The Grand Cherokee Reunion, part 1

Far above Lake Burton's waters,

with her waves of blue,

Stand a camp above all others,

beautiful to view.

Bound together by her standards

we can never fail,

Hail to thee above all others,

Cherokee, all hail.

Lake Burton at Camp Cherokee, 1975

For my friends who never went to Camp 

Cherokee,you may tire of hearing about it in 

the next couple of weeks.  Or you may enjoy 

experiencing vicariously what many fortunate 

campers and counselors did over Cherokee's 

70 year history.  For I plan several posts on this 

blog regarding my own camp experience

and the life-long influence of my time there.

After my brother Ellis ("Buddy") had spent 

four summers as a counselor at Cherokee, it 

was my time to explore the opportunities 

camp had to offer.I could never have imagined

 how it would help me discover what life had 

to offer, by embodying a philosophy I 

wholeheartedly embraced, then and now.

For anyone who has made their approach 

to Camp Cherokee from Clarkesville, Georgia

 on Highway 197,this view of the lovely Soque 

(suh-quee) River is unforgettable.

I pulled off the road to glimpse this 

familiar sight for the first time in 30 years.

My traveling companions, Billy Hamby and

Jeff Thompson are also old Cherokees.

Mark of the Potter is located here at the site

of Grandpa Watts' old mill.  And the biggest 

trout anywhere abound in the pool below 

the cascades. Hence, the "No Fishing" sign.

We were soon back on the winding road, for 

camp was just a few miles away now.  We and

a couple of dozen other Cherokees, spanning the

early 1960's to camp's closing in 1993, would 

gather here for the first large-scale Cherokee 

reunion ever.

Billy and I were privileged to pitch our gear in

Blue Robin, one of just a few remaining original

buildings at camp.  In my time, the early '70's, it

was a counselors' haven, but long before that it

was the residence for members of the McConnell

family who founded the camp in1924.

Mizmac (aka Janie, Mrs. John McConnell)

founded Camp Cherokee and established it

upon a "solid rock" of sound spiritual and

moral principles.  A few decades ago, the 

cottage pictured below was Mizmac's home.

The HOH, short for House on the Hill, is

magnificently restored now, and would be

a marvelous meeting place for our Cherokee

nation.  The finest in Cherokee hospitality was

offered by hosts Jim and Isabel.

The same hospitality was conveyed by their

"family": Red Dog and cats Mosby and Sylvia .

Sylvia is a "tuxedo cat" like my and 

Judy's Kitty Cat.

This driveway from the camp entrance to the

HOH is one of many familiar trails we all once

walked.  And many, many miles were hiked 

all over the property this weekend.

The driveway to the HOH is named for our

beloved Jane Mac, daughter of Mizmac, who

was the only director most of us ever knew.

Jane was an inspirational and steadfast guide

for me during my camp years.  Here she is

during one of our off-season winter gatherings.

She carried on in the traditions of her mother,

constantly refining our Cherokee experience,

even as she preserved the core tenets.

Equally important to many of us, was dear

old Uncle Don, for whom another camp road

is now named.  Unknown to Don (though

probably suspected), an auxiliary purpose for

our get-together was to celebrate his 85th birthday.

My connection to Don is three-fold: UNC at

Chapel Hill, Camp Cherokee, and Moore County

Schools in North Carolina.  Don influenced me to

change my college major to elementary education,

and his recommendation helped me secure my first

teaching position in a time of tight job market.

That job would prove to be my entire career-- 33 

years, all at Sandhills Farm Life Elementary School.

THANK YOU, UNCLE DON (who will NEVER

look on a computer to see this-- he doesn't

"believe" in them)!

While the large gathering would be on Saturday,

a few of us early arrivals came in Friday evening.

A pre-sunset walking tour led us to the A-field,

where many an evening game of 

Capture the Flag was played.

Only Jeff Thompson (one of the "young" ones)

was tempted to scamper across the field, as if 

dashing away with the coveted flag.  But all of

us were bursting with carefully-stored memories.

One place that was quite special to me was the

Nature Hut (or shack, shed, or cabin).  Jane Mac

allowed me to convert this old photography shed

into a place for nature study in 1973, my second

 year.It was once called "Daddy John's Darkroom" 

by little Ross McConnell when his Daddy John 

was in Germany at the close of World War II.  

This was from a Mizmacletter, one of many 

treasures that are turning up.

This is our hallowed old barn, scene of all 

sorts of cabin plays and other dramatics, as

well as rainy day games, wrestling, boxing,

and other activities over the years.

Cherokees were always allowed to "discretely" 

make their mark around camp, and many chose

the barn in which to do so (in addition to their

cabin of residence).  

In fact, those old painted signatures are

becoming scarcer and scarcer.  Pioneer,

the only residential cabin still standing,

is a lonely sentinel, but still embodying for

all us alumni the importance of our tight-knit

cabin groups.  We took morning dip together,

hiked and over-nighted in the great outdoors

together, and scrubbed and polished for 

Sunday inspection together.  The cabin was

the de facto family unit at camp, and crucial

to meeting our goals for campers.

On our first evening back at camp, some of

us pose at the head of Bill Mac Cove, where

we canoed, skied, and swam years before.

The next day, I would see my old pal John

"Tiger" Austin, for the first time since 1975.

I'm wearing the lanyard that he handcrafted

for me at camp.  What a lot of catching up

we did in two short days.

And that included faithfully executing morning

dip each morning-- even in the rain (along with

Billy Hamby).  Neither Tiger nor I has ever 

missed a morning dip at camp.  

And the water felt terrific!

This is a closeup of the T-shirt I wore on Saturday

at camp.  I chose it because of the strong 

connection with singing and tale-telling at camp.  

And were there a lot of tales told this weekend! 

 Great tales.

Here is the still-flowing spring beside which

we once held morning devotions.  As Jane

Mac might have said, we were under the blue

canopy of God's great cathedral, the birds, our

choir, the sun-filtered branches our stained-glass

windows.  As the spring still pours forth its life-

sustaining waters, so Cherokee will always 

sustain many of us with its powerful 

and life-changing lessons.

"There beside the lake so blue,

sun and moon above,

Stands a camp called Cherokee,

its spirit built on love . . ."

Lake Burton, 2012

Standing at the furthest extremity of "The Point,"

this was the conversation:

"We camped on Goat Island, down that way . . ."

"I made the two-mile swim to the dam . . ."

"Is that Tray Mountain or Mt. Charlie over there?"

As darkness fell across Cherokee, our little

band of Friday night arrivals made our way

back to the HOH, where even more tales

would be shared before we finally bedded down.

We anticipated with joy the arrival of many

more of our band tomorrow, Saturday.

And it might even be Indian Day!