Remember Sarah Bishop
home remembrance book
camp adams scholarship photo album contact
intro page poetry


Iain More for Iain More and Pam Siler

Cindy Sousa

Bob & Karen Williams
Megan, Tom & Brittany Sesulka
Mindy & Mike Hescock

Alice Williams Jackson

Armon Bud Ketchum

Nicola DeBolt Robertson

Andy Maffei and Ruth Weston

Kyrie’ Thompson

Gina Fleck

Carrie Hanson

Andrew Huddleston

Nancy Cushwa & Peter Teneau

Anne LaVallee

Evie Frost

Isaac Kamola

Brian Griffin

Karl Anderson

Steve Sall

Ken Denniston

Johan Sandberg

Eve Heidtmann
Sarah and Evan

Jonathan Scott Dickson

Amy Leavitt

Jody Houghton

Jennifer Voelker

Wendy Gerlach

Mike and Barb Russell and Family

Cathy Tinker

Justin Gardiner

Heidi Harr

Emilie Shireen Press

Micah Russell

Elise Thatcher


Amanda Deutch

Griff Ocker

Kate Brandy

From the PCTA hikers list

Judy Bishop


Micah Russell

Growing up, one of the few things to inspire me was Camp Adams. I quite literally counted the days. As time went on, and I transitioned from camper to staffer, my love of camp became indistinguishable from my love of Sarah. Two things strike me every time I reminisce of that place: 1) the absolutely brilliant, silly fun I've had with the campers and the staff alike; and, 2) the rich, organic feeling you get living amongst the trees. I couldn't think of a better way to encapsulate my feelings for Sarah.

During the summers of 1996 and 1997 I was lifeguard while Sarah was 'nature lady'. In 1999 and 2001 we directed camp togetherfirst a week of 6th graders, and then a week of 4th and 5th graders. In 2002 I was staff coordinator for the summer, and Sarah was again involved in directing. From the very beginning of our friendship, I absolutely adored her—in fact, she was everyone's favorite. She was ceaselessly inventive, refreshingly innocent, and she had an infectious smile that could not go ignored. No matter what friction or stress arose on those long, underpaid days at camp, she was the glue that held the staff together because she was so much the embodiment of what we wanted to share with the kids. Seeing her come up the trail in her overalls and ragged Henry Weinhard's t-shirt was like watching a sunrise, and I have never had a more sincere hug. I made so many friends at Camp Adams, but she and I were inseparable—she was truly a kindred spirit.

She was such a courageous person, always challenging herself with goals or projects that would seem outlandish coming from anyone but her. I still admire how she would forgo the cabin for sleeping out of doors every night—most often alone. It still blows my mind that after having been the first to experience the haunted tree up on the logging road (I can personally attest to the reality of this phenomenon), she went up there alone on more than one occasion just to confront her fear (and the spirit). The kind of connection with nature most of us seek on vacation she sought every day. I would do anything to again share with her a starry night on the 'peninsula' next to Nate Creek, or one more brisk night swim under the waterfall and the long shadow of the tall trees. Her creativity was dizzying at times. And like most things in her life, her projects and activities would alternate between those created for the sake of goofy fun, and those created for the sake of more serious environmental or humanitarian concerns. Kids were called on to help her with the statue of Harold the groundskeeper, artwork constructed from junkyard materials, carefully illustrated and thought-out family crests, the building of small villages out of items found in the forest, long hikes to identify plants and animals (or maybe just to get muddy), and so many other activities that we can be sure inspired countless young minds.

There were other times, too, when kids needed more than just the typical camp experience. Quite often, Sarah was called upon for her social worker skills. I know her gift was a burden at times, but no matter the situation, kids and adults alike always responded to her. She had such a talent for listening, presenting the options, and helping the troubled person(s) to achieve a broader perspective.

Outside of camp we met less often, but whenever I was so lucky as to see her for even just a few hours, I was guaranteed a memorable time. Actually, for a time she was enraptured with the idea of 'spontaneous fun days', and there was no predicting what might happen. On one such day in Walla Walla we played Scrabble outside, climbed multiple trees, raided a country thrift store (more of a barn than a store), attended a college party, and climbed the tallest building late that night to see what there was to see. I have always been a fairly moody, somber person. Sarah would take the world just as seriously, but wouldn't forget to let go and have fun along the way. She was such a gift to me in that way. So it didn't surprise me at all to awake one frigid winter night to Sarah and her friends arriving at my farmhouse to watch a meteor shower. A lot of these simple, but lasting, pleasures would have passed me by if it weren't for her.

Naturally, Sarah and I had some backpacking adventures too. Most vivid in my mind is a one-night trek way up the Salmon River Canyon. By the time we reached our destination late in the day, the entire mountain was fogged in, and the lake we were intending to camp on was nowhere to be seen. We spent two extra, feet-blistering hours searching for water and, in the end, had to hike up to get snow to melt. There have been few times I have been so fatigued, but we had such a good time. When we awoke in the morning to an incredible view of the Cascades (still so vivid in my mind's eye), the lake was, of course, right down the path from our tent.

The last time I saw Sarah was in late June of 2004. She and I hiked up to Angel's Rest in the Columbia River Gorge. I am so grateful for that time with her. As always, it was as if no time had passed during my time away. We chatted all the way up the mountain, we chatted on top of the mountain, we chatted on the way down the mountain, and then we hung out in the trailhead parking lot for another hour continuing to laugh and catch up. She spoke with humility and gratitude and love when speaking of Joseph. She spoke with laughter and joy when speaking of her family. And she spoke with conviction and amazement about her social and political activities. I made it very clear that I could not wait to come back to help her with her projects—and that I looked forward to the day when I could again share everyday kind of moments with her.

It may seem that I've missed my chance for that, but I know I haven't. I grieve still, but more often I try to mirror the spirit of her life in my own. It is astonishing how far this goes to improving my perspective and my interactions with others. Her voice still— resonates in my ear. It's so simple, but the single most memorable thing about her for me was how after months of months of having not talked to each other, I'd pick up the phone to her hilarious "Mr. Micah Russell!"

She was, and is, so many beautiful people at once: a child at play, an activist, a worker, and my sister. She's been such an inspiration that some day I hope to have started a charitable outdoor education camp in her name. She's not gone, and no doubt we'll be gathering many, many years from now to remember her and tell our stories. And even then, in a crowded room full of good people, she’ll still outshine us all.

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