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The Guardian
a day ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘Embrace the cringe': at National History Day, kids impress judges by digging up the past
It only took 10 minutes for the trio of eighth-grade girls to recount the life story of Carol Ruckdeschel, the alligator-wrestling environmental activist sometimes called the 'Jane Goodall of sea turtles'. Inside the student union at the University of Maryland, about a 20-minute drive from Washington DC, and armed with papier-mache reptiles, they embarked on a performance that included a litany of costume changes and a pony-tailed rendition of the late president Jimmy Carter, an ally of the 83-year-old Ruckdeschel's work. When it concluded, the scary part began. A panel of judges peppered the girls with questions. Why did some people consider Ruckdeschel to be controversial? The girls hesitated. 'Sorry,' said one, 'but what does that word mean?' It was the first day of National History Day (NHD). In its 51st year, the annual US-based competition invites the top middle and high school students from more than half a million competitors to present their projects: documentaries, performances, websites, papers and exhibits on any topic from history, as long it adheres to the year's theme. The winners get cash prizes and the admiration of their teenage peers. The students come from all over – places like Oregon, Indonesia, North Dakota, Guam, Arkansas and China. Jake Sullivan, President Joe Biden's national security adviser, competed more than 20 years ago, as did Guy Fieri, whose project on the soft pretzel's origin helped inspire a future career as a TV star restaurateur. I also competed in NHD, reaching the Florida state competition in 2007 and 2009 with my twin brother. As I reported this year, I joked with students that I'd finally made it to nationals, just 16 years too late. Hardly any of them were even alive then, and the national reality couldn't have changed more. In April, NHD lost $336,000 after the Trump administration and the 'department of government efficiency' slashed funding for the National Endowment of Humanities, putting NHD in jeopardy. 'We had so many messages from kids saying, 'Please, please, please we can't let History Day go down,'' said Cathy Gorn, NHD executive director since 1995 and 'the Taylor Swift of history', as one student dubbed her last year (to many, there is no greater compliment). On social media she made an impassioned plea for donations. Last-ditch fundraising followed, including contributions from students, like a group from New York that held a bake sale and sent Gorn more than $300 in proceeds. With that, the competition found new legs – for this year, at least. 'It's kids learning,' said Gorn, 'what is controversial about that?' And these students want to learn the full history – both its roses and its thorns, or what Alexis de Tocqueville called 'reflective patriotism'. 'They have no filter,' John Taylor, the NHD state-coordinator from Maine, told me. 'They'll call anyone and ask them anything.' When I competed, the cardinal rule was to abstain from any citing of Wikipedia, a transgression that today seems nostalgically benign. Students now learn to hunt down reputable sources in an era defined by untrustworthy generative AI and revisionist histories. Some students even found that sources they'd cited in their research this spring – from governmental websites, no less – had disappeared altogether. 'You start to realize that many of them do more research for NHD than you did for your master's thesis,' Taylor laughed. He told me about a 130-page bibliography a student once turned in: 'That thing could have taken down a woodland creature.' These are history-defining times. Do students at NHD see the parallels, the precedence, in their projects? 'Oh yeah,' said Gorn, 'they get it.' The scene from the student union last Monday could have come straight from a Where's Waldo book. In one corner, a life-size cutout of George Washington leaned against a wall, until it was scooped up by girls in colonial-era ballgowns. Four lanky boys huddled together, their traffic-cone-orange dress shirts illuminated in the morning light. I heard a boy reading through a script, his manufactured accent undulating between George Clooney in O Brother, Where Art Thou? and wild west cowboy. In another hallway, lanyarded coordinators carried folders full of research papers and flash drives loaded with digital backups of student-directed documentaries (after a snafu at the state level, one group told me they'd brought eight). Nervous students were tailed by teachers and nervous parents with little brothers and sisters in tow, just happy to be along for the ride. As I walked in and out of competition rooms over the next three days, I saw a spectrum of stories that spoke to this year's competition theme, 'Rights and Responsibilities' – the Elgin marbles, birthright citizenship, lobotomies, Martin Luther King Jr, social security, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, the first Black character to appear in Charlie Brown. The theme, which sought to magnify the relationship between individuals and society, seemed especially prescient, even though it is one of several that NHD has recycled over the years. At a table finishing up a meal from Chick-fil-A sat Chloe Montgomery, an eighth-grader from Indiana, with her father, Ryan. The topic she chose to research – the Salem witch trials – had been bubbling up for years. 