It's been a several years since Shawn and I joined the caravan to Canso for the Stan Rogers Folk Festival. Last year's festival was preempted by the Summer of No Fun House Renovation Project. The one before by work responsibilities. This year would have been the same, we were both too busy to go, had Tropical Storm Arthur not blown it down.
When I saw Stanfest was cancelled, I found myself at a loss for words; well, eloquent ones anyway, as evidenced by my Facebook post: "Holy sh*t! Stanfest is cancelled!" That we weren't going was disappointing, but it's like many things that you enjoy that take some effort. The longer you are away, the easier it is to come up with reasons why it's okay to stay away. There's the five hour drive, the last two on skinny roads packed with fat Winnebagoes. There's the weather, because there's always weather. There's tenting and mud, which blend together with every passing hour.
There's port-a-potties after dark.
When I realized it meant no one was going, that's when I felt like I lost something.
I wrote an article about the 2008 festival for Saltscapes Magazine, you can read it here. I never intended to write an article, I just wanted to go to the festival. Repeatedly, and with media passes. It worked perfectly till Heather, the Saltscapes editor, assigned me a deadline. I felt sick. At that time, I had never written creatively for anyone but myself. Worse than that, Stanfest is passionately loved by many, myself included. I didn't want to be the one to write a not-good-enough article. Fortunately, Heather is a great editor. More fortunately, people liked it. To that end, as a writer, it helps immensely when your audience is already sitting squarely in the choir.
Last night, I experienced the abridged version of a Stanfest. Three glorious hours of song after song, storyteller after storyteller. I sang, I howled, I laughed, I clapped till my hands hurt, and I cried - Makalya Lynn - that's your fault. It was everyone I had seen before and wanted to see again, plus a few I hadn't, and now want to see again.
It felt like I was back in Canso, but warm and dry.
When it was over, I looked at Shawn and said that was amazing, but now I wanted the rest of it. One songwriters' circle was not enough. I wanted all of the songwriters' circles.
I also wanted to be in Canso. I wanted that separation from home and work and responsibility that comes with being at the edge of nowhere; and out of cell reception.
I wanted to be around the people of Canso. They are wonderful people. I'll never forget our first trip to the Co-op, we were on motorcycle and two of the staff came out to watch us load up the bike. They wanted to see how we were going to carry everything. It was a good demonstration, we are seasoned pros at bike transport. Or the teenage volunteer who knocked on our truck window at the bottom of the hill to the registration booth to ask for a lift up, because she wasn't "walking up that hill one more time today".
It is a big hill.
I wanted the weather (maybe not all of it), but enough to breed a sense of resilience. An "I'll take your thunderstorm, wind, and rain and still rock it out. I am prepared and I am here for the duration". Stanfest preparedness is something we learned over time; from rubber boots to French presses.
I wanted the campground. There's musicians, music lovers, and fun lovers everywhere. You're never bored in the acoustic campground.
To quote the late great Levon Helm, I wanted "the adult dose".
Before I walked out of the Metro Centre, I committed. There will always be struggles with life and work and responsibilities, but that's just all the more reason to make time for the things in life that make you rejoice, like Stanfest.
I'll see you next year, Stanfest, you throw in the hell and high water, I'll bring the boots and tarp.
