Pictured: Camp Bluegrass Pride Students, Staff & Sponsors, Photo Credit: Hylwa Media
Christopher McCracken for Bluegrass Pride - 25 June 2026
Let’s build a place we can go
Where everyone gonna lay down their weapon
Lay down their weapon
Just give me trust and watch what happen
-MUNA
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My Saturday morning routine is pretty stable. I wake up later than I’d like and put on soft clothes; I meander downstairs and get out my cast iron. I make a pourover and listen to NPR while scrambling some eggs.
My NPR listening is pretty no-nonsense. I’ll often skip the puzzle or human-interest stories because I want the news; that is, the weighty, serious things happening out there in the world. I feel a sense of obligation to witness them.
I couldn’t do it today. An earthquake in Venezuela, Ebola raging in Africa, the Strait of Hormuz. I was burning up on reentry.
—
I have no idea how many people have been reading these recaps, but I want to thank each and every one of you for your time and attention. On my first call with Ashley discussing the ways I might help out at camp, the idea to do these writeups came out of nowhere, and some whim pushed me to voice it. She gave an enthusiastic yes and off we went.
I would also like to apologize for the delay in sending out this recap. You see, it’s hard to write when you’re ugly crying, and I’ve done more of that in the last week than I have in years.
I use dissociation and distance as defense mechanisms. I struggle to name and feel my emotions; I’ve often been compared to a robot. The last time I really bawled was over a year ago when a long-term relationship ended over the phone. This week I couldn’t stop crying tears of joy.
—
A new friend said watching me throughout the week was like watching a flower bloom through a crack in the sidewalk, and that got me thinking about trees.
Trees don’t grow overnight. They need fresh air and clean water. They need time in the sun.
They aren’t always pretty — winter strips them down to only their hardest parts, and pushing through is a matter of survival. Sometimes it gets too cold and they burst, killing them.
But if they can stay grounded, hunker down, the spring will come again. They’ll grow another ring and keep on moving through space at an impossible speed.
I couldn’t have opened up the way I did in a day or two. The experience that I had — the one that I hope everyone left with — came together only after my thousand questions and the group’s continuous answers in the affirmative.
Want to sing the bawdy verses to Salty Dog Blues? Go for it. Got too in your cup last night? We still love you. Here, drink some water.
—
At lunch hosted by Scott on Friday, after the formalities of camp were over and we were all riding our own emotional comedown, I happened across a realization that I’d like to share with you, dear reader.
Camp Bluegrass Pride was, first and by far foremost, a chance to build community. Everything else was a bonus. The songs, the jams, the lessons — all of it was discretionary. The essential and radical act was coming together to be our fullest and most authentic selves.
Returning to quote-unquote normal life has been an impossible weight. On Monday I’ll go back to work, much though I wish it were otherwise. I’ll go back to Trader Joe’s and get too many processed foods. I will be drawn to all of the bad habits that dog me like a too-long head cold.
But I’ve been shown there’s something different out there, and it’s just starting. I caught a glimpse of the best version of myself this week and it only happened because of the wellspring of love we all made. I know that better me is out there and I’m going to find them.
Thank you. I’ll see you next year.