Pictured: Faculty Concert at Xanadu Astoria, Photo by: Hylwa Media
Christopher McCracken for Bluegrass Pride - 22 June 2026
"If you can take a moment, and truly feel queer joy, in your heart — even if it’s a spark, just to feel it. And to situate your feet on the floor. And with me together, I want to breathe in, and I want to breathe out the fire of queer joy. I want to put air into this combustion reaction of love that we are creating together. "
-Isaac McCarthy, Camp Bluegrass Pride
—
As I sit at this hotel table and begin to write, it’s 11:50pm on Sunday, June 21, 2026. I was just a part of the first day of the first ever queer community bluegrass camp.
I woke up this morning with more than a little trepidation. I had checklists of what to grab, and a good idea of how it would fit in my tiny sedan. Beyond that small bit of control was the reality — the thing I had been shaping my life around for six months was starting. It was real, it was soon, and I would be there.
Even as I felt that realization — rushing through coffee, breakfast and a shower, continually marking up my packing list as I went — the weight of the undertaking remained at a distance. In a few hours I would have to start driving. Then in one hour. Then in fifteen minutes. But not yet.
The last and largest reality wave hit about three miles outside of Astoria, Oregon, where camp is taking place. Coming in from Portland, the drive was short — about two hours — and gorgeous. When the speed limit dropped just inside Astoria, I felt that camp was happening. From Sunday to Friday, I was going to jump in the deep end of bluegrass, doing my best to stay above water.
—
I arrived at the Charlene Larsen Center for the Performing Arts not long before the volunteer meeting was scheduled to begin. I got a bird’s-eye view of how the week was laid out and where we would play our parts. I helped reorganize some tables and got my nametag.
After meandering through town to kill time before hotel check-in, I went to dinner at Camp Bluegrass Pride venue Xanadu. (Should you find yourself around there, I highly recommend stopping in for the lavender gin and tonic). From there, it was time for a quick refresh at my hotel room before camp orientation.
In the auditorium at the Larsen Center, camp co-directors Scott Justus and Ashley Bradfield shared camp news, and Isaac McCarthy walked us participants and instructors through the rhythms of camp. He also played stage manager for a bit wherein each instructor was given a strictly timed 90 seconds to introduce themselves, their classes, and to share whatever else we should know about them. Instructors had tight sets and we learned what we needed to posthaste.
From there, camp moved to the Hotel Elliot, where a welcome reception let us mingle and meet other campers and staff. A jam was rolling in the corner within minutes, and carried on afterwards at Xanadu, where night jams are to continue throughout the week. I followed the music over and, in the spirit of diving in, decided there was no time like the present to call my first vocal song in a jam: “Salty Dog Blues” in G, as inspired by the singing of James Kee. Were my vocals in G proper? Absolutely not. But when you’re getting help from some new friends, who cares?
—
I’m mindful that there will be highs and lows at camp. No one goes into something this involved and keeps a steady emotional beat the entire time. I spent the first day cycling through disbelief and doubt, wondering if I would be able to contribute anything meaningful to camp, or if I’d be overwhelmed by the size and depth of it all. Sitting in the crowd at orientation, I was tired, I was anxious, and I needed a little bit of hope.
But then Isaac asked us to breathe in, breathe out, and center ourselves on the notion of queer joy. You could hear the room answer: soles on the ground, straight backs, breathing in possibilities, and breathing out joy. As I felt myself stabilize, I remembered that musical excellence is a valid and worthy goal — but so too is building community and relishing the experience.
I don’t know how this week will go. I’m less anxious, but some of the worry has stuck like sugar between my teeth. For now, I’m trusting in Isaac’s advice, and fueling this combustion engine with deep breaths and an eye toward joy.
We’re here, we’re queer, and we’re going to have a damn good time.