Monday Morning Coming Down

Monday, July 20, 2009

Nothing like a Monday Morning Coming Down. Nicky was to be picked up at her B&B. The cats needed to be fed, plants watered, etc.. V&C came to our place at Tracy's to say goodbye, as he and Christie were to resume their lives back in Philly. Carol and I studied the map for where best to go next, but first there were some urgent Casita duties to attend to. The most pressing was the toilet tank. It was close to overflowing so we needed to find a place to drain it. Campgrounds and state parks always have dump stations so we headed back to Treman State Park, thinking we'd get a day pass to use the facilities, have a swim, then move on. However, since they were charging $7 for a day pass, we decided to pay another $15 and spend the night. This way we could get organized, have a shower, and get an early start the next day. One of the nice things about being on extended vacation is that one can readily adjust plans according to changing events. It was great to be off-schedule again. We unloaded the bikes, pedaled up to the swimming hole and jumped in. That is to say I jumped in. Carol, on the other hand, did a magnificent swan dive from the ten foot diving board. It was pretty impressive, hearkening back to her days on the swim team.
Our campsite had electricity so we watched part two of “Liberty! The American Revolution” on DVD. That was a treat. This PBS series is so informative and well done that it made both of us proud to be Americans again.

Grassroots Festival Day 3

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Carol slept in while I drove over to Vince's camp. I arrived just in time for a hearty breakfast. Vince, like most Italians, eats well. He always has a good spread and I helped myself to a handful of organic olives before Christie finished whipping up some tasty omelettes. The plan for the morning was for Vince and I to pick up Knut and take him to the Farmers Market and have one last time together. After today, our Triumvirate would go our separate ways. Funny how things turn out. Time just keeps on moving. I think about the years I spent with the two of them in Europe, and now we only see each other for a few days here and there, every few years or so. I suppose we knew it…that these were the days of our youth, but I wish I could have slowed it down and appreciated it more. Maybe that's the lesson to take away in the here and now. Anyway, we had a great time at the market, sitting out on the marina deck and watching the panorama of people go by. We talked of old times, took some pictures, then I dropped off the dynamic duo and headed back to the Casita. Carol was finally stirring.

Unfortunately we did not take the lessons from Mariposa to heart because we didn't get to the festival until 6pm, after a pasta feast at Vince and Christie's camp. Once at the festival, we went to the merchandise tent to buy Donna the Buffalo cd's. Knut's daughter, Blossom, was working there and we had a brief visit with her. She looks like her name. Ah, the sweet glow of youth.

Once we got down to the field I parked our chairs in front of the main stage, thinking it best to stay put rather than spend hours migrating between stages trying to catch each performance. Carol, on the other hand, is much more aggressive. With the performance schedule in her pocket, she zipped between stages so as not to miss any bands that she'd researched and wanted to see. By staying put, I was able to see a given groups' entire performance rather than bits and pieces on the fly. While Carol was out gallivanting around, I listened to The Believers, a Seattle-based band that Carol had shrugged and walked away from after 3 songs. Little did she know that soon Donna the Buffalo would join them for the last half of their act. Instead, she went off to see A Hot Day at the Zoo, a 'zoograss' band in the cabaret tent, whom she later raved about and wished I'd been there. She also saw a Native American performer, Keith Secola, who led the audience in a circle dance that turned into a human spiral. She apparently watched it from a birdseye perspective, standing up on the bleachers so as to see the spiral unwind. She also saw Vince from up there, who'd been walking around taking photos. Meanwhile, not too far from where I was sitting, a topless young woman was dancing away. This, I have to add, did not in any shape, manner or form influence my decision to stay put. After awhile Carol came back with some good, hot phad thai, and we settled in for the finale.

Finally, the closing act. Donna the Buffalo played for about an hour before they started bringing up guest performers. By the end of the night, well after 2 in the morning and five hours of music, every major performer of the festival had played with the Buffalo. The highlight for me was a spontaneous rendition of Billie Jean. The fellow who sang it brought the house down. Had he been able to do the moonwalk, the place would have gone into the 5th dimension. It was that special. Everyone seemed to feel it, the place was electric. Carol and I just kept smiling at each other, then back at the stage where everyone was smiling and playing along.

There were several other great songs and magical moments of the night, and once the last encore ended it was time to go home. After three days, all these strangers seemed almost like old friends. Hope we get to come back again. Maybe next year for the 20th anniversary of this great music fest.

Grassroots Festival Day 2

Saturday, July 18th 2009

We'd planned on getting to festival earlier but between our leisurely ways and house-sitting duties, we didn't leave until nearly 4 pm. It was still overcast and a bit chilly so Carol was bummed that she had to dress rather more practical than her usual festive attire.

