Washington County Pride QSA's 5th Annual Picnic in Review

A Community Posting by the Washington County Pride QSA

If you were anywhere near the corner of State Roads 56 and 135 on Sunday afternoon, you might’ve heard the music, the laughter, or the distant echo of applause. What you might not have heard — but almost certainly would have felt — was the sense of belonging that blanketed the space like shade on a sweltering day.

The Washington County Pride Queer Straight Alliance held its 5th Annual Pride Picnic this weekend, welcoming more than 100 people from across southern Indiana and beyond. What started as a small, heartfelt gathering in its first year has now become something else entirely: a homecoming. A reunion. A public declaration that there is joy, safety, and space for LGBTQ+ people in even the most rural corners of the state.

Guests came from Bloomington, Indianapolis, Evansville, and nearby towns — some arriving with folding chairs and covered dishes, others with nervous smiles and open hearts. For a few, it was their very first Pride event. For many, it was the first time they felt seen.

There were moments of celebration — a drag performance that drew cheers and tears. A Q&A session that turned into a spontaneous moment of storytelling and truth-telling. There was dancing, there was laughter, and there were hugs that didn’t let go too quickly.

And then there was the food. The centerpiece of the day was a cookout prepared by Chris Mather, who spent hours at the grill alongside his father Jim, his mother, and longtime friend Jason. All of the meat was donated, the tables were full, and everyone had something to offer — a side dish, a story, a helping hand. “Every hand was a helping hand,” said organizer Renée Mather, who helped guide the day’s unfolding.

The heat was intense, but so was the love. Volunteers had spent the days leading up to the event prepping the grounds — laying hoses, rigging up a misting station, and making sure there was space for everyone to feel safe, welcome, and celebrated.

One attendee described it best: “It felt like safety walked into the room.” Another said: “I didn’t know I needed it, but I needed this.”

There were kids playing in the shade. Elders sitting side-by-side on benches. Neighbors who hadn’t met before striking up conversation over lemonade. And behind it all — behind the drag and the glitter and the rainbow flags — there was a quiet resilience. A reminder that rural Pride isn’t just about celebration; it’s about visibility, survival, and joy.

The Washington County Pride group has grown steadily in recent years, hosting weekly gatherings, educational events, and mutual aid efforts. But this picnic — held on the grounds of a new community space tied to an emerging community action space — felt like a turning point. A rooting. A vision made real.

And fittingly, in a place where progress can feel painfully slow, the presence of so many — living, loving, and thriving — felt like its own kind of landmark.

As the sun dipped low and the last chairs were folded, the organizers were already being asked the same question over and over again: “So… what about next year?”