(The author of the following article intends no disrespect towards mothers, Mother’s Day or the Parkfild Bluegrass festival this weekend, which will be excellent.)
The Father’s Day Festival is barely a month away, and I find myself imagining myself there again. Over the past few years, I have settled into a certain routine as to where I camp, and I intend to maintain that habit – it makes the initial arrival easier, and it makes it easier to be found by others. I suppose if I didn’t want to be found I’d find a different place to camp, but that’s not the case. I like my yearly neighbors, too.
I already know what I’ll do when I get there. I’ll arrive and I will not be able to relax or socialize until I’ve defined my “space” – whatever that will be. Some years, it’s just as EZ-Up and a couple of chairs next to my truck. Other times, I’ve pitched a tent. Regardless, whether I’m camping at Grass Valley or backpacking in the Sierras, I can’t relax until I’ve defined my home space.
The next thing I’ll do is grab a cold adult beverage and stroll the grounds, to see who I can see. This is one of the sweetest times in the weekend. The possibilities of the weekend lay ahead, and it’s great to be done driving and starting the whole Grass Valley experience. I’ll see a lot of folks I see pretty regularly, and they’ll be a little different than they normally are – they’ll be in Grass Valley Mode.
After the initial walkthrough, it’ll be time to start prowling for a jam. It could be anybody. It might be some old familiar friends, or it may be some folks I barely know, or friends I have yet to meet. It might be a Jam for the Ages, or it could be awkward and tentative. There’s just no telling, and that’s just fine with me.
The day will slowly turn towards dusk, and I’ll start thinking of dinner and catching some of the shows. Some folks jam a lot and barely see ANY shows, and some folks hardly ever rise from their lawn chairs, preferring not to miss a minute of the action on the Big Stage. I hate to miss any of it, so I’m constantly torn – am I missing a jam? Am I missing the act that everyone says I shouldn’t miss? In the end, I play it by ear, if I may use a musical metaphor.
Once the sun goes down, the choices get even harder. The acts onstage are top notch, and the evening jamming is where the most magic seems to occur. The jams that you talk about for years afterwards, almost always seem to occur after dark – sometimes right before sunup. It’s kind of like those native American rituals, those rites of passage where the young brave endures hours of rigorous physical exertions to get in touch with the mystical side, and gain true insights. The same is true of marathon late night jams. At some point, you stop playing with your head, and your heart takes over. And those are the moments I am eagerly anticipating. See you there!
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