My Granola Weekend: further jammage in Scott Valley

So as fate (or God) would have it, it just so happened that Sandra and Don who own the drugstore also organized the Bluegrass festival which I was dying to attend. I apparently had established a much larger reputation in Etna, California the night before than I'd realized because when I walked in the door, Don proclaimed, "the Fiddle is here!" (And when Sandra caught me washing dishes she cried..."we're letting 'fiddle fingers' wash dishes!") After we finished the ice cream extravaganza, they were adamant about getting to hear me fiddle again. As David didn't have a guitar this time around, we improvised by putting different rolls on their old upright player piano and I fiddled along to "Tennessee Waltz" and sang along with "The Lullabye of Broadway." Satisfied with my entertainment, Don gave David and I free day passes to the festival that was in full swing (in full two-step?) about 6 blocks over at the local park.

We wondered that way and enjoyed the good (cheap) food, quality tunes, various homemade wares (I bought a beanie hat made out of alpaca wool) and just the good feeling of sitting on the ground relaxing and watching the locals dance about. We hung out for a few hours and caught some really great bands and then headed back to the ranch for dinner. Not to miss any moment of music however, I rounded up another crew of folk and headed back post dinner to catch a few more bands and of course...to jam.

I'd met a few folk the night before that were excited about jamming with me again so as the last band left the stage we headed to the campground next door where they had set up a tent lit with lanterns. 12 of us crammed beneath it...a myriad of accoustic instruments and Mark the dobro player nodded at me and said, "alright fiddle...what'll it be?" Unable to convince them that I really DON'T know any old bluegrass standards, I finally taught them "Cuckoo's Nest" (the one tune I know) and from there my education began as we played a host of old time standards I'd never heard (I spent a small fortune on iTunes when I got home downloading recordings of everything we'd played so I can listen and learn and not embarrass myself next time) although everyone seemed to feel that I'd hung in pretty well. I loved the atmosphere....the pitch black night with the blood red moon, the ragged assortment of unshowered hippie musicians playing their weathered assortment of axes (several guys had headlamps on their heads!)...the tent with the lanterns hung from every corner for light....how we went around the circle, each one in turn choosing a tune and kicking off the solo, and then the hook getting passed around the circle so everyone had a chance to show off their chops. It made my heart sing. I could have stayed all night. At about 11:45 my fellow staffers decided they'd had enough for a night so I wrapped it up with a lively version of Devil's Dream and headed back to the ranch exhausted and happy.

Yes folks...I had to leave the hills of Tennessee for the mountains of California for a bluegrass education...but the genre is alive and well. Music is truly a language...one I'm glad I speak.

(If you would like to incorporate the Scott Valley Bluegrass Festival into your summer plans next year, A) here's the website B) be sure not to go without inviting me! :) http://www.scottvalleybluegrass.com/ )