The road to my daughter’s favorite place in the world winds through some of the prettiest countryside Vermont has to offer — past farms and covered bridges, alongside rivers and streams that, in recent years, seem to spill over their banks with increasing regularity. The camp itself sits on a small lake in the southern part of the state, a place that feels removed from everything, in the best possible way. She has been going for years. She loves it with her whole heart. And until very recently, I had never once asked a single question about safety.
I have two kids. Between them, they have attended dozens of camps over the years from day camps at the lake, to sleepaway camps a few hours from home and even a couple adventure programs that took them all over our tiny state and into Canada. Every single one came recommended by someone we trusted. That was all I really needed to know.
A couple of summers ago, while my daughter was at her lake camp, Vermont was hit with near-unprecedented flooding. Roads washed out. Rivers jumped their banks. The camp kept us updated and reassured us their little corner of paradise was safe, if a little soggy. I appreciated the communication and didn’t think much more about it.
Then news of Camp Mystic broke.
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On July 4, 2025, a catastrophic flood swept through the beloved Texas sleepaway camp, killing 27 girls. We were preparing to send our daughter back to her favorite place — the one on the lake, the one with the roads that flood — and I felt the news on a visceral level. I could picture the devastation so clearly it made me nauseous.
When you have a camp kid, you understand what that place means to them. The joyful, unhurried days. The friendships forged in the particular crucible of shared cabins and campfire smoke. The burgeoning sense of self that can only emerge somewhere no one knows you yet. Camp is magic. And as parents, it is a place we desperately want to believe our children are safe.
But wanting to believe something and knowing it are very different things.
The gap most parents don’t know exists
Summer camp is a $76 billion industry, and it operates with surprisingly little oversight. Eight states don’t require camps to be licensed at all. Twenty-three states don’t require background checks for staff. “It’s not enforceable if it’s not a law,” says Murphey Sears, Chief Development Officer of No More Victims Alliance and a collaborator on The Campaign for Camp Safety, which was founded by parents of the Heaven’s 27 — the girls who died at Camp Mystic. “There’s no accountability for it.”
That’s not an indictment of camps. Most are run by people who care deeply about the children in their charge. But caring deeply isn’t the same as having systems. And systems are what protect kids when something goes wrong.
The responsibility, Sears argues, falls partly on parents. “The parents are the consumers at the camp. The kids aren’t paying for camp. The kids aren’t driving themselves to camp. We are the ones who, in addition with policy or lack thereof, can hold the camps accountable on what they should be doing to keep kids safe.”
It is never too late to ask
If you’re reading this while your kid is already registered, or even already at camp, don’t panic. “It is never too late to ask the safety questions,” Sears says. “Camps will respond to you immediately.”
Think about it like this. Your kids have fire drills at school. On a cruise ship, you learn where the exits are before you leave the dock. Every flight begins with a safety demonstration. “Camp should be no different,” Sears says. “It is a space where there are a lot of children, being supervised sometimes by very, very young adults.”
The three camp safety questions parents should ask
So what should you actually ask? Sears narrows it to three summer camp safety priorities.
Emergency action plans
Does the camp have one? Is it posted in the cabins? Are counselors trained on it? Better camps have begun adopting drills at the start of each session — a quick five-minute orientation so kids know where to go and who to find if something happens. “It is not scary. It shouldn’t be anxiety-inducing, and it doesn’t detract from the fun,” Sears says.
Background checks
Ask directly whether the camp conducts them, how often, and what databases they check. Some camps go beyond what their state requires. Some don’t meet even a basic standard. You won’t know unless you ask.
Communication systems
Full transparency, this one would not have occurred to me. “What level of communication do you have? Do you have a PA system that can communicate to the entire camp?” Sears asks. In an emergency, the ability to reach every counselor and camper simultaneously matters enormously, especially at camps where staff aren’t permitted to carry cell phones or, in the case of my kids’ camp, don’t work anyway.
For parents who want to go deeper, The Safety Navigator — a nonprofit that works alongside camps on safety infrastructure — has published a free Parent’s Guide to Camp Safety with a full question checklist and an email template you can send directly to your camp’s director. The Safety Navigator also offers camps free access to safety consultants and templated emergency action plans. It’s a resource worth bookmarking and sharing.
The conversation to have with your kid
You don’t have to make this scary. But you do need to have it.
Sears recommends teaching kids to be their own advocates. “If something is wrong, if you feel like something is wrong, you find a trusted adult.” Help your child identify who that is before they go — likely their counselor — and make sure they know they have permission to speak up. “If you see something, you say something. Kids need to hear that they can raise a red flag if something feels off.”
Encourage them to orient themselves to a new environment. Read the signs. Learn the rules. Go a little slower at first. “It’s okay to ask questions about where to go.”
How to make change beyond your own family
If you want to push for broader reform, The Campaign for Camp Safety is building an advocacy toolkit for parents who want to contact their state legislators. Several states — including Maryland, North Carolina, and Oklahoma — are already in active conversations about stronger camp safety requirements, following Texas’s lead in passing new legislation after Camp Mystic. “Call your representative,” Sears says. “Ask where they stand on camp safety. Ask if they’d consider what was passed in Texas.”
Camp is magic. It shapes kids in ways that are hard to fully articulate until you watch it happen. None of this is about taking that away. It’s about making sure the magic comes with a safety net — and that we’re the parents who knew to ask.
Download the free Parent’s Guide to Camp Safety and conversation checklist at thesafetynavigator.org.
