The Grand Cherokee Reunion, Part 2

Let's gather 'round the old camp fire

Warm as our hearts is the flame

Let friendship temper every desire

And kindle love that o'er will remain.

Come stir the glowing embers red,

And pledge a tryst with me,

Wherever you and I may wander,

To Cherokee we'll loyal be.

On the weekend of our grand Cherokee

reunion, over two dozen of us sought to honor

our pledge of long ago days, as we gathered

again to a place dear to our hearts.

Here's the HOH, the House on the Hill.  A

wonderful gathering place, but it wasn't what

made Cherokee special.

The revered Thunderbird once adorned

our central gathering place for Trading Post,

tetherball, pingpong, and four square.  Great

memories, but that isn't what made Cherokee.

This totem, representing the noble qualities

camp sought to instill and foster in each

camper, comes closer to representing the

Cherokee way of life.  It will deserve a blog

of its own.

The miniature totem above is an

exact replica of the gigantic one

below, which has survived many

a winter storm and sun-scorched

day on this hilltop.  And it stands again.

On the title page of Jane Mac's Memories

of Cherokee, my brother Ellis included this

statement:

Nostalgia is a way of looking at things with a 

reverence they should have had all the time.

For those of us that came back to Cherokee

the nostalgia was not a vague sentimentality,

but a tribute to an experience that impacted

our lives and directed our paths for future years.

This map of Lake Burton in the HOH is a

reminder of the two-mile swim to the dam,

canoe trips to Arrowhead Beach, Pirate's Cove,

day trips to Goat Island, and portages to Lake

Seed and Lake Rabun. We could remember the

special night each summer when two motorboats

would tow a train of canoes to the middle of

the lake where we could watch the setting sun

give way to the rising moon.  There we had our

goodnight circle of friendship and love in a

place of perfect tranquility.

Speaking of arrowheads, many were found

each summer.  One of the old camp brochures

tells how once upon a time a camper was 

chosen for "Best Arrowhead" of the summer

and the boy added it to a camp collection.  It

was our connection to the Cherokees of old.

We are thankful for the many camp artifacts

that have been preserved.  We were always

a primitive camp, and things changed only 

slightly during the 75 year camp history.

Meals in the dining hall were one constant.

Always good local produce, good fellowship,

and ravenous appetites!

Jane McConnell (left) and her mother 

Mizmac were the guiding lights for Cherokee

throughout its existence.  Most of our alumni

never met Mizmac, but all of us experienced

her legacy through the loving guidance she

shared in our lives.  That goes for counselors

as well as campers.

Don Moore, as I mentioned in my previous

blog, was my mentor, and Jane's co-equal

and ingenious collaborator for four decades.

Just like in our old camp days, each hour

brought new arrivals, eagerly greeted. The

HOH porch and yard were a fine spot for

renewing old friendships and forging new ones.

Old sagas of danger, courage, and humor

were relived, and embellished.

Excellent food always adds to fellowship.

Who were we to question details?  It might

be our memory that was a little fuzzy.

Many photos and other memorabilia were

spread on the porch and tables in the HOH.

These helped to stir some memories and

generate some great yarns.

Warren and Danny provided lively and 

entertaining music, as they did each summer

for 20 years.

Tiger and Ken joined in, and later some

camp songs were sung.

One reason this date was chosen was to

honor Uncle Don's 85th birthday.  I think

we did a pretty good job.

And a short time later this carved-up cake

evidences that we felt "obligated" to indulge

in a "Cherokee serving."  Delicious!

In the remaining daylight hours small groups

rambled around the old camp grounds, 

explored old haunts or found a comfortable

spot for conversation.

At Jim Bell's invitation, several of us delved

into old camp relics and archives that were

in two tumbled rooms of an old storage shed.

Disheartened at first that we could only 

gain entrance into one room, we brightened

when we were able to, er, access the second

room late in the day.

We felt like archaeologists, even benevolent

"Raiders of the Lost Ark." 

And were we rewarded?!! The second 

room revealed even more old photos and

films from camp of yesteryear.  And this

box contained brochures, guidebooks and

logs from camp's founding in 1924 up to

1941.  That was the last year a full-sized

guidebook was needed, since camp filled

up to overflowing based on word-of-mouth

recommendations and our Cherokee became

a multi-generational family.

There's so much more to tell, and there

are many others who I hope will share 

in the telling.  I'll be blogging more about

Cherokee, but I don't know the whole story.

I do know that Indian Pipe, one of Jane Mac's

favorite woodland plants, still calls camp home.

And I do know that rhododendron and 

countless other beautiful plants still adorn

our hillsides and pathways.

By evening, many of our band had parted,

but those of us who had the good fortune

to be spending one more evening basked

in the glorious day behind us.

I reflected back to a small mid-winter

reunion in 1975.  Different setting (Cherokee

Lodge), different folks, but the same spirit.

I won't attempt to name everyone pictured, but if you
know these folks you can easily find them: Ciss
Alexander, Dar Baugus, Jimmy and John Baugus,
Warren Calvert, Jane Mac, Ross McConnell, Ginger
Kroeber, Burt Mashburn, Charles Bryant, and
Billy Savitch.

This bell is just a "little brother" of

our dear old Big Bell of bygone days.

If we gather again will you come?

Will you ring the bell for all the

Cherokees who make the pilgimage

again?

I don't think nostalgia is the right word.

It's reverence.

Thank you, Jane Mac.  

Thank you, Don Moore.

And thank you, my Cherokee family.

To the sparks, to the flame,

To the fire that sets all our hearts aglow,

To the hills, to the lake,

To the breezes that sweet in our faces blow,

To the sun, to the moon,

To the spring in its crystal purity,

To you, to me, to a loving camp loyalty . . .