Lemonade or water?” came the cheerful greeting from the camp counselors.

Pitchers filled to the brim stood in front of them, as well as a phalanx of plastic glasses.

We passed up the drinks and the counselors waved us to an open door. Registration was straight ahead in the main lodge, and from the line it looked like we weren’t the only ones to wait until the last moment to drop the kids off.

Sunday was the opening day of a weeklong summer camp at Alton Jones Campus. This wasn’t our idea, but rather that of our daughter, Diana, who lives with her family in Wilson, Wyoming, not far from Jackson. Depending on her work schedule, Diana makes the trip east around this time with her daughter, Natalie. Her husband, Scott, will be coming east in another week or so.

With more time here than usual, Diana looked into a camp for Natalie and was immediately taken with the Marine Madness experience being offered by Alton Jones Camp. The campers would not only learn about marine life, but also the basics of sailing and most cool, spend a night at the Mystic Aquarium. It’s an educational adventure that I’d love to take were it not restricted to kids.

No doubt it also caught the fancy of others, too, for in order to meet the demand two Marine Madness sessions are being held this week. Natalie wouldn’t be a complete stranger at a camp thousands of miles from home. A friend, Tove [it’s a Danish name, I’m told] joined her. The trio arrived Saturday night at Green Airport, ready for some late night food and filled with excited expectation of the week before them. Sleeping at the aquarium conjured speculation of waking in the early morning hours to watch the flash of fish and, perhaps, to see the feeding of the sharks. But Sunday as we turned off Route 102 and headed through the defoliated woods – the work of gypsy moth caterpillars – the girls were silent. The time was near; the point where they’d be introduced to a whole new group of girls in a completely foreign place, a time when they’d be on their own.

It was a silent wait for registration. Parents held the hands of their children, looking blankly ahead and questioning how they would hold up when it came to saying goodbye. I surveyed the queue and concluded that was the common feeling, although there had to be a few seasoned parents if not those anxious to be free of their kid for the week.

Diana fished into her purse for the registration and waivers required of the two girls. She also had passports that would be needed when it came time to pick them up at the end of the week. The security was reassuring. Those managing registration were college-age students. They were cheerful, welcoming the arrivals by name while reviewing forms to ensure everything was properly filled out. Diana signed papers. The girls stood quietly watching.

Somehow I thought this experience would be part of them for life, although, oddly enough, I don’t recall the first time my parents left me for more than weekend overnights with the Boy Scouts. That really didn’t count because I knew all the kids anyhow. I was in high school by the time I was shoved out of the nest and sent west to work on a ranch for the summer. My mother cried. My father was stoic as they put me in a bus in New York City for the three-day trip to a place they had never seen, but had learned through friends was willing to take an untrained hand in exchange for room and board. It was a terrific experience that I repeated for three consecutive summers.

I wouldn’t want my kids to risk such adventure for their kids today, although when you think about it communication is near instant and security abounds. I used the pay phone two or three times that first summer and I was always thrilled to get a weekly letter from my parents. Today separation is as long as it takes to text. Yet today the world is a scarier place where reaching out to strangers, especially for young people, can lead to terrible things.

Letting go is such an important part of parenthood, and I was mindful of how Diana would handle that when it came time to leave Natalie and Tove. We found the cabin that would be their home and helped the girls make their bunk beds. Earlier arrivals had already claimed the upper bunks. Some were seated crossed legged watching as we fished through the girls’ luggage to retrieve pillows and try to make them feel at home. Parents fussed, hugged their kids and waved good byes. The camp is also a separation from electronics. Cell phones and tablets aren’t permitted. Kids couldn’t be in touch with their friends. Parents couldn’t text a reassuring “how are you?”

Counselors didn’t let campers think about the moment for long. The girls were instructed to put on their swimsuits and pack a towel and dry clothes in their knapsacks. They would be taking their swim tests.

Diana didn’t belabor the moment. She gave the girls a kiss and a hug. The time had arrived.

We sat silently as we weaved our way back to Route 102. It was then that she called Tove’s mother and left her a full voicemail report. And it was then that I sensed not only how difficult it can be to let go, but how important it is to do it.