The park itself is surrounded by a thicket of trees and light forest which conceals sights of the surrounding city. Inside, a paved, winding road leads through a few acres of now tromped on grass and dirt decorated by metal playground pieces and cement public bathrooms. Heading into the park Thursday evening (the night before we were supposed to play) felt like being pumped through a fat clogged artery. Campers and trucks on narrowed our path on either side and festival goers with no where else to walk, lackadaisically strode in the in our path virtually oblivious to our presence until we practically ran them over.
After a second pass around the great circle, we finally found a parking spot nudged in between two other campsites. Dusk provided enough light to set up our tents efficiently. Since Nic's friend Alex joined us (and claimed Nic's other air mattress), I resigned to sleep in Eric's tiny tent instead.
Somehow even without an air mattress, sleep came much easier this weekend than at Beaver Island, an anomaly that I will simply credit to practice.
All day Friday we stuffed ourselves on delicious homemade offerings in the food tent. The food, donated from local gourmet eateries consisted of salads filled with fresh assorted vegetables, homemade soups with more content than broth, bow-tie pasta with vegetarian or meat-lovers tomato sauce, and plenty more. Aside from breakfast condiments like peanut butter and jelly, all meals were unique and locally prepared.
At 2pm, we played the 'Teen Scene' tent where the parents left their teens to make necklaces and crafts while they escaped to the main-stage I suppose. Given the intimate, unplugged nature of the event, Eric invited any teens who had an instrument to jam with us. We got two of twenty but everyone else who was listening appeared to enjoy our impromptu session.
Thankfully our big show was just around the corner in the same tent that otherwise featured clogging and line-dancing lessons. We knew we couldn't dance or teach dancing but we felt confident that our songs would stand out from the circular fiddling and ball-change stepping.
We were right. What started as a few anxious, music hungry teenagers quickly became a sea of dancing bodies, hopping and spinning on the hard-wood floor that lay beneath the spacious red and white canopy. As the dinner hour ended, our funky grooves layered under bluegrass banjo picking lured camper after camper. Even Eric's broken strings and the break in the music to change them could not stop our momentum. We 'killed' in front of several hundred people and it felt so good.
That night, we listened to and enjoyed the French-Canadian musical stylings of 'Le Vent du Nord' on the festival's main-stage. Similar at times to the sound of 'An Dro', 'Le Vent du Nord' specializes in traditional folk sounds from Quebec and throughout Canada. The sounds are typically 'call and response' dance anthems telling colorful stories in French while compelling an entire audience of thousands to jump up and down to the beat. Unlike 'An Dro', the intoxicating beats from 'Le Vent du Nord' come from the violinist who stomps his feet on a wooden board. Less for me to watch as a drummer, but more room for the expansive instrumental sounds of the hurdy gurdy, violin, guitars, piano, and accordion. For music samples, albums, and more information about their infectious beats, check out their website: Le Vent du Nord Music
I headed to bed early to prepare for the early breakfast line Saturday morning and was not sorry. Even with my expectations set higher from the previous day's delicacies, I was not prepared to be blown away. Apple AND raspberry stuffed French-Toast accompanied by additional fresh fruit toppings of Maple syrup. I think they also had scrambled eggs as a side and bacon, but the French-Toast made my entire weekend. Although our departure time from the festival slowly slid later and later and passing storms pummeled our 7-hour drive home, the French-Toast, my favorite meal ever, made the world seem right again.
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