This weekend, Alastair played at the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival,
and the girls and I spent the day there with him on Saturday. It was
fun, in the way that going to a large, crowded event with two
two-year-olds is fun. That is, moments of fun (Clio singing a song of
her own invention, the word "happy" over and over again to the tune of
"Twinkle Twinkle"; Elsa going all Woodstock, playing in the mud with
obvious glee) interspersed with moments of aggravation and frustration
(Clio refusing to walk from the parking lot into the festival because
there's too much mud; Elsa throwing a small fit because we cut her
pizza instead of letting her attempt to eat "a big one"). Pretty much
your typical toddler event.
Alastair and I have gone to Falcon Ridge together twice
before; once in 2000 or 2001, I think, and again in 2005. We camped out
up in the field with hundreds of other people, stayed up late around
song-swapping campfires, drank voluminous amounts of cheap wine and
beer. Obviously, this was before Elsa and Clio were twinkles in either
of our eyes. It was just us, and it was all about us, and it was easy.
About the most taxing aspect of it was having to trudge to the
porta-potties in the middle of the night. Alastair was more into the
music part of the event than me, of course, it being his metier and
all. (Shocking Confession: I'm actually not that into most contemporary
folk singer/songwriter stuff, even though it's what my husband does.
Scandal!) But I loved being there for the people-watching, browsing the
vendor booths, and hanging out around the campfire with folks at night.
It's in beautiful country, too, just west of the Massachusetts border
in New York, at the edge of the Berkshires. And, yeah, yeah, all right,
some of the music is OK. Especially after some of the aforementioned
cheap wine and beer.
Read More...