'You grow up hearing about the trials a lot,' said Chloe, 'like in Hocus Pocus!' Her project had ascended from the local competition in her hometown of Mishawaka, through regionals and states, all the way to nationals. Now, father and daughter were in the US capital for the very first time. She, too, was impressed by the spectrum of project topics: 'I saw one about Green Day!' In the hallway after the performance about Ruckdeschel, I caught up with the eighth-grade trio. 'We've had hundreds of sleepovers to work on this!' said Zoe Otis. Not only that, they'd traveled from their homes in Knoxville, Tennessee, ferried from mainland Georgia and then biked about 35 miles roundtrip – 'half of that was in the dark!' – to meet Ruckdeschel on Cumberland Island, where she lives alone in a cabin. They'd spoken with the octogenarian recluse, who still keeps a research lab with jars of turtle guts and bugs. For the girls, it was an eye-opening experience that at times bordered on gut-wrenching. 'There was a giant, dead boar on the side of her house,' said Gemma Walker. 'She hunts, and eats roadkill.' 'We always tell ourselves to 'embrace the cringe',' said Addy Aycocke, laughing. This, it turned out, was part of the reason Ruckdeschel was considered controversial, along with her decades-long jousting with the National Park Service and the Carnegie family over environmental protection of the island and its sea turtles. It's this flavor of research – active, firsthand, hands-dirtying – that history professors at Case Western Reserve University in Ohio, who started NHD in 1974, saw as the antidote to the traditional textbooks and multiple choice repetition that often went hand in hand with learning history. A science-fair-like competition, they hoped, would propel students to both dig into dusty archives and track down primary accounts – to feel history, rather than to memorize it. Later on, I heard stray conversation about Trump's deployment of the national guard and marines in Los Angeles. Less than 10 miles away, tanks were arriving in Washington for a military parade. 'You look at the news, and all you see is negativity,' Gorn told a room of volunteer judges. 'But spend a couple of days at National History Day and it'll give you hope.' It was true. There was an attitude of genuine, mutual encouragement that seems difficult to come by these days. The students seem to understand that nothing is a zero-sum game, that striving for excellence and being amiable with competitors are not mutually exclusive. When I spoke to Gorn a week before, we'd discussed the critical role of history, and its sometimes precarious place in school curriculum. 'No Child Left Behind left history education behind,' she said of the 2001 congressional act that, in a quest for equality and accountability in schools, shifted focus to standardized testing and left less time for the humanities. Meanwhile, the national emphasis on Stem subjects could be traced to the National Defense Education Act that followed the Soviet Union's launch of Sputnik in 1957. These subjects are important – she doesn't argue that – but 'not at the expense of history'. 'It's a real disservice to our democracy,' said Colleen Shogan, who works with NHD and was archivist of the United States until February, when she was dismissed by Trump without reason. 'We are not teaching kids how the constitution functions and what the principles are that we all agree upon as Americans.' The politicized situations that some history teachers find themselves facing are a marked difference from when Gorn began in education in the 1980s. Disgruntled parents and school boards sometimes seek repercussions if lessons don't align with their own interpretations of history, often along the lines of race and equity. 'I've heard many [teachers] say, 'If I can't teach complete history, I can't teach any more,' Gorn said. Not only that, she lamented the attitude that learning the thorny parts of the nation's past is somehow teaching kids 'to hate America'. Not true, she said. 'Kids are resilient and they know when you're pulling it over their eyes.' Young people need to understand that there has been struggle. 'That's how we develop empathy,' she said. 