When we got there the party was in full swing as we mingled through the ever changing throngs. We met Vince and Christie on the grassy hill and people-watched for awhile, then went to check out some music. The Horse Flies, a local favorite, were holding forth on the center stage. They have a unique sound that is difficult to describe. Meandering over to the ice cream stall we chanced upon Scythian, a Celtic music group in the dance tent. They were very cool, and very talented.

Later we watched Bela Fleck play his banjo, as he does so well. He soon brought Oumou Sangare on stage; a black, French chick from Mali. Did she ever liven things up. You can only listen to a solo banjo for so long. Then they brought on Alash Ensemble, a Tuvan (Mongolian) throat singing group that wowed the crowd. It was an interesting and eclectic set.

After that we wandered around and had more delicious food for dinner, then strolled through the craft stalls and art barns, and down to the infield where things were getting livelier. Part of the fun of this festival is that there are a limited number of camping sites right inside the fairgrounds and it's first come, first camped. One group of tents formed a little pavilion next to the main pathway between stages. It's amazing what people will do for a guy with a bullhorn. Every time we passed this area a guy with a bull horn was offering free frisking, asking people to join in some games, asking girls to take off their shirts, or some such thing. Usually people ignored his requests but by Saturday evening, things had changed. This time there was a fair sized crowd around this makeshift pavilion and the master of ceremonies had them cheering. Inside the ring were 6 young ladies playing leap frog with a completely naked young man with a party favor tiara on his head. The crowd was loving it. Camera flashes were going off and I'm sure videos were being shot. The Bullhorn was exhorting the female participants to shed their clothes as well. Things were moving in that direction and they'd just started wheelbarrow racing when a beefy Samoan looking security man put an end to it. Oh well. I was looking forward to watching this unfold. People booed him away then peacefully dispersed, and that was the end of that sideshow. We never made it back to see if they were able to initiate any new chicanery but I hope they were.

Moving between stages, Carol led me into the dance tent where a terrific bluegrass band was playing. We stomped and twirled around with the best of them and briefly joined a line dance, but soon fell out of their step and into our own. The crowd soon parted for us, and we ended with my bending Carol into a deep dip to the final strains of the music.

The closing act was Donna the Buffalo. They played until 2:00 in the morning, creating a wonderful ambience with their mix of incredible guitar, violin, keyboard, accordian and rhythm section. Mystic Water was one of the most hypnotic songs ever performed. Carol and I both felt entranced, as did everyone else. This is one great live band. We were truly transported and for a couple hours felt like one of the Herd (their troupe of traveling fans). Up in the sky Jupiter beamed, stars dotted the night scape and all was right with the world.

Grassroots Festival Day 1

Friday, July 17, 2009

We ran some errands in town, then headed to the Pinecreek campground where V&C were setting up. It was great to see them after a week apart, and Nicky got to see them again before going off to the local Bed & Biscuit. Alas, festivals and dogs don't mix, so off she goes. I always hate warehousing the little rascal, as one never knows what kinds of bad habits she might pick up in such places.

We decided to carpool to the festival today so after dropping Nicky off, we rolled into Trumansburg and found a parking spot a half a mile from the fairground entrance. Passing through the gate we were soon immersed in a new reality. The music was loud and vibrant, coming from three different locations, and the crowd moved to their own rhythms; dancing, eating, meandering, people-watching. This was like the Wild West compared to Mariposa. The smell of ganja permeated the air and the coolers being toted around surely didn’t have soda in them. All the cops were outside the fence while inside was a serious party happening. Halter dresses, bare feet, bare midriffs, and tie-dye seemed the order of the day. My first thought was, “What am I doing here? I’m 59 years old… been there done that”. The average age of the crowd was probably in their late 20’s. It didn’t take long, though, to fall in with the atmosphere and enjoy myself. In spite of the frivolity, the whole scene was pretty peaceful. Upon further inspection, I saw many people in my age bracket, all probably feeling the way I did. To some it’s new, to some it’s nostalgia. To the children running around, it was just a big playground.

The first stage we wandered to showcased a fellow named Jim Lauderdale. He was more like a Country & Western dude but I noticed he was being backed by Donna the Buffalo, a beloved regional band I’d seen before, so we hung out and listened. The ensemble played good “country rock” and Carol was happy that he mentioned Gram Parsons by name. There were so many acts going on simultaneously that it was hard choose where to go. After his set we headed to the food, picked up some spicy pasta and sat on the grass to eat, while I counted my blessings. I'm not nearly as nimble as I used to be but I’m still alive and ticking. Knut couldn’t be here due to his condition. A high school friend “The Freid” died last month. My riding buddy “X” was killed in a motorcycle accident last spring. People I'll never see again. So this festival is for them. I'll go on enjoying it for all of us.

We headed for another stage and caught the end of Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings. They played great live funk, and really put on a show. The crowd was energized. After they finished, we wandered a bit more and had ice cream, then some members of our party were tired so we called it a night. It was dark by now, and so we left the festival with a good idea what was in store for the rest of the weekend.

