I love bluegrass music. Well, I can’t say I like it as driving music, but I love it enough to go to a festival by myself to hear it live. When I lived in Charleston, Jodi and I would get some people together and hit the bluegrass festival at the Mullett Hall (not kidding) Equestrian Center. We would eat kettle corn, paint pumpkins, and ride horses. We even learned how to rope a cow. It’s all in the wrist.
This weekend was the Bluegrass festival in Greenville. It was bittersweet for me. Sweet because I love a fiddle tearing it down while echoes of Celtic roots blaze through. I’m facinated by the banjo player working his strings with agility, precision and elegance the way a spider fashions her web. The harmonies twanged stories of waiting love and simple living. My fellow revelers were a colidescope of society. The smells of hay and Ralph Lauren, barbeque and red wine mingled together as people tapped their feet in unison. Eventually, the place smelled and felt like the Cracker Barrell, without the biscuits ‘n gravy. *sigh*
(sound of record player scratching off the record) Here comes the bitter part.
The. Venue. Was. Outside.
It was 70 and sunny, and someone thought it would be better to have it inside. My vision of lounging in the park surrounded by the toe tappin’, knee slappin’, chaw spittin’ sounds of Curtis Blackwell and the Dixie Bluegrass band took new form in the way of ushers telling me I couldn’t take my $5 peppermint mocha into the theatre.
But I think the saddest part was being there alone. I missed my girls being there to role their eyes at my insistance on dancing my bluegrass dance. Ask me and I’ll show you one day. I miss my life in Charleston and having a group of friends with whom to share days like today. I miss being in a place where yearly traditions are assumed, not looked back on with “Remember when…” Sure, I’m being mopey. Considering the last two years, I give myself room for that every now and then.
It’s not that Jesus hasn’t been amazing during this time. As I am writing this, a friend here asked me to join her for pizza and a beer. I know I will feel better in about 10 minutes. I can’t afford too long a pity party. Until then, I’ll be thinking about next years festival and hoping that I will be there with friends.