Forest City Courier, July 21, 1938
Pack your picnic basket, gather up the children and go places. We used to think that birthdays, family reunions and Fourth of July were the only times we could serve our meals picnic style, but nowadays it is the easiest and most enjoyable way to entertain our family and friends. There is something about the freedom of out-of-doors that whets our appetite and makes us forget our digestion or indigestion. Have you ever enjoyed a fish fry on the shore of a lake or river? As you listen to the members of the fishing party tell of their marvelous catches, you clean and dress the fish which they have brought in. Right before your eyes you have authentic proof of the size and length, but you patiently listen to the sometimes exaggerated account of the catch. Presently the pan of boiling fat is ready and you drop in the fish and watch them acquire that tempting golden brown hue. After you remove the savory pieces you drop into the same boiling fat spoonfuls of corn meal batter. In a few minutes they are ready to be taken out. Then with a big bowl of potato salad and that most delectable of all brews, coffee, you have a meal fit for a king, or queen for that matter.
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We of the Piedmont section are fortunate and should feel exceedingly proud of the Piedmont Boy Scouts camp at Lake Lanier. It is in a beautiful setting, surrounded by picturesque Lake Lanier. The equipment is well planned and shows careful forethought in anticipating the needs and training of the boys. Everything is kept in perfect order, the kitchen and mess hall are spotlessly clean and the boys’ cabins are comfortably furnished and well screened. Noticeable too, is the contentment of the many Boy Scouts who are at the camp. They are happy and full of pep, and their suntanned faces reflect the health, strength and vigor that only and outdoor life can give. They are under the supervision of capable and conscientious directors and counselors. It is well worth anyone’s time to make a special trip to the camp to see it. During a weekend visit to Tryon we visited the camp, and came away feeling satisfied that our son is in good hands and getting excellent training and experience in many things which he might not have gotten otherwise.
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We could as easily picture a world without light as a world without color. Everywhere we are surrounded b color. In our hours of work and play, every object we see, in the clouds, fields, and meadows, the sea and river, the trees, birds, and flower; everywhere we go we are ever in a world of color. When we examine closely a colorful flower, the gossamer wings of a butterfly, or other works of nature, we realize how little we know of the combination of colors. In our homes we spend hours working out a color scheme that will be pleasing to the eye. Mother Nature that great teacher, who shows us in every flower a lesson in color combination. The other day I saw a flaming red poppy with distinct markings of purple on the shiny petals. There are few of us who would choose those two colors for a flower arrangement, yet there it was, an exquisite example of: the work of a great artist. Figuratively speaking all flowers are imprisoned sunshine, but of no other does that seem so true as of poppies and pansies.
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No mountain scenery can compare with our own Blue Ridge. Beyond there are other and higher mountains which rise like sentinels into the deep sky, rank upon rank, height upon height, but ever guarded and protected as it were by the encircling wall of the Blue Ridge. I’ve often wondered why it was named Blue Perhaps because there was no other name for it. It is blue; tremendously thrillingly blue. Even the storms do not make it sullen, and when they pass, the sun breaks out more radiantly than ever. It was my good fortune last week to have my first trip to Waynesville and Lake Junaluska, where I visited a niece in Duke summer school. As we drove along the highway we could see cold springs come gushing out like joyous living things from under a huge rock or the roots of a tree or a fern draped bank. Lunch in Asheville and back to Chestnut Hill ended a most enjoyable day. But all good things invariably come to an end, so after a week’s stay in the mountains, I returned home to find my midget flower garden overgrown with weeks, gaily colored morning glories riotously growing and clinging to my rose bushes, our front porch dusty and littered with unread newspapers and sale circulars, and my chicks growing by leaps and bounds.
Reprinted with permission from The Daily Courier. Copyright owned by The Daily Courier.