'Learning history does that.' It was 6.58pm on Monday, and a crowd had gathered around flat screens throughout the student center. In a few minutes, they'd display the list of competition finalists. Students were anxious. Some killed time by doing each other's hair. At 7pm, several shrieks sounded. A little brother covered his ears and mouthed 'Oww!' while student faces split into a telling binary of smiles and frowns. Teachers and parents – quite a respectful bunch when compared to the kind you might find on a suburban soccer field – squinted to read the tiny font. 'Maybe that judge wasn't so bad after all,' said one mother. Three of the smiling students were from Minnesota. Sara Rosenthal and Helen Collins had been selected to move on for their documentary about Radio Free Europe, the American soft-power station begun during the cold war to spread democratic influence to communist countries. Their friend, Jack Grauman, was also advancing. For months, he'd researched Frank Kameny for his one-person performance about the astronomer who'd been removed from the US army in 1957 for being gay. It was 'powerful' to be headed to the finals, Grauman said, and just miles away from Washington, no less, where the current administration is targeting LGBTQ+ rights. Meanwhile, funding for Radio Free Europe is on the Doge chopping block, as are press freedoms around the world. Their teacher told me the girls had to update the ending of their documentary several times to keep up. Even here, students and educators sometimes hesitated before answering my questions. One group of students, from Singapore, was talkative until I asked about their projects' relevance to today – one was specifically about American borders. In my periphery, I saw their classmates miming the slit-throat gesture, as if to say 'don't answer that one'. Later, I spoke with a group of judges inside the forest of elaborate poster board presentations. One of them kindly declined to go on the record: 'I'm a federal worker. I don't want any attention.' Back with the Minnesotans, the outlook was rosy. How would they be celebrating? 'We're going to the dance!' Before leaving campus for the evening, I poked my head into what I'd expected to be an awkward affair. Bass of early 2000s hits – oldies to this crowd – pounded through the walls. I passed two middle-schoolers outside. 'It's weird to talk about your exes to your new boyfriend, you know?' 'But I want to know everything!' Inside, hundreds of students were cherishing their success or drowning their relative disappointment with fruit juices and soda. It was a mocktail of hoodies, high heels, recycled homecoming dresses, black-suited vests, and one especially-civic-minded student in a T-shirt that said 'Support Local Music'. The trading of pins – each state or country delegation had brought their own – provided much of the necessary social lubrication. And then it was Thursday: results day. Across the hardwood of an indoor arena, delegations marched in like at an Olympic closing ceremony, some carrying flags and inflatable animals and wearing bedazzled top-hats. Once everyone took their seats, Gorn stepped up to the microphone, pumped her hands in the air and roared: 'Happy History Day everybody!' Then she teed up a special treat: a congratulatory video from a real-life Thunderbird pilot and NHD alum. Finally, it was time to hear the results. It was a successful day for the Minnesotan contingent. Grauman won a special prize for 'equality in history', climbing the steps to the stage wearing a large smile and a pair of Crocs. Almost two hours of nervous waiting later, Rosenthal and Collins heard their names announced at last – the silver for middle school documentary was theirs. The gold went to a pair of students from Chiang Mai, Thailand, for their look into the UK miners' strike of 1984. If funding comes through, next year's NHD theme – 'Revolution, Reaction, Reform in History' – will again seem especially relevant. If there was a silver lining to the uncertainty, Gorn said, it's that students felt how a decision made far away in the nation's capital could directly affect them. As Vritti Udasi, a high schooler from Florida, told me: 'The place where we are today didn't come out of thin air. If we study history, dissect it, then we can progress.'
Economist
2 days ago
- Politics
- Economist
For Trump, both action and inaction in Iran have consequences, says Karim Sadjadpour
IRAN HAS an uncanny way of hijacking American presidencies. The 1979 Iranian revolution and subsequent hostage crisis ended Jimmy Carter's presidency. The Iran-contra affair tainted Ronald Reagan's presidency. Iranian machinations in post-war Iraq corroded George W. Bush's presidency. The October 7th attacks on Israel by Hamas, a member of Iran's axis of resistance, triggered a brutal war that subsumed Joe Biden's presidency. Donald Trump may have envisioned a second term spent striking deals to resolve wars, but the Iran-Israel war could suck him in, too.
