Their minds arrived at the small town long before their bodies. Their minds arrived days, weeks, months, and sometimes 361 days ahead of their existential shells. And when the time had come, the bodies made their way to cars, vans, camper vehicles, RVs, motorcycles, and anything else that would get them there. The motor vehicles creaked, squeaked, and crawled onto small streets that lead to larger streets. And from the larger streets they went to snarled, gargantuan highways that paved the way to the town that was in the cross-hairs of their thoughts. They all had left their comfort zones, the conveniences of their permanent homes, and the daily, weekly, monthly routines and pedestrian ways of life.
The inhabitants of the bodies varied. Some were poor, some rich, but most were in between. Different politics, different religions, different points of view, different ages, different heights, different weights, different stages of hair loss, and differences of many kinds that ran wild. Most knew where they were going. A few did not. Nevertheless they all went. And when they arrived at the nothingness, something began to grow. Just a few arrived at first, much like scout ants seeking new sources for survival, sustenance, and a good hill. And then a few more came, and the numbers grew leisurely, but without hesitation and with overwhelming determination.
They searched for a place to live. For a day, a few days, or a week. And from the early group of sojourners, an evolution of leadership emerged. One thing led to another, and slowly a town began to take place. Rules, regulations, expectations, and understandings came forth. You know, the essentials required for a peaceful existence for the newly formed tribe in 80 acres of woods. A small tribe at first that would soon become army like in numbers.
The town sprung up quickly. After three days the population estimate was close to five thousand. And as with every town, their differences soon became apparent. Some of the new town folks lived in castle-like structures on wheels. Some in tents, some in make-shift structures, and some in sleeping bags just to make it through the night. Small cafes and businesses opened, and survived for as long as the town did. Live bluegrass entertainment abounded in the woods, on three stages, and in the most unlikely places imaginable. Yes, the town was created quickly, providing for the needs of its new citizens who exhibited their differences. At first the aforementioned differences among the folks continued. But then a strange thing began to happen.
A pervasive, ubiquitous, magnet-like force started to pull the minds and bodies of the town inhabitants into a unifying entity. Slowly the people forgot about their differences. And through the magic of bluegrass music, the people came together in body, mind, and spirit. It didn’t take long. They brought out their acoustic musical instruments. Guitars, banjos, fiddles, mandolins, dobros, and double basses could be heard and seen everywhere. Strangers didn’t last long. Song was pervasive and invaded waiting minds. Music cemented relationships.
The playing began, and did not stop. Some people played for an hour. Some played for hours on end. Some played for days. Some played during the day, some at night. Some played morning, noon, and night. Some played in their sleep. And when they didn’t play, some slept voluntarily. Some only involuntarily, as sleep took them with a force of its own and held them captive.
It was a good town. People got along. They played music and sang songs. Some even gave birth to new songs and bluegrass tunes. Some folks went so far as to buy an instrument in this town, and took the first steps in learning how to play it. And some who already knew how to play, learned how to play better. Many were inspired to play more than they were used to back in their permanent homes that they had now forgotten. And some who had previously given up playing altogether were revived, and started playing again.
The town council had secretly named the town. They called it, “Bluegrassville,” but they knew that all of the town’s people would not agree that it was the best possible name. They knew that the people of the town would want to form a committee to find the absolute best name, which might take days. Consequently the town council decided that they would disguise the name and call it, “The California Bluegrass Association’s Fathers Day Festival.” So they did, and the people of the town were happy.
But alas, all good things eventually come to an end. The town, as great as it was, only lasted for four days. It went up fast, and it came down fast. It was as disposable as the paper wrapper on a fast food hamburger. Just as in the story of Cinderella, at midnight on last day of the bluegrass festival, a Sunday, the town started to change, and gradually it disappeared. The tents were rolled up, the castles on wheels left, the other vehicles crawled out of the forest, and then the people were gone. That’s the bad news.
The good news is that the disposable town gets recreated every year, around the middle of June. You can visit the town this year, with the bluegrass festival starting on June 14th and going through June 17th in Grass Valley, California. Check the California Bluegrass Association’s website for detailed information and options for your summer bluegrass experience. And if you are still-on-the-fence about visiting the disposable town this year, don’t wait too long. After June 17, 2018, it’s gone!
