I am so grateful to the Board of Directors of the California Bluegrass Association and to Rick Cornish and Tim Edes for presenting me with an Honorary Lifetime Membership this year. I have spent an enormous amount of time, energy and love working with the CBA over the years and realize this is the highest honor I can receive from the Association and am thankful for the acknowledgement. More than anyone knows.
I mark my year Father’s Day Festival to Father’s Day Festival and those events produced memories blurred into a whole. I don’t remember entire festivals anymore but mark each of the three dozen I have attended into single memories both positive and negative: the year we first attended, the year Tony Rice didn’t sing, the year Rose Maddox posed for photos with my daughter. I definitely remember Mud Fest (etched in my memory) and the smell of wet straw still evokes memories of that week. I remember the year I tumbled into the water ditch and could not emcee with a black eye. I remember the year Raymond Fairchild appeared, the year the car transmission went out in Auburn, the years Bruno’s mother from Switzerland attended, the year of the first bicycle permits, the year I purchased my very last cassette tape (the Johnson Mountain Boys).
Other sweet memories are of people now gone who camped with us: Ken Terry, Tom Tworek, Rolf Juell and we all remember them year to year. I remember some of our noteworthy Spam Jams: the surgical facemask jam, the feather boa jam, the jam with the Greencards, the jam with the multiple Lloyd Loar mandolins. I remember the elaborate pyramids the children used to build with the cans of Spam. I remember the year we stopped cooking because meal time became work and not fun with the huge numbers of people attending. I remember the year I complained about the lack of portapotties in the campground and then found a shovel and roll of toilet paper in my camp. I remember bathing my son standing up in a dishpan and the rivulets of red dirt turning the clean water red and bathed a granddaughter in a dishpan this year.
I remember certain musical sets but don’t remember the rest of the festival or the year: Rose Maddox backed by the Bluegrass Patriots, the first year of the California Showcase Bands and Dark Hollow performing, the year we hemmed and pressed the Central Valley Boys’ first red suits at our camp and the spray painting white of their boots, I remember going to Raley’s to purchase Snuff for Mountain Heart. I fell hopelessly in love with bluegrass and I experienced chills the two years the Johnson Mountain Boys appeared (oh Dudley). I cried with laughter the first time I heard Ron Thomason and Dry Branch Fire Squad. I remember sleeping through the Doc Watson set and the lightening that closed the stage that night. I remember Alison Krause appearing on stage with KOBer Brittany Bailey and remember the first time Angelica Grim Doerfel sang with KOB. I, of course, remember the time Christine Grimm cut her foot when she fell into the water ditch and the bled all over the new showers.
I remember the year of the Giant Banjo Photo Booth with Tom Tworek which was also the year I stayed up every night (the last year I did that). I remember people and moments. I remember Tom Kingsley and Tom Davies playing the Theme from the Pink Panther over and over when they were first learning to play. I remember all the wonderful Steve Johnson teeshirt designs, my favorite being the Crop Circle.
I remember collecting leaves for a science project for Eric Gibson’s son and the exact moment Diana Donnelly told me her husband had died. I remember the year all the teenage girls flirted with a young Josh Williams and the first year Cowboy Jim Hyatt camped with us, I remember the year our future son-in-law attended and I made him watch the Seldom Scene and Longview, hoping to get him hooked on bluegrass. I remember the year a cold James King wandered into our camp and we gave him a jacket. I remember, of course, the year the Sheriff busted up our jam at 4AM. I remember the year the year the Bearfoot Bluegrass band from Alaska was taken to the Yuba every day and George Fredson cooked hundreds of pancakes in order to feed them. I remember the year Kids on Bluegrass practiced Tennessee Waltz across the road from us seemingly hundreds of times and then played it beautifully on stage. I remember the year Greg Booth attended and slept in our van and he and Peter Grant jammed together and dozens of people gathered to listen to their sweet dobros. I remember the year we met David Walker, David Zimmerman and Jim Chayka and Bruno worked on David Walker’s VW Van so he could drive it to Telluride.
Such memories, such an important piece of my life has been spent on the Nevada County Fairgrounds. I have watched the generations grow up. Some of the infants I once held during the festival performed on the Vern’s Stage this year. I no longer bring my own small children to the festival but bring the children of those children. I am blessed with such good memories, such good friends and Camp Spam and such a wonderful organization. I am grateful for the Honorary Lifetime Membership. I am grateful to the CBA for enhancing my life. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
