Each day this past week, I have eagerly scanned the photos of Cop Camp, more officially known as the Saranac Lake Police Department Youth Academy. The department facilitated such activities as dusting for prints and gathering evidence in a mock crime scene. And let me tell you, I was envious.

As a child, I ravenously consumed Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys mysteries. My favorite Saturday morning cartoon? Scooby Doo, of course. I dreamed of becoming one of those “Meddling kids” who always spoiled the bad guys’ plans and saved the day. Needless to say, I would have been the first one to sign up for Cop Camp.

In addition, my biggest influence was the Trixie Belden mysteries. She and her cadre of friends embodied the free-roaming days of childhood. As Trixie solved mysteries, she was ready to explore, get dirty and dig to uncover the truth. Quite simply, I wanted to be Trixie Belden.

I never carried a notebook, but my childhood brain stored “clues” and conclusions about my neighbors. The cause of a smashed-in car door belonging to a boozy neighbor may have been obvious to adults, but to a 9-year-old, it was an epiphany. Finding the pot and porn stash while babysitting explained why these new folks didn’t fit in with their older conservative neighbors. After a bike accident at the end of her driveway. I learned the neighborhood “witch’ who had no trespassing signs on her property was lonely and a bit frightened.

These discoveries were part of growing up, but it wasn’t until one summer at a church camp in the southern Adirondacks that my Trixie Belden skills were truly utilized.

By the third year of camp, my friend Jennifer and I thought we knew everything. We were, admittedly, a bit cocky. Suddenly, though, it all changed, starting with morning trips to the bath house. In the past, we had been free to sprint to the showers at the sound of reveille, but now we needed to march down with a counselor. Initially, Jennifer and I silently worried that we were the cause. Did someone know that the previous summer we had hidden the boys’ clothes while they washed up?

Things were weirder during the day. Instead of splitting off to do our activities, the entire camp had to participate in “New Games.” The director said that this was because there were violent storms in the area and they needed to be sure to keep us safe. Safe in an open field? Storms without a cloud in sight?

At night, we were directed to stack our suitcases in front of the cabin’s emergency exit. The same emergency door that bore a sign forbidding anything to be placed in front of it. Bears, they told us. Bears? I watched my bunkmates chow down on candy bars purchased at the canteen. Wouldn’t it make more sense to ban food from the cabin? My Trixie Belden brain whispered, “Be observant and trust your instincts.” Something wasn’t adding up.

The next morning, Jennifer and I began to connect the dots. We preferred the old camp routine. Why the changes? Something was definitely going on. Our answer came later that day when a counselor meeting was called in the dining hall. Campers were told to stay in the pavilion and play.

It was time to bend the rules. While the adults entered the dining room, we quietly opened the kitchen’s screen door. No cooks were present. Sneaking underneath the serving counter, we quietly listened in. There was an escaped convict. No one had spotted him, but he had ties to the area, so the police believed he could be headed toward the camp. Wide-eyed, Jen and I looked at each other — we had our answer. It didn’t even occur to us to be afraid; we were delighted in our successful sleuthing. We slipped out of the kitchen the way we came. Undetected and informed. Mission accomplished.

The rest of the week was anticlimactic. The criminal was caught, far away from camp and the old routines returned. But that brief joy of being a child detective has lingered for 45 years.

On a Saranac Lake Police Youth Academy post, another woman commented, “I want to do this too!” Honey, I don’t know you, but I’m in. Something like the Saranac Lake Police Department Academy for Blue Hairs sounds mighty fine to me. Then again, it probably sounds better to me than to the department.

I just don’t know if the town or the force is ready to encourage old ladies to peer out their windows, tail suspects or investigate. Somehow, the line “And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling grannies!” seems more pathetic than legendary.