31. Skyland Camp

 

Skyland Camp for Girls

Skyland Camp for Girls, in the mountains of Clyde, North Carolina, was pure magic. I went for the first time when I was 11, and then again when I was 12. I stayed eight weeks each time.

The air was different up there—cool and pine-scented, the days wide open with possibility. I was only a child, but at Skyland, I felt like I was on the edge of something bigger—something just for me. 

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We did so many fun things: sports, crafts, horseback riding, hikes, and at night, we sat around in the club house singing and telling stories. It was there, in that freedom, that I began to trust myself—my voice, my independence, and the quiet wonder of growing up.

Getting There

To get to Skyland, we took a special overnight train from Jacksonville up to Asheville, North Carolina. I remember the train ride vividly—our small group of girls bundled up in our bunks, the rhythmic clatter of the tracks beneath us as we traveled through the night. 

When we arrived in Asheville, a bus took us winding up into the mountains until we reached Clyde. As we stepped off the bus, it felt like we were entering a new world—one where everything was slower, quieter, and brimming with possibility.

The Mountains

It was my first time seeing the mountains, and I was completely in awe. I had been born and raised in Florida, where everything was flat and open, and these mountains rose like magic. The air was crisp, the weather was cooler, and I remember breathing in that mountain air—so fresh, so new—and feeling like every part of me was waking up. It was like a different world, one I didn’t know existed, and I felt, for the first time, the vastness beyond what I knew.

The Cabins

There were two places for the girls to stay at Skyland. The younger girls stayed in the Big House—a spacious, cozy building with wide porches. It was an old hotel, the original structure on the land.

The older girls, like me, stayed in the cabins scattered around the property. 

Each cabin had its own bathroom, but the shower was something the cabins shared—an open, outdoor shower. I remember standing there under the clear mountain sky, the cool water running over me, feeling both exposed and free. 

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The Routine

We wore uniforms at Skyland — green shorts and crisp white shirts. It created a sense of unity, as though we were all sharing the same adventure together.

There was a campus loud speaker system. We would wake to the sound of Reveille. In the evening we would go to bed listening to Taps.

During the day, the rhythm of Skyland was guided by bells.

A bell for morning activities.

A bell for lunch.

A bell for afternoon activities.

A bell for rest hour.

Then a bell for supper, followed by the evening gathering in the Clubhouse, where everyone came together again.

We ate our meals at the Big House, gathering around long tables filled with noise, laughter. Sunday lunch was always a favorite. They served fried chicken, and for dessert we had hot fudge sundaes.

The anticipation for dessert was almost as exciting as the dessert itself. When things seemed to be moving too slowly, we would break into song to get our server Isabel’s attention:

“Knit one, purl two,

Isabel, yoo-hoo!”

The entire dining room would join in, laughing and singing until Isabel finally appeared carrying trays of hot fudge sundaes.

Those little rituals became part of the magic of camp.

The songs.

The uniforms.

The ringing bells.

Singing together in the Clubhouse

The shared excitement over ice cream.

The Evenings

The evenings were my favorite part of the day.

After supper, we would gather together in the Clubhouse and sit in a circle on the floor while Hempy played the piano.

We sang Skyland Camp songs along with old popular songs that everyone seemed to know. The music filled the room while girls’ voices rose together in laughter and harmony. Some of the songs were playful and full of hand motions. Others were softer, songs we would sway to gently as we sang.

I still remember many of our camp songs.

Come up to Skyland

Come up to camp

And I’m sure you'll have a lot of fun.

Hemp will meet you

All will greet you.

Your summer fun has just begun.

Joy and laughter everywhere

Day and night without a care.

Come up to Skyland, it's the best.

A Tallyho or Trossach you will be,

And the games will be a sight to see, ect.

There was something deeply sweet about it — the piano music, the closeness of everyone gathered together, the feeling of belonging completely in that moment. Those evenings created a feeling I have searched for many times since — the feeling of people gathered together in joy, without self-consciousness, simply sharing music, friendship, and life. 

Activities

I loved the structure of camp life. At home, long summer days could sometimes leave me restless, but at Skyland every hour held something new to experience.

Archery was one of my favorite activities. We would line up with our bows, concentrating carefully on the targets, feeling that quiet thrill when an arrow flew true.

There were arts and crafts too, where my hands would become sticky with paint or glue. I loved splatter painting. I happily lost myself in making crafts.

We also played sports — volleyball, ring tennis, and other games where we competed proudly for our teams.

At Skyland, every girl belonged to one of two groups: the Tally-hos or the Trossachs. All summer long contests, games, and activities were scored and tallied to determine the winning team for the year. The competition was spirited but fun, and it gave all of us a sense of belonging and shared purpose. You cheered for your group. You wanted your side to win. And somehow that simple structure made us feel connected to something larger than ourselves.

