Seconds before the monster struck, a figure swooped out of the sky. It was the hero Perseus! He drew his sword of diamonds (“Ooo! Shiny!” Andromeda was heard to say over Cetus’s snarls), slew the beast, freed Andromeda, controlled her frizz with smoothing serum, and married her. They had nine children, founded the city of Mycenae, and lived happily ever after.

When they died, Perseus and Andromeda were turned into constellations. They’re so dim, though, that they can be hard to find. Instead, look for Cassiopeia, who was also set in the stars. As pushy in the heavens as she was on Earth, you can’t miss her pattern: five bright stars that form a W or M shape, depending on how you look at it. Find it, and you’re on the right track to getting home.

FYI: Mother and daughter constellations are very close to each other. So close, in fact, that if you listen in on a moonless night, you can hear Andromeda telling Cassiopeia to “back off and give her some space already.”

BEAR WITH ME

Zeus was sneaking around behind Hera’s back—again—with a lovely female named Callisto, who happened to be one of Artemis’s Hunters. Why Callisto broke her vow to stay away from men is anyone’s guess. Some say Zeus tricked her by disguising himself as Artemis.

Hera found out about Zeus’s infidelity—again—and with one angry poof turned Callisto into a bear, which she then asked Artemis to hunt. Or maybe she asked Arcas, who was Zeus and Callisto’s son and a skilled archer. The details are a little murky. Either way, Callisto the bear was staring down the pointy end of a drawn arrow when Zeus finally took notice.

“Hmm. This may be partially my fault,” Zeus confessed as he defused the threat. Callisto reared up on her hind legs, crossed her paws over her hairy chest, and gave him the bear version of “You think?”

“Let me make it up to you.” He transformed her into stars and lobbed them into the sky. He did the same for Arcas, figuring the boy would be safe from Hera that way. The stars formed patterns that looked like bears, which is why the Greeks named them the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper.

Ha-ha! Just kidding! The Greeks called them Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, or the Great Bear and the Little Bear. Ursa Major looks like a—well, like a big water dipper, actually, with a bent handle and a wide-mouthed bowl. Ursa Minor is a smaller version of a dipper with a handle that bends up instead of down.

FYI: Rumor has it that Zeus and Callisto secretly hang out when he’s in his Roman form. He hides in the planet Jupiter—or maybe he becomes the planet Jupiter—and she revolves around him in the nearby moon named after her. Watch for a supernova in that quadrant of the sky when Hera discovers their trysts.

LOOK TO THE STARS FOR GUIDANCE

So, how do these stories help if you’re lost? If you can pick out Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, and Cassiopeia in the night sky, you can find north. The three constellations are bunched up around Polaris, the one fixed star in the sky. Find the constellations, and you can find Polaris. Find Polaris, and you’ve found north. Find north, and you can figure out where east, west, and south are. And then you’re as good as home!

Note: When I shared my lesson plan with Grover, he pointed out that this method of navigation only works if you know in which direction your home lies. Also, it has proven to be less effective during daylight hours. Oh, well. It’s a start.

Winged horses need a place to call home, too, and Camp Half-Blood is delighted that some have made theirs here. Cleaning the stables might not be much fun, but the flights more than make up for it. So if you fancy a horse-powered swoop through the sky, stop by and meet the herd—and be sure to bring donuts!

This site should come with a warning sign: KEEP OUT! If ever you find yourself near the monstrous anthill, be sure to ditch any shiny metal you might have on your person. The giant ants find it irresistible. What they don’t like are certain waterways. The Zephyros Creek runs between the main campgrounds and the ants’ lair, which is probably why they haven’t invaded—though the queen ant might just do a flyby sometime. If they ever decide to cross Long Island Sound, however, New York City could be in for a world of hurt.

Come to a land apart…a land of misty magic and moist tropical breezes, where delightful humidity thickens the air and kisses your skin until it glows. You’ll know you’re near when sweat trickles down your back, dampens your hair, and weighs down your clothes. Once here, give voice to your offering to the geyser gods—a poem, a song, or a joke told with spot-on comedic timing. Then thrill to the whoosh of water from the amazing twin gushing geysers! Bow in the presence of the powerful palikoi! And be sure to fill out the customer satisfaction survey before you leave!

Being a god of a local underground water supply, I’m naturally tapped in to the goings-on at Camp Half-Blood. Exploding toilets? Heard about that one. Son of Poseidon claimed in a stream during capture the flag? Got the details courtesy of Zephyros Creek. Underwater kiss? Canoe Lake gushed about it for days afterward.

Stories like that trickle in to Paulie and me all the time. We’ve heard stuff that made us flush. I’d tell you more, but I don’t want to flood you with information that might bog you down. But pay us a visit sometime if you want.

We’d come to you, but Chiron has banned us from the showers.

Is there a tastier treat on a hot summer day than a plump, juicy, sun-warmed strawberry? Mouthwateringly delicious, you can’t eat just one. Luckily, here at Camp Half-Blood, strawberries are always on the menu—and on the outbound delivery truck!

Unless you’re a child of Demeter or Dionysus, you’ll probably overlook the strawberry fields while you’re at Camp Half-Blood. I get that. Unlike the combat arena, the climbing wall, Half-Blood Hill, and other common areas, the fields are ordinary—well, except for the whole growing-perfect-berries-year-round thing.

It’s too bad if you overlook the place, though, because the strawberries play a vital role at camp. They make us money, which pays for a lot of useful stuff here at Camp Half-Blood. Think that complimentary orange T-shirt you’re wearing just magically appeared out of nowhere? Not quite.

You might be interested in knowing how the decision to grow strawberries came about. Then again, you might not. Feel free to move on to the next chapter if you’re not. Just know you’ll be missing out on some truly delicious camp info.

Still with me? Okay, here’s how it went down.

Back in ancient times, Camp Half-Blood was self-sustaining—a bastion of locally grown produce and free-range meat and poultry products. When the camp moved to Long Island, though, the crops and herds didn’t come with it. For a long while campers had to make do by hunting, fishing, and gathering, Old-World-caveman-style. What we couldn’t hunt and gather, we traded for with local farmers, which was okay when Long Island was sparsely populated.

Then New York City ballooned into a megalopolis and urban sprawl oozed onto the island, with communities erupting nearby almost overnight. After the third mortal sighting of teenage demigods running through neighborhoods with bows and arrows, Chiron decided it was time to make some changes.