LCFD camp!
Jun. 8th, 2025 12:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sorcyressI am at Pinewoods!
I mean, I arrived yesterday around five thirty (over 2.5 hours drive from Somerville, _oof_), but it is Saturday night of my first actual session as a camper this year. Of, I guess, four (not counting the work weekend or the crewunion).
I'm very pleased about it!
It's LCFD's spring camp, which has been running in general since 1989 or so, but at Pinewoods since 2023. Pinewoods is starting off the year Gay As Hell, since last weekend was their first camper session --the Boston Queer Tango-- and now is us, the Lavender Country and Folk Dancers.
It is _so good_ to be at an explicitly queer dance camp, full of explicitly queer people. Yes, absolutely, some of those people are the kind of weird where they have never felt misaligned about their assigned gender or are only interested in people with different genders from themself, but even the cishets are the kinds who are excited to be at a big gay camp full of lovely queer people and it makes the space _amazing_. Just...loving, open, gentle, good-hearted, and fucking funny and sexy as well.
(As I remarked to several people tonight, as I looked around the wide range of finery that is the "dress up in fancy dress or costume" Saturday evening dance, "oh no, everyone is hot and I am gay".)
I saw ballgowns, leather hot pants, loud print Hawai'in shirts, mesh tops with harnesses, at least two people with tails, and the usual evening dance array of swoopy twirly swishy fun. I myself was fairly understated, which is to say, my black-and-rainbow kilt, a formal black collared shirt and grey vest, and a loud-as-fuck rainbow bowtie. Oh, and my makeup is essentially "Furiosa, but make it gay".
Beyond the incredible highlights that are just "queer community" and "gay dancing", I am having such a lovely time with the regular programming. This morning I went to a "contra refresher" class explicitly named as a "show up and tell us what you want to work on" sort of basics class. It was being taught by Chris Ricciotti, who is an _incredible_ teacher --I quite literally sat down after it was over and frantically scribbled notes about his flawless ability to mix the dancers around and the fascinating parallels between a robin's chain and a hay.
After lunch, Chris was running a "queer dance history" panel, which was half him sharing and half open to the class. It was amazing --something like 40 people were crammed into the camphouse to hear and share their stories. I cried repeatedly --tearing up at the tales of the first time someone ever tried a skirt on (including one gentleman, at 89, doing so to show support of his trans granddaughter, and then discovering that he _loves_ skirts and immediately sought out more) and of a couple celebrating their twentieth year together, and tenth year married (and especially counting back in my head to remember that means they very well might've married the first year it was legal country-wide. Remember that the DoMA is not even ten years old.).
Mostly I cried with joy at the earnest, soppy lovefest happening back and forth at the panel between the elders, who were expressing their joy that other people are taking up the torch and keeping the community going, and the youth, who were expressing their joy that they didn't have to start from zero, that the groundwork had been laid. Everyone joyous at how far we have come, and excited to find out how far we can go.
The straights don't know what they're missing, when they box themselves up miserably into binary assignments and strict policing of their own and each other's presentation.
The only mar has been how incredibly _tired_ I am in general. But even that is coming with comfort: this afternoon I took a ninety minute nap, and I settled in to sleep while listening to the soft sound of a light rain in the nearby trees. I woke up to the delicious pounding of pouring rain on the roof of my beloved little cabin, and mama nature did me the courtesy of even ceasing shortly after so that I could walk to the dining hall without getting entirely soaked to the skin.
(Yes, the subtext is that I am once again in Kitty Alone, the best cabin in all of Pinewoods. I truly try not to be a diva about it, and I truly am grateful that I keep winding up in this perfect little paradise, where I'm so familiar with the space that unpacking is a breeze.)
So because of that, I'm off to bed now. No more rain, but the trees are gently dripping, and the moon is shining through the clouds. This is my home.
~Sor
MOOP!
I mean, I arrived yesterday around five thirty (over 2.5 hours drive from Somerville, _oof_), but it is Saturday night of my first actual session as a camper this year. Of, I guess, four (not counting the work weekend or the crewunion).
I'm very pleased about it!
It's LCFD's spring camp, which has been running in general since 1989 or so, but at Pinewoods since 2023. Pinewoods is starting off the year Gay As Hell, since last weekend was their first camper session --the Boston Queer Tango-- and now is us, the Lavender Country and Folk Dancers.
It is _so good_ to be at an explicitly queer dance camp, full of explicitly queer people. Yes, absolutely, some of those people are the kind of weird where they have never felt misaligned about their assigned gender or are only interested in people with different genders from themself, but even the cishets are the kinds who are excited to be at a big gay camp full of lovely queer people and it makes the space _amazing_. Just...loving, open, gentle, good-hearted, and fucking funny and sexy as well.
(As I remarked to several people tonight, as I looked around the wide range of finery that is the "dress up in fancy dress or costume" Saturday evening dance, "oh no, everyone is hot and I am gay".)
I saw ballgowns, leather hot pants, loud print Hawai'in shirts, mesh tops with harnesses, at least two people with tails, and the usual evening dance array of swoopy twirly swishy fun. I myself was fairly understated, which is to say, my black-and-rainbow kilt, a formal black collared shirt and grey vest, and a loud-as-fuck rainbow bowtie. Oh, and my makeup is essentially "Furiosa, but make it gay".
Beyond the incredible highlights that are just "queer community" and "gay dancing", I am having such a lovely time with the regular programming. This morning I went to a "contra refresher" class explicitly named as a "show up and tell us what you want to work on" sort of basics class. It was being taught by Chris Ricciotti, who is an _incredible_ teacher --I quite literally sat down after it was over and frantically scribbled notes about his flawless ability to mix the dancers around and the fascinating parallels between a robin's chain and a hay.
After lunch, Chris was running a "queer dance history" panel, which was half him sharing and half open to the class. It was amazing --something like 40 people were crammed into the camphouse to hear and share their stories. I cried repeatedly --tearing up at the tales of the first time someone ever tried a skirt on (including one gentleman, at 89, doing so to show support of his trans granddaughter, and then discovering that he _loves_ skirts and immediately sought out more) and of a couple celebrating their twentieth year together, and tenth year married (and especially counting back in my head to remember that means they very well might've married the first year it was legal country-wide. Remember that the DoMA is not even ten years old.).
Mostly I cried with joy at the earnest, soppy lovefest happening back and forth at the panel between the elders, who were expressing their joy that other people are taking up the torch and keeping the community going, and the youth, who were expressing their joy that they didn't have to start from zero, that the groundwork had been laid. Everyone joyous at how far we have come, and excited to find out how far we can go.
The straights don't know what they're missing, when they box themselves up miserably into binary assignments and strict policing of their own and each other's presentation.
The only mar has been how incredibly _tired_ I am in general. But even that is coming with comfort: this afternoon I took a ninety minute nap, and I settled in to sleep while listening to the soft sound of a light rain in the nearby trees. I woke up to the delicious pounding of pouring rain on the roof of my beloved little cabin, and mama nature did me the courtesy of even ceasing shortly after so that I could walk to the dining hall without getting entirely soaked to the skin.
(Yes, the subtext is that I am once again in Kitty Alone, the best cabin in all of Pinewoods. I truly try not to be a diva about it, and I truly am grateful that I keep winding up in this perfect little paradise, where I'm so familiar with the space that unpacking is a breeze.)
So because of that, I'm off to bed now. No more rain, but the trees are gently dripping, and the moon is shining through the clouds. This is my home.
~Sor
MOOP!