At Skyland, every hour was filled with possibility. 

I was never as happy as I was there—moving from archery to crafts, from singing in the clubhouse to riding horses. Each day felt full—so different from the slow, quiet stretches of home—and I realized, for the first time, how much I thrived on being engaged, curious, and always moving forward.

Horseback Riding

I learned horseback riding at Skyland, and it was there that I fell in love with horses. I remember the first time I was on a horse—her name was Katie—and when she started walking, I felt this deep, calming connection. From that summer on, riding was more than just a pastime—it was a part of me. After Skyland, even when I returned home, I kept riding. I took lessons, I went on trail rides, and those quiet moments in the saddle stayed with me. 

Poison Ivy

One of the activities I never really enjoyed at Skyland was swimming. The pool water came from the creek nearby, and it was murky, brown, and always cold. And being such a skinny little thing, I’d get chilled almost instantly, so I never really enjoyed it. My last summer at camp, I came up with this idea—if I rubbed poison ivy on myself, I’d get a rash and be excused from swimming. I didn’t think it would be serious, but I convinced Little Caroline to do it too. 

After a couple of days, we both broke out. My rash stayed in one small area, but for Little Caroline, it spread all over her arms and legs. I was so scared for her. She had to go to the camp nurse, and we both had to sit out of activities. I felt awful, knowing I had talked her into it. Even now, I remember that moment as one of the times I realized how serious some of those choices were—and how much I cared about her, even if I didn’t fully understand it at the time.

Until These Hills

We had two day trips. One was a special bus trip to Cherokee, North Carolina. We spent the day wandering through the town, exploring the shops full of crafts and Cherokee history. And in the evening, we went to “Unto These Hills,” an outdoor drama that told the story of the Cherokee people. As we sat there, under the open sky, listening to the music and watching the story unfold, I felt this deep respect for a history I was just beginning to understand. It was a day that stayed with me—one that opened up a whole new sense of wonder about the past and about the stories that shape us.

Sliding Rock

Another day trip we looked forward to was our visit to Sliding Rock, a sixty-foot waterfall with an easy slope with a natural rock slide and drop pool, located in the beautiful Pisgah National Forest near Brevard.

The excitement for the trip began long before we arrived there. In preparation, we would sew a washcloth onto the bottom of our bathing suits so the rough, water-worn rock wouldn’t rub a hole through the fabric while we slid down the smooth boulders.

The counselors packed picnic lunches for us, and we headed into the mountains full of anticipation.

Sliding Rock was pure exhilaration. The cold mountain water rushed over the flat stones as we launched ourselves downward, sliding fast over the slick boulders before splashing into the icy plunge pool below.

The water was shockingly cold, but that only made it more exciting.

We would climb out shivering and laughing, then hurry back up to do it again and again until we were completely exhausted.

We simply played,

sun-warmed stone,

girls laughing breathlessly

as they climbed back up the trail

to slide again.

Mica

ne of my favorite hikes was to a mica mine. I remember the trail winding up through tall pines, and when we got there, the sun caught in the mica, making them sparkle like tiny stars.The mine was more than just flecks of mica; it was these whole, big chunks of sheets of mica—layered, shimmering slabs we could actually pick up and carry. I remember carefully wrapping them in my suitcase when I left Skyland, each rock like a little treasure, holding a piece of the mountains with me. When I got home, I kept them on my dresser—those beautiful mica layers,

Remembering Skyland

My time at Skyland Camp is something I will always treasure. There was something about the mountains, the cool air, the structured days full of activity, the friendships, the freedom, and the feeling of being completely alive that touched something deep inside me. I only went those two years because I discovered boys were more fun than camp.

When summer ended and I returned home to Florida, part of me never really left. After I came home, I began having vivid dreams at night where I would fly. Not in an airplane, but with my own body. In the dreams, I would lift up effortlessly and fly all the way back to Clyde, North Carolina, to Skyland Camp. I would soar over the mountains, circle through the valleys, and glide above the trees, simply enjoying being there again.

The dreams felt joyful and peaceful. Even now, I think those dreams reveal how deeply Skyland affected me.

For the first time in my life, I experienced a feeling of freedom that was both exciting and safe. I was away from home, discovering new abilities, forming friendships, learning independence, and surrounded by beauty unlike anything I had known growing up in Florida.

Something inside me expanded there.

And perhaps part of me has always continued flying back.

Poem

The mountains entered my dreams

and stayed there.

Night after night,

I rose into the sky,

crossing distance effortlessly,

returning to the cool air,

the cabins,

the winding trails,

the freedom I had discovered there.

Some places do not leave us.

They become part of our inner landscape.

And long after childhood ends,

the soul still knows the way home.