Economist
2 days ago
- Politics
- Economist
Trump's Iran strategy has been transformed by Israeli persistence and Iranian defiance, says Karim Sadjadpour
IRAN HAS an uncanny way of hijacking American presidencies. The 1979 Iranian revolution and subsequent hostage crisis ended Jimmy Carter's presidency. The Iran-contra affair tainted Ronald Reagan's presidency. Iranian machinations in post-war Iraq corroded George W. Bush's presidency. The October 7th attacks on Israel by Hamas, a member of Iran's axis of resistance, triggered a brutal war that subsumed Joe Biden's presidency. Donald Trump may have envisioned a second term spent striking deals to resolve wars, but the Iran-Israel war could suck him in, too.
Buzz Feed
5 days ago
- General
- Buzz Feed
My Husband's Bombshell Decision As Kids Left Home
We lie in bed tangled up in the sheets on a Monday night, savoring the little time we have left before my husband will leave for a month. There are piles of military uniforms folded neatly and stacked high on the dresser. His camouflage bags are scattered on the floor. My husband's decision to join the Army — at age 55, no less — is no longer an abstraction that will come to pass sometime in the distant future. He leaves in six days. We have been married for 24 years, and this is the longest we will have ever been apart. At this moment, I really do not want to let him go. I want to forget the whole thing and get back to our normal life — the one where we have launched three of our four kids off to college, with only our youngest, age 17, still at home. He's our baby boy, but that baby boy is incredibly independent now. In fact, tonight he has driven himself to hockey practice, which is why we have the luxury of lying in bed among the clothes we carelessly tossed off a little while ago. I want this experience for my husband. I know he has longed to give back to this country, which truly became a land of opportunity for his family when his parents immigrated here nearly 60 years ago. When he was 9 years old, he wrote a letter to then President-elect Jimmy Carter stating, 'Even though my skin is brown and I wear glasses, I hope to become president someday.' The letter resulted in an invitation to President Carter's inauguration, which his mother proudly took him to on a cold January afternoon in 1977. His desire to serve, born out of gratitude for a life filled with possibilities that his own parents had not had, existed long before we ever met. I want this for him. I am just not so sure I want this for me — or for us. My husband has been my 'person' for more than half my life. We met when I was fresh out of school, a 23-year-old nurse taking care of one of his patients. He was a first-year surgical resident. He asked my coworker for permission to look up my phone number on the Rolodex at the nurses' station. 'A what?' my kids would ask whenever we recounted this story. Those were the early days before we settled down and bought a house, which, over the course of seven years, gradually filled until we had four children. Raising our kids kept us busy — in so many good ways, but busy nonetheless. People, mostly parents themselves, would remind me of that old saying, 'The days are long, but the years are short.' At that time, the days mostly felt long to me. Now I look back on them with nostalgia while I sit in a very quiet house. Some nights, I miss hearing little bare feet running down the hallway to our bed after a bad dream. Time has raced by faster than I could have predicted — just as all those people promised me it would. I always thought when our nest was empty, my husband and I would have the freedom to do whatever we pleased. I fantasized about a more mature version of life in our 20s — less responsibility, more freedom. We could eat cereal for dinner or hop in the car on a Friday and see where the road took us. Perhaps I imagined doing what we are doing tonight — stripping off our clothes and jumping into bed. My husband joining the Army was never part of that vision. Everything changed one day as he and I were driving home from New York City to Boston a few years ago. We had just dropped our son off at college. At that time, we had two kids who had left the house and two still living with us. I am grateful that he was the one driving. If I had been behind the wheel when he told me he wanted to join the Army's medical corps, I might have slammed on the brakes right there in the middle of the Merritt Parkway. If I had not been what suddenly felt like trapped in that vehicle, I might have run. Maybe this is why he chose that moment to broach the topic. He explained the details of this military program for surgeons. It involved a total commitment of two years and required several one-month training sessions and one weekend away at a domestic base each month. All of these sessions would prepare him to set up a field hospital and command the unit that ran it. Sometime during those two years, my husband would be deployed for three months to implement all the skills he had learned while caring for soldiers. He would not know the location of his deployment for some time. He would keep his regular job in Boston, and we would not need to relocate. After his commitment was fulfilled, he would be given the option — not the requirement — to renew for another two years, which he assured me he would not do without my agreement. I wanted to scream. I did not want him to leave just as we were about to have more time together. It all seemed so unnecessary. The house felt as if it had been emptying so quickly already. And then there were the logistics and all of the responsibilities that would become all mine while he was gone: the dogs, the house, our kids. Beyond that, there was the danger that looms anytime someone heads off into an area of conflict — the risk of harm, or worse. I could barely stomach those thoughts. Instead, I focused on the burden — and with it came anger, which was easier to