The Rebellion Against Disposable Culture / Lessons from Blooming Grove

When I was about three, my parents joined a hunting and fishing club in Pike county, Pa, called Blooming Grove. My father did not hunt but we did fly fish a lot. I can remember the first time I cleaned a trout - vividly - at Footbridge station with its dark wooded curves to the stream. My sister an I spent afternoons squishing up bread into cubes and fishing for sunnies at the lake. Saturday it was either the dinner at the club, or on the stream. I can still smell the cedar wood sunroom in our cottage where we watched slide shows of trips of friends on summer nights. I learned to ride my bike there with my father running alongside - core memories were locked in at Blooming Grove.

I learned to drive our dark green Volvo wagon there (stick!). My sister and I developed traditions entirely on our own during walks - the little rock at the bend to the lake which had ‘chipmunk staircases’. Blooming Grove is where I watched Valley Girl on rainy days with friends because it was the only videotape we had.

We played bumper pool in the kids’ room at the club while the adults had cocktail hour before dinner. When we were teens we stole cigarettes and 40 year old scotch from the lockers of the men’s lounge (oops). We would run to the lake to swim at night, and the water was warmer than during the day in its own magical way under the moon. I had a blue Swatch watch with sailing flags when I turned 13 and I loved it. All of these memories have core items that tag along with them. This is where I learned about true outdoor style - in this world of recreation in the woods of Pennsylvania, it wasn’t about trend or polish, it was about ease. A bold cotton tablecloth, linen napkins in a totally different color but also bold - heavy silverware, enamel plates, real glasses or metal cups. The bar was an entirely different set up by the stone grill. They would sometimes leave a station wagon open in the back for that as well. Tailgate bar with a Coleman cooler packed with ice and glasses. The basic offerings of white wine and martinis. A few pilsners mixed into the ice for dinner. A wood fire going and salad prepped in wooden bowls. There were always paper cocktail napkins with names like Witt’s End on them in cursive.

These objects — that blue Swatch watch with sailing flags, the dark green Volvo with its difficult clutch — they weren't just things we owned, but vessels that carried our stories, preserving moments that would otherwise dissolve into time. Items matter. What you spend money on, to wear, matters.

Every dollar spent is a vote for the world you wish to create.

K.