Casita day, Ithaca NY

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Cold, cloudy, and overcast are not the most inspiring elements to get one out of bed. Therefore, we dawdled. We procrastinated. We read. We worked on the blog. I talked with Vince on the phone. He would not arrive in Ithaca until the next afternoon. Although the first day of the Grassroots Festival begins today, we decide to stay in the Casita and go tomorrow with Vince and Christie. Considering the foreboding weather, and not being altogether sure of how to get there and where best to park, it seemed a good idea to stay home. We also assumed the lesser bands would be playing on Thursday, saving the best for last. Unfortunately, we discovered too late that the opening night performances were considered some of the best of the festival. Rusted Root played, and they were apparently fantastic. If only we'd seen a schedule ahead of time. Live and learn. The excitement of the day was Carol's grapes that included a mutation of three grapes in one.

Back in Ithaca, NY

Wednesday, July 15 2009

Although the stock market was up 256 points, I was off to a bad start. During the decamping process I inexplicably moved the van forward after attaching the trailer. Normally this is a good thing but when one forgets to retract the awning first, it's bad. All things considered, it could’ve been worse. One of the poles bent and its telescopic holding device broke in half. Naturally, I was beside myself. If there is anything that bothers me it is unforced errors. I could think of little else on the ride back to Ithaca. Pulling into Lowe's, I conceived of a bold plan to rectify the situation. Using the smallest C clamp I could find I was able to fasten a working solution. Whenever we get back to Arizona I will have it repaired properly, but for the time being it works well enough.

Meanwhile, like regular a local, Carol strolled over to the Ithaca Bakery and purchased their last four tickets to the Grassroots Festival. It's nice to be back in a town where everything is familiar rather than constantly wondering where things are and making wrong turns.

Anyway, we are now back at Tracy's. We had a short visit before she and the girls left for Cincinnati. They're very disappointed to miss the festival but realize a family wedding must come first.

Our awning is up, it's raining, and we're enjoying cups of tea in our little kitchen, overlooking a vast expanse of verdant green lawn. My present concern is the solar panel. Lacking a 100 foot extension cord, we must rely on the trailer's deep cycle battery to power the interior lights and water pump; both essential for our creature comforts. Therefore I need the sun to shine on the portable solar panel that connects to the trailer's battery, but today is not the day. These are the ever-widening fields of concern for a man living in the material world. Is it true that for every convenience there is an equal and opposite inconvenience? Maybe.

On Cayuga Lake, NY

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

I unpack the inflatable 9 foot boat and start pumping the bellows. Once the barge is inflated I strap it to the top of the van, get Carol and Nicky and drive down to the lake. It’s a little cloudy with a slight offshore breeze but otherwise a great day to be on the water. I start rowing north, admiring the houses and cottages dotting the shoreline. This looked like a pretty good life, I think to myself. Most houses have a dock in front with some sort of vessel tied to it. Speedboats criss-cross our path, but I row on. No doubt many a pair of binoculars are trained on us as it's not often one sees a bright yellow dinghy plying the open water with a Pomeranian on the poop deck. Anyway, after about a half hour of rowing, it’s time to go over the side. There's nothing so refreshing as that first moment when the skin hits the water and the shock forces you to breathe fast and get the arms and legs moving. After a couple of laps around the boat, it’s Nicky's turn. Carol lowers her over the side and she immediately starts swimming toward me. Once she reaches me she clings to my shoulder and stays there. Not sure what goes through her mind, if anything, but I know she trusts us completely and never panics. After a few minutes I send her swimming back to Carol, who lifts her back onto the boat, where Nicky gives several vigorous head to tail shakes and lies back down again. Carol doesn't come in the water today, preferring to stay dry for this outing. Once we’re back on board, she gets out the Kybalion, an esoteric ancient Egyptian Hermetic treatise, and begins reading.

Whether it's Carol's voice or the weighty subject matter, I soon fall asleep. By the time I wake up the wind has blown us practically to the other side of the lake. This in itself is no big deal but the leak we discovered was cause for alarm. One of the inevitable outcomes of getting in and out of the boat is that water inevitably comes into the bottom with us. This time, however, I notice a trail of bubbles coming from a seam that is now under several inches of water. Starting back to our side of the lake, the boat seems sluggish. I know the offshore breeze has picked up but the rowing is more difficult than I've ever experienced. I inhale a Red Bull and start pulling for all I’m worth. I don’t think we'll go under, but there’s no way of knowing if this leak will get worse. The humiliating thought of having to be rescued or towed helps me keep my back into each stroke of the twin blades. I am more than relieved when I finally hear the scrunch of the boat’s bottom meeting the sandy beach. We have reached Terra Firma.

That night, after our harrowing day at sea, we enjoyed a good camp dinner and blazing fire, and gazed up into the night sky to further ponder the vagaries of life. After I went in to read in the bed, Carol stayed out to watch the last of the glowing embers and listen to Joni Mitchell on her ipod.