concentrate on than the fear lying just beneath it. Our conversation continued for nearly a year. My anger eventually began to fade and gave way to a new perspective. I was able to see his decision as being about generosity and sacrifice and service in its truest sense. I was able to see it as a testament to the character of the man I had married, not a mark against him. It was a reminder of why I fell in love with him in the first place and still love him all these years later. The recruiter, who looked young enough to be my son, flew across the country to meet with me. He called me 'ma'am' and answered my questions as we sat on my front porch on a hot summer afternoon. After gaining a greater understanding of what would be required, I agreed to the two-year commitment. This did not happen immediately after the recruiter's visit — first, I had to conduct a personal inventory of my own dreams and how they fit into our life going forward. When the world shut down due to COVID in 2020, I made two important changes. I ended a years-long dance with alcohol — one where I was no longer always leading the steps. My husband embraced my choice, which evolved into a lifestyle. When I turned 50 a few years later, he threw me a small surprise birthday party and served only mocktails. There was not a drop of alcohol, even though some of our guests may have enjoyed a drink. The second change I made was returning to writing, a craft I had loved when I was young. I began to hide out in my office with the door closed whenever I could and immersed myself in reading and writing. I even signed up for a writing class. One day, I mentioned to my husband I wanted to read something by William Faulkner. The next morning, as I was writing with my office door closed, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the door open ever so slightly. My husband reached into the room with his tattered copy of As I Lay Dying that he has had since college and placed it on my desk. He did not speak or interrupt my creative space, he just set down his beautiful gift and left me to work. I reflected on many instances like this I've experienced during our life together. In each memory, my husband is at my side encouraging and nurturing me. He has been my most ardent supporter, and now it is my turn. He wants to use his skills in a new way — to delicately remove bullets, pack wounds, and save limbs. He wants to repair and suture those who risk injury and death to protect our country. To protect the freedom his parents were granted when they arrived in the United States in the early 1960s. I have the choice to support him or not. There is only one right answer for me. We have told our family and friends about his decision to enlist. The first question that most of them ask is, 'Will you be deployed?' We tell them what we know and explain that he could end up somewhere far from conflict where soldiers are airlifted in for surgery. He could also be sent to set up a hospital somewhere that is so close to active fighting that he could hear it from his tent. Our kids are incredibly proud of the decision. Many people thank my husband for his service. Some ask, 'Is this something you actually want to do?' His steady response to this question is always, 'I was not drafted, if that is what you are asking.' Some people turn their heads to me, and ask, 'Are you OK with this?' The truth is, I am afraid that he could be wounded, and I'm worried that my kids and I could someday be standing next to a casket draped in an American flag. Still, my honest reply is always the same: 'Yes, I am OK with it and I will support him through it all.' How could I not? That would mean standing in the way of a dream. But I am also excited for him. I see the joy on his face when he puts on that uniform. It evokes a sense of pride that can light up a room, and I get a glimpse of that 9-year-old boy with brown skin and glasses writing to President Carter. I have committed to this plan because I am committed to him, to us, and to our journey. Recently, a colleague invited my husband to a work dinner. He declined, explaining that he would be away on active orders. She congratulated him on his new role and then told him that reinventing ourselves is what keeps us living. That stuck with me. Loving him — all of the versions of him — and him loving me back in that same way is part of the reason our marriage has lasted this long. I have learned that love demands sacrifice, compromise, and risk. It means supporting your partner through moments of uncertainty, even when you feel afraid — maybe especially when you feel afraid. Standing in the way of aspirations is the opposite of love. Courtesy of Jennifer Gangadharan The author with her husband at his Army Medical Department Direct Commission Course Graduation on March 4, 2024. For tonight though, I will relish in him stroking the hair out of my face — something he has done thousands of times. I will take in the feel of my cheek against his bare chest. I will hold all of this with me when he heads off to practice drills with his platoon in six days, and then again when he is deployed overseas. And while so much of me wants to stand in the doorway — to cling to his body and not let him go — I think about his colleague's words. I think about how he only opened the door to my office a crack and how a room full of people sipped mocktails because of his love. My husband's decision to join the Army is my pen to paper. It is my sobriety. It is what keeps us living. It is what keeps us admiring each other after all these years. It is part of the reason we find ourselves tangled up in the sheets tonight. Two middle-aged adults lazing around in bed, talking about our next chapter, growing newer and older together. Jennifer Gangadharan has spent 24 years raising her kids and practicing as a registered nurse. She currently works in substance use and violence prevention in the Boston area. She is currently working on a memoir.
