Just a Pinch of South

For those of us who grew up in the South but have moved elsewhere, we love our roots and all they have provided. There's a lot that I've come to appreciate about the South. But let's be honest, most of us don't want to go back to "full Southern." We're happy with just a pinch here and there to add flavor to the life we live now. If you are not a Southerner, perhaps you'll come to better appreciate the little gifts the American South has given and continues to give our culture. This blog is written by Elizabeth Bloodworth. Photos are not mine unless specified. Email me at justapinchofsouth @ gmail dot com. I tweet at @apinchofsouth and my other tumblr is called "everythingthatdoesntfitelsewhere" which is just what it sounds like.

Posts tagged camp

Jul30

Here is another note my father wrote from summer camp (see my previous post). There are a few things I love about this particular one. First of all, that it refers to a very Southern current event (the death of Gone With The Wind author and Atlantan Margaret Mitchell). I guess they had newspapers at camp? Or perhaps it was the discussion in the Mess Hall. It is the only time my father wrote about a current event in any of his camp notes. Secondly, I love his enthusiasm for the meal they served. He gets that excited about a fried chicken dinner to this day. Me, too, for that matter.

Here is another note my father wrote from summer camp (see my previous post).

There are a few things I love about this particular one. First of all, that it refers to a very Southern current event (the death of Gone With The Wind author and Atlantan Margaret Mitchell). I guess they had newspapers at camp? Or perhaps it was the discussion in the Mess Hall. It is the only time my father wrote about a current event in any of his camp notes.

Secondly, I love his enthusiasm for the meal they served. He gets that excited about a fried chicken dinner to this day. Me, too, for that matter.

2 notes #vintage #camp #letter #Margaret Mitchell

It is summer. Camp season. I went to camps in Alabama and North Carolina growing up. I learned perhaps more about life at camp than perhaps anywhere else as a child. My father went to camp in North Georgia as a boy. I’ve found several of his letters home to his parents. At the time my grandmother was visiting Hot Springs in Arkansas to “cure” some unnamed illness. Like all good boys’ camps, his camped involved horseplay a little danger. I heartily approve.

It is summer. Camp season. I went to camps in Alabama and North Carolina growing up. I learned perhaps more about life at camp than perhaps anywhere else as a child.

My father went to camp in North Georgia as a boy. I’ve found several of his letters home to his parents. At the time my grandmother was visiting Hot Springs in Arkansas to “cure” some unnamed illness.

Like all good boys’ camps, his camped involved horseplay a little danger. I heartily approve.

1 notes #camp #letter #vintage

Jun7

I spent 4 summers at a Camp Morehead in Morehead City, NC. It was a sailing camp. Kind of. In that I learned a lot at Camp Morehead, but not as much about sailing as I would like. I learned about boys, mostly. My first game of spin the bottle, my first “boyfriend”… you get the idea. I loved camp, and still carry some pieces of it with me. The photo above reminds me of the (not creatively named) All-Day Sailing Trip.  We would sail Flying Scots down the Inter-Coastal Waterway (the ICW) from our camp to a YMCA camp several miles away. As promised, it took all day. We were assigned about 8 people to a boat. 2-3 counselors and a mix of boys and girls from different cabins. What I loved about sailing in Flying Scots was that we went somewhere. Sunfish always bored me with their back and forth. But the Flying Scots actually had a destination. If the wind and tides were right we would stop for lunch by these sandy dunes on the back of one of the barrier islands. I loved the water, the traveling, and the conversation. The sailing was simple, so we would spend the majority of the day just talking. I listened a lot. Maybe someone brought a boom box, so there was music (one year it was a lot of Violent Femmes). But no cell phones, no distractions, just conversation and swapping stories.  If the counselor was “cool” sometimes you could sit on the boom (like in this pic) and lean into the sail.

I spent 4 summers at a Camp Morehead in Morehead City, NC. It was a sailing camp. Kind of. In that I learned a lot at Camp Morehead, but not as much about sailing as I would like. I learned about boys, mostly. My first game of spin the bottle, my first “boyfriend”… you get the idea. I loved camp, and still carry some pieces of it with me.

The photo above reminds me of the (not creatively named) All-Day Sailing Trip.  We would sail Flying Scots down the Inter-Coastal Waterway (the ICW) from our camp to a YMCA camp several miles away. As promised, it took all day. We were assigned about 8 people to a boat. 2-3 counselors and a mix of boys and girls from different cabins.

What I loved about sailing in Flying Scots was that we went somewhere. Sunfish always bored me with their back and forth. But the Flying Scots actually had a destination. If the wind and tides were right we would stop for lunch by these sandy dunes on the back of one of the barrier islands.

I loved the water, the traveling, and the conversation. The sailing was simple, so we would spend the majority of the day just talking. I listened a lot. Maybe someone brought a boom box, so there was music (one year it was a lot of Violent Femmes). But no cell phones, no distractions, just conversation and swapping stories.  If the counselor was “cool” sometimes you could sit on the boom (like in this pic) and lean into the sail.

(Source: scullandoars)

39 notes #sailing #camp #sailing camp #camp morehead #morehead nc