the old-school guestbook archives
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high sierra dreams ~ July 4, 2003 - 10:13 p.m. I don't really know where I'm at. that's the main thing I know about where I'm at at the moment. that I don't know. and I guess it's all part of the thing where you walk away from everything in order to find yourself. or something. that old cliche. I remind myself that it's generally a good thing when I realize that I don't have a clue where I am. it means that things are shifting. I know where I'm not. I'm not at the high sierra music festival. first time I've missed it in four years. I realized, today, when I looked at my calendar. I like my calendar, I'm pretty attached to it. my mom gave it to me for christmas. it's a day-at-a-time get fuzzy calendar. mom gave it to me because she knows I love that comic strip. it makes me laugh on a regular basis. and it's one of those little pieces of home that I'm glad I have sometimes. every day I look forward to my new fuzzy. so anyway, one of the things that I like about the calendar is that it notes all kinds of holidays from different parts of the world, and it's interesting to see who's celebrating what where. today I saw one, so I looked to see what it was. it said 'Independence Day (USA)', and it took me a minute to figure out what that meant. I'm serious. I had no clue it was the fourth of july. that's okay, it's one of those holidays that makes me vaguely nauseous. I can't cope with what passes for american patriotism sometimes. but the fact is that I've managed to more or less dodge the fourth for the last few years, because I've been working at high sierra. and I really want to tell you about high sierra, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to do it justice. I've tried, and words just fail me. it's so experiential. one day maybe I'll be able to capture the flavor of that experience. but let me tell you a bit. about what I can. we show up at the quincy fairgrounds two days before everyone else, because the blue sun crew, the veggie cafe I work for, do the catering for the staff of the festival, as well as running our vending operation. it's several hours drive to get there, and I usually arrive in one of the two trucks, either the gigantic ryder we haul everything in, or the refrigerator truck where we store our perishables for the duration. if I've been in the ryder, I'm already stoned when I get to the fairgrounds, and it's generally a gorgeous, sweet and quiet summer day, punctuated only by various hammerings and sawings as the maintenance crew and preliminary staff start setting up. they are erecting stages, decorating music halls. the maintenance folks are sweeping away horse crap from the rodeo last week, re-turfing the main stage area. there is administrative stuff to be done when we get there, so often there is a lull, crew arriving in one vehicle or another while steve and mongo talk to people with clipboards and walkie-talkies. often the fatty eggroll kids arrive around the same time. we are like two families of the same tribe. we share a village. steve and mongo were dead tour vendors, along with tom, who runs fatty eggroll. they share equipment, help each other out. sometimes they fight. mostly we are family. some of their crew is new, and some of ours is too, but there is a core of people who do this year after year. we hug hello, we sit in the sun for a 4:20 break while our bosses get the approvals taken care of. we go to the spot where we always camp and set up our tents in the spots we like. I always choose a tiny circle of trees. it feels grounding, to sleep between those three trees, their roots cradling me to the earth. then we start setting up. we park the refrigerator truck and the ryder in back of the booth and unload. this is a lot of hot, sweaty, dirty work. heavy lifting. crate after crate of equipment. it's all organized. there's a system. we erect the tents, two big ones which together make up our double-size booth. we have full size ovens, industrial stovetops, canister after canister of propane. we will need to make at least one run during the festival to refill these canisters. there is a food delivery waiting for us, which needs to be loaded into the refrigerator truck. we will get another before the festival is over, and chances are good that steven will need to run into reno to get something we've forgotten. there is always at least one gigantic crisis on the first day, which seems impossible and somehow needs to be solved before we can function. somehow, steven and mongo always manage. a non-operational refrigerator, a nit-picky health inspector who wants to shut us down until all of our equipment boxes and their contents have been scrubbed down. somehow, the crisis is always solved. it's generally dark by the time we get the kitchen in working order, and we are tired and dirty. steven breaks out the grocery bag of vegan lunchmeat, soy cheese and bread, and we make sandwiches. after dinner, we smoke the first official bowl. we relax. those of us who have done this before know that it's one of our last chances to do so. from that time on, everything moves faster and faster. we start cooking in the morning, to have the catering lunch ready for the staff. more and more staff are arriving, but the grounds still won't be open to the public until tomorrow. we fall into a rhythm, chopping vegetables, preparing meals. we listen to music on mongo's stereo equipment, which will be used to tape the live music for the rest of the festival. he's a taper, and some of us will be entrusted to making sure the record button is hit when it needs to be. in our rhythm, we forget that everything is about to change. it happens in the morning, when the gates open. people start flooding in, and the energy cranks way up. we start selling food sometime that evening. all of our friends from boulder creek start to arrive. our whole town, more or less, comes to this festival. the whole year hinges on it. we hug our friends, we sing, we laugh, we smoke, we make food. we run into folks we haven't seen in years. and then the music starts, and everything just goes up and up and up. it's the first 10 or 15 hour day for most of us. by the time we stumble back to camp, the whole world has changed. where once there were seven tents, there are now twenty, mostly our friends, and the camp will continue to grow and evolve as the boulder creek contingent arrives. hammocks are strung, tapestries are hung. camp chairs are set up in a lounging space in the center. one year a kiddie pool appeared in the middle, and I loved to soak my hot and aching feet. that night we still have energy. some of us sleep, but most of us go out, run around the campgrounds, the night-time stages, the improvisational jams. this goes on all night, in one form or another. an ever-changing world. there are gypsy calls, belly laughs, fairies and elves and flavors of madness. magic, love and moonlight. at some point, sleep finds us, and it is the next morning that the true madness begins. we are on our feet for 15 or 17 hours, with maybe one 45-minute break if we're lucky, and a couple of 5 or 10 minute sit-downs. we run on adrenaline, sleep deprivation and pot. the energy of the music and the people carries us, makes it all possible. we are surrounded by astounding music and beautiful people for the entire journey. and this is where I must leave the story for now, as the internet cafe closes around me. I'll continue tomorrow, I promise...
(((rings))) |