Yahoo
6 days ago
- Yahoo
This Small Georgia Town Two Hours From Atlanta Is The Watermelon Capital Of The World
When you think of a small Southern town, Cordele, Georgia fits the bill—friendly diners, historic architecture, and classic summer festivals. But it also brings a few surprises. Just two hours south of Atlanta, this agricultural hub in Crisp County is home to farms, wide-open countryside, and more watermelons than you've likely seen in one place. In fact, Cordele proudly claims the title of Watermelon Capital of the World, thanks to its bustling summer harvest and massive state-run produce market that supplies much of the Southeast. But the town's appeal goes far beyond its famous fruit. Whether you're relaxing on a vintage train ride through President Jimmy Carter's hometown, glamping lakeside at Georgia Veterans State Park, or feeding longhorns on a working cattle ranch, this small town offers big reasons to make the drive. Here are 12 things to do in Cordele. Related: This Small Georgia Town With Its Own French Quarter Is The Perfect Day Trip From Atlanta Any local will tell you the SAM Shortline Excursion Train is a must. This historic rail line lets you take in the Georgia countryside from the comfort of an air-conditioned vintage train car. Your journey begins at Georgia Veterans State Park, crossing the scenic Lake Blackshear before arriving in Plains, President Jimmy Carter's quaint hometown where you can explore local shops and enjoy peanut butter treats. Onboard concessions and themed rides, such as wine-and-cheese pairings or the murder-mystery dinner train, make the journey all the more memorable. 105 9th Ave E, Cordele, GA 31015; 229-276-0755 If you want to see the small town at its sweetest, plan your trip during the Watermelon Days Festival, Georgia's oldest festival honoring the workers behind this bountiful industry since 1949. Held every June, this tradition celebrates the year's harvest with a festive parade, classic car displays, live music, and what feels like endless fresh-cut watermelon. And that's just the main event. In the weeks leading up to it, expect a full month of community fun—from geocaching and 5K races to scavenger hunts and kid-friendly contests. 229-273-1668 If you like history, lake views, and quiet time in nature, this park should be high on your list. A memorial to U.S. veterans, the 1,300-acre park features an on-site Military Museum with both indoor and outdoor installations—including jets, tanks, a helicopter, and even a B-29A Superfortress. There's also plenty of opportunities for recreation, so bring comfortable shoes to wander the four miles of hiking trails, head to Lake Blackshear for boating, fishing, and other water recreation, or test your aim at the Archery & Air Gun Range. 2459 US-280 W, Cordele, GA 31015; 229-276-2371 Located at Georgia Veterans State Park, this 18-hole course designed by golf architect Denis Griffiths features a challenging layout with rolling mounds, water hazards, and sand bunkers. Part of the Lake Blackshear Resort and Golf Club, the course is open from 8 a.m. to dusk, seven days a week. And all rounds are accompanied by scenic views and cool breezes coming off the lake. After your game, head to the course's full-service clubhouse for happy hour and a satisfying meal. 2315 US-280, Cordele, GA 31015; 229-276-2377 You don't have to be a motorsports expert to enjoy the fast-paced fun at Cordele Motor Speedway. Spread across 100 acres, this small-town racetrack hosts weekly Division Trials featuring go-karts, pit stop challenges, and INEX-sanctioned Bandolero and Legends races—giving you a front-row seat to local talent and rising national stars. Visitors appreciate the clean facilities, friendly staff, and wheelchair-accessible seating. Tickets start as low as $10 for children over six and $20 for adults. 