Seeds of Goodness: What I Have Learned from Ru-Yi’s Summer Camp

This July, Ru-Yi Meditation Center once again welcomed children and teenagers to its annual summer camp in the mountains of Fengguidou, Xinyi Township, Nantou County. The youth camp was held from July 4 to July 7, followed by the children’s camp from July 8 to July 12.

For many of the children, the first day on the mountain is not easy. Life is simpler here. There are fewer conveniences, fewer distractions, and, most importantly for them, no cell phones. At the beginning, complaints are almost inevitable. The mountain feels inconvenient. The days feel too long. The absence of a phone feels like a loss.

Yet every year, something begins to change after a day or two.

The children start to know one another. They become involved in the activities. They grow close to their counselors. Slowly, the phone that seemed so necessary begins to fade from their minds. In its place come group games, classes, mountain life, shared meals, songs, conversations, and friendship.

This is one of the quiet lessons the mountain teaches. Children are not unable to live without their phones. They simply need a living environment that offers something more real, more human, and more nourishing than a screen.

The Vow Behind the Camp

Since 2018, Venerable Da-Hui and Venerable Yang-Hui of Ru-Yi Meditation Center have offered this summer camp for children. Except for 2021, when the camp was suspended because of the COVID pandemic, it has been held every July. By 2026, the camp has completed its eighth year.

The camp is completely free of charge. It is mainly designed for children from third to sixth grade, and its purpose is not merely to entertain them or teach them a set of skills. The classes include basic Buddhist teachings, cause and effect, kindness, helping others, emotional awareness, meditation, nature exploration, arts and crafts, and Buddhist songs.

In Chinese, we often describe this kind of education as “spiritual environmental protection.” The phrase does not refer to environmental activism in the usual sense. It means caring for the inner environment of the heart: clearing away confusion, selfishness, anger, and distraction, while cultivating gratitude, concentration, kindness, and responsibility.

That is the true aim of the camp. It is not only about what children learn in a few days. It is about what kind of inner soil we help prepare for them.

Modern education places great emphasis on achievement and competition. Children are taught to perform, to compare, and to pursue success. These things have their place, but they are not enough. If a child learns how to succeed but never learns how to care for others, take responsibility, or serve a community, then education has missed something essential.

The value of the Ru-Yi camp lies here. Goodness is not presented as a slogan. It is built into the rhythm of daily life. Children are cared for, and at the same time, they gradually learn how to care for others.

From Camper to Counselor

As the director of the camp, what has moved me most over these eight years is not simply that the activities have gone well or that the curriculum has improved. What moves me most is that I have been able to watch children grow up.

The children who attended the first camp are now high school students. Some have returned to the mountain as counselors. Those who once served only as assistants are now becoming teachers in their own right. They can lead classes, organize activities, and take responsibility for younger children.

This kind of growth cannot be measured by test scores. It is a growth of character. It is the movement from “I am being cared for” to “I can care for others.”

We often say that children need to develop responsibility, but responsibility is not created by lectures. It is formed through real situations. When children are trusted, given a task, and placed in a position where their contribution matters, they begin to see themselves differently. They are no longer merely being supervised by adults. They become members of the community who can help hold it together.

That, to me, is education in its deepest sense.

What Trust Can Awaken

This year, two boys left a strong impression on me. When they first arrived, they were mischievous, restless, and difficult to guide. They did not pay much attention in class, and it would have been easy to label them as “difficult children.”

But during the candle-lighting gathering near the end of the camp, something unexpected happened. They stood up and shared what they had gained from the camp. As they spoke, they became emotional and shed tears. Even more surprising was their willingness to serve as counselors and help with future children’s camps.

That moment reminded me of something important. Many children are not unwilling to learn. They simply have not yet been placed in a situation where they can see their own value.

If a child is only told to be quiet, obey rules, and stop causing trouble, they may resist simply to prove that they exist. But when they are trusted with responsibility and expected to care for younger children, the better part of their heart may begin to awaken.

In Buddhism, we often speak of causes and conditions. A child’s transformation also depends on causes and conditions. Scolding is one condition; trust is another. Control is one condition; responsibility is another. Different conditions bring forth different possibilities in a person.

This is why camp education can be so powerful. It gives children a real place to practice becoming better people.

A Community in Wind and Rain

This year’s camp also faced the challenge of a typhoon. Strong wind and heavy rain swept through the mountain. Some teachers could not come up as planned, and we had to pay close attention to the children’s safety. The atmosphere that day was tense, and many arrangements had to be adjusted quickly.

Fortunately, the teachers and volunteers responded calmly. The camp passed through the storm safely.

In a way, the storm allowed us to see the strength of the community more clearly. When everything is smooth, each person simply does his or her part. When difficulty comes, we see whether people are willing to carry the burden together.

During the camp, several people became ill, including the venerables. Yet no one complained. No one withdrew. Everyone continued to do what needed to be done so that the children could remain safe, settled, and able to complete their days of learning on the mountain.

No camp is made possible by one person. It depends on the vows of the venerables, the dedication of teachers, the patience of counselors, the kitchen volunteers who prepare meals, the volunteers who handle laundry and daily needs, and the parents who trust us enough to send their children up the mountain.

These acts may seem ordinary, but together they create the conditions for children to grow.

Service as a Path to Happiness

One of the great problems of modern society is that children are given too few chances to serve. From an early age, they are taught to compete, perform, and succeed. But many are not taught that giving can also bring happiness.

A person may grow up with many possessions and achievements, yet still feel empty inside. One reason is that they have never deeply experienced the joy of knowing, “I can be of benefit to others.”

In Buddhism, giving is not limited to money. We can give time, energy, attention, patience, and wisdom. When a child helps younger children, serves the group, and learns to notice the needs of others, they are already practicing generosity.

This practice changes the heart. The question slowly shifts from “What do I want?” to “What can I offer?” That shift may seem small, but it is one of the foundations of mature character.

If we hope children will become better people, we cannot give them only knowledge. We cannot give them only pressure to compete. We must also give them opportunities to serve, room to take responsibility, and real settings in which goodness can be practiced.

Seeds Planted on the Mountain

Every July, children come to Ru-Yi Meditation Center for only a few short days. Yet I believe those days can leave seeds in their hearts.

They may remember that life without a phone can still be full. They may remember a teacher’s words, a song, a quiet moment in meditation, the tears they shed during the candle-lighting gathering, or the feeling of everyone staying together through the storm. They may also remember that they were once trusted, and that they were able to care for others.

These seeds may not sprout immediately. Education does not work like a machine. True education is more like planting. Adults can provide sunlight, water, soil, and patience. We cannot always decide when a child will blossom.

But after eight years of this camp, I have seen some of those seeds begin to grow. Children who once came to the mountain unsure and dependent have returned as counselors. Those who were once cared for now come back to care for younger children.

To me, this is one of the clearest signs that education is working.

On the surface, Ru-Yi’s summer camp may look like only a few days of activities during summer vacation. At a deeper level, it offers children something rare in this hurried and competitive age: a space to practice concentration, gratitude, service, responsibility, and kindness.

I am deeply grateful that, year after year, I have been able to witness on this mountain how children slowly grow into people with greater responsibility, greater compassion, and greater joy.