to this past July. I'm a man of fifty and I find myself on Scotch Hill Farm near Cambridge, New York, along with Richard Egielski, Marc McChesney, and Doug Salati, as part of the Sendak Fellowship. "What was it like?" you ask. Well, like Camp Tamarack.

Now, before my editors, my agent, and my wife throw a fit…let me explain. I didn't spend the entire Fellowship month sack-racing, singing campfire songs, and weaving God's Eyes. I was there as a serious artist. I stood outside for hours on end painting the verdant countryside in the tradition of Monet and Cézanne (though unfortunately without their results). I discussed books and art with illustrious guests (writer Gregory Maguire and author/illustrators Tomie dePaola and Barbara McClintock) over locally sourced gourmet dinners. And I researched the work of the Old Master himself, combing through piles of Sendak's drafts and sketches.

About halfway into the fellowship, however, I started taking "studio breaks": swimming in Battenkill Creek, hiking the hills of Merck Forest, picking blueberries at a nearby farm stand. It felt great to walk around in my bare feet, eat a sandwich with dirty hands, and just stare at puffy clouds in the sky. I felt like I was back at Camp Tamarack. And, yes, I did sing campfire songs. Camp counselors Lynn Caponera [President, Maurice Sendak Foundation] and Dona Ann MacAdams [Director, Sendak Fellowship] led the fellows in a sixties singalong one night after a cookout. (Who knew Egielski could play a mean mandolin?)

But it was the nights on Scotch Hill Farm that felt the most like camp. Around 11 p.m., I'd walk an old dirt road, heading home from the studios. The road was straight out of Maurice's book Outside Over There — narrow and rutted with a row of old trees on either side of it. The first night of the Fellowship, the moon was barely a sliver in the sky and the road was pitch black. Doug Salati and I whipped out our iPhones and fumbled for the flashlight setting as we timidly ambled down the path. "What's that?" Doug shrieked as he grabbed my arm. Ha! It was only a reflective road marker. We laughed the rest of the way home. As the month progressed, the moon got brighter and brighter (it was phasing into full-mode). By week 2, we didn't need our phones. The walk had become a comforting nighttime ritual.

So, you see, folks, I did perform my fellowship duties admirably. But I also got the chance to roam free though the woods like a Wild Thing, like I did back at Camp Tamarack. And that's something every picture book artist needs to do every once in a blue moon.

Slideshow photo captions:

1. L-R: Doug Salati, Richard Egielski, Dona Ann McAdams, Marc McChesney, Lynn Caponera, and Stephen Savage.
2. L-R: Lynn shows Maurice's work to Doug, Richard, and Gregory Maguire.
3. L-R: Doug Salati, Lynn Caponera, Tomie dePaola, Richard Egielski, Dona Ann McAdams, Marc McChesney.
4. Barbara McClintock catches a rainbow.
5. Gregory Maguire holds court at the head of the table.
6. Men in hats. L-R: Marc, Doug, Richard, Stephen.
7. Richard Egielski takes a ride.
8. Things got a little wild.
9. Quieter times.
10. A group effort created "over burgers and beer" and using "the crayons they usually give to kids to keep them quiet until the food comes."
11. Farm life.
12. Scotch Hill Farm. Map by Doug Salati.

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