385 Farmers Market Rd, Cordele, GA 31015; 229-938-8814 This retired Titan I missile now serves as one of the most photo-worthy roadside stops in all of Georgia. Located just off I-75, this 98-foot space monument is the real deal—a decommissioned Cold War missile transported from California to Georgia in 1969. It was placed here thanks to local veterans and the Cordele Rotary Club, which wanted to honor the region's military history. As you explore the site, read the informative plaques, enjoy the surrounding park, and snap plenty of photos for bragging rights. 1815 16th Ave E, Cordele, GA 31015 Run by native Texan Barry Baskin and his wife Susan, Aussie Acres Ranch is home to a registered herd of Texas Longhorns. Get up close with these majestic animals during the Meet and Greet Experience, where you'll learn their history and feed them treats right from your palm. While you're on the property, explore the lake at your own pace, bring gear for fishing, or pick from their plentiful fruit trees when in season. 1741 Cemetery Rd, Pitts, GA 31072; 423-371-0421 For a satisfying start to the day, head to BJ's Diner, a no-frills spot known for its homestyle soul food—and probably the only place where you can enjoy pancakes alongside smothered pork chops and fried chicken. At lunch, locals line up at Smoakies Bar-B-Que for chopped barbecue plates and Brunswick stew, best enjoyed on the shaded porch. Dinner by the lake comes with breezy views and frequent live music at Cypress Grill, where the menu is casual but satisfying. In town, 16 East Bar & Grill offers steaks and wings inside a revamped warehouse setting, while Daphne Lodge, a 1950s-era favorite amongst locals, leans classic with fried catfish and shrimp served in a charmingly rustic dining room. This isn't your average farmers market. Open daily from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m., the Cordele State Farmers Market is one of the largest and oldest of its kind in Georgia—and a vital hub for watermelon distribution throughout the Southeast. At the height of melon season, hours stretch from sunrise to nearly midnight. Even outside of peak harvest, you'll find locally grown produce, regional specialties, and a true glimpse into Cordele's agricultural heart. 128 Seedling Dr, Cordele, GA 31015 This working cattle ranch isn't just for touring—you can also stay overnight in the property's 2-story guesthouse overlooking open pastures and a 6-acre pond. Inside, there's nearly 1,500 square feet of space for up to 10 guests, with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and two full kitchens. Start your morning by the bay window in the first floor kitchen for a view of the fields, and end the day on the private balcony, where the sunsets stretch wide across the farm. Guests are encouraged to wander the wooded trails, paddle across the private lake, wind down fireside beneath the stars, and take in the easygoing rhythm of life on the ranch. 423-371-0421 Live out your boho-chic camping dreams with a stay at Timberland Glamping, tucked along the perimeter of Georgia Veterans State Park. Choose between two air-conditioned tent types—the Deluxe Safari or Double Safari—each outfitted with real beds, mini fridges, electrical outlets, and stylish touches that make 'roughing it' feel anything but. A private bathhouse with showers, restrooms, and laundry is located just a short walk from the tents, along with picnic tables, grills, and hammocks throughout the site. From your tent, it's just a short stroll to the shores of Lake Blackshear, where you can rent kayaks, book a pontoon cruise, or cast a line off the dock. Georgia Veterans State Park, 2459 US-280, Cordele, GA 31015; 912-550-4096 For another relaxed lakeside stay, spend a few nights at one of the ten cottage-style cabins at Lake Blackshear Resort & Golf Club. Set right along the water's edge, each cabin includes two spacious bedrooms, a large bathroom, a fully equipped kitchen, and a cozy family room with a fireplace—ideal for winding down after a day outdoors. Guests have easy access to the resort's golf course, marina, and on-site dining, plus a screened porch outfitted with rocking chairs and a grill perfect for sunset dinners. 2459-H, 2459 US-280 West, Cordele, GA 31015; 229-276-1004 Read the original article on Southern Living
