Finding Your Way

At Falling Creek, the Code isn’t just something we talk about every now and then — it’s central to how camp works.

It’s how we live together.
It’s how we treat each other.
It’s how we figure out what kind of person we want to be, even when no one’s watching.

We talk about it as a moral compass, and it’s built around four simple but strong ideas:

Do the right thing. Act with integrity. Take responsibility. Tell the truth.

It’s not a checklist. It’s not about being perfect.
It’s something boys practice — through ordinary moments, all over camp.

In the Barn

The barn has a way of settling things down. From the moment the boys walk in, the tone shifts. No running. No shouting. No tossing rocks. The horses demand calm — and the boys rise to meet that.

Cara, one of our riding instructors, gives a reminder they won’t forget:

“Heels down, shoulders back. Hold the reins like two cups of hot chocolate. If you don’t, you’ll burn yourself — and the horse.”

And it clicks. You see it in how they straighten their posture, loosen their grip, and start to pay attention in a new way.

Sam, who leads the Horse program and is from New Zealand, said it like this:

“The horses lead first. But the boys catch up. They realize this living animal depends on them — and they start to take that seriously.”

After a recent lesson, George, a 5th grader from Houston, was mucking Cruz’s stall. A couple minutes in, he looked up and asked,
“Is that good enough?”
Then paused and said out loud,
“Wait — I should do more.”

And he did. No fanfare. Just quiet follow-through. One of those little moments that stays with you.

On the Trail

Friday afternoon, a group of boys saddled up and headed into the woods for a trail ride. They’d all ridden before, but this was their first time venturing out together like this.

Out on the trail, they helped each other out. One boy quietly adjusted his friend’s reins. Another waited at the stream crossing so the horse behind him wouldn’t go off trail.

There was no adult stepping in — they just did it.

They were steady.
They were calm.
They were together.

When they got to the end the trail, dusty and proud, you could feel it:
They hadn’t just completed the task.
They’d taken care of each other.

Maria, one of our horseback assistants from Spain,

“The boys were so brave,” she said afterward.
“One of them came back saying, ‘We did that! I closed my eyes, but with you I made it through!’”

When the Weather Shifts

Sometimes, life at camp moves fast — especially when a Perry-Weather alert sounds throughout camp.

That’s our camp-wide lightning alert. When it sounds, that means it’s time to adjust what you’re doing and make sure you’re in a lightning-safe area.

And the boys? They just move.
No panic. No drama. Just action.

They grab their water bottles.
And keep going.

You don’t even have to say much — because by now, they’ve learned:
Responsibility doesn’t wait.

At the Table

The dining hall is loud, full of energy, and somehow still incredibly smooth. Boys wait their turn. Pass food. Thank the kitchen staff. Refill pitchers. Bring their stacked plates to get washed. Push in chairs.

They don’t do it to get noticed.
They do it because that’s how camp works.

You can feel the rhythm of integrity in those little gestures — boys taking care of the space and each other without needing to be told.

Why It Matters

The moral compass isn’t about being “good” or “bad.” It’s not something we use to measure campers or grade behavior.

It’s something we live by — because camp community only works when we have shared values to return to.

And when it works, it shows up in the small stuff:

A boy who finishes the job — and then keeps going.
A group that quietly looks after one another on a ride through the woods.
A camper who slows down in a storm to make sure his buddy is with him.

The compass isn’t something we hand them.
It’s something they build — one small choice at a time.