My sister is an artist. When she was in college she fell into a group of “hippies”. Like any good sister, she dragged me down with her.
“Hippies” is far from what I would call this group of friends. Yes, they were artists and musicians but, this group can’t be defined by one word. I recall a friend from high school told us that he just didn’t have anything in common with them. Horse Hockey. Most of the time the group was hanging at the bar playing darts or playing softball or football. Often, we rode mountain bikes on local trails. They were into sports as much as music and art. They were stereotyped because the guys had long hair and dressed in grunge. If they were smoking weed then they weren’t socially open enough to smoke it in front of me.
Every year, my sister and I would listen with envy to them tell stories about Wheatland. Finally, we were invited to tag along. We found Wheatland to be every bit and more of what we had expected. We went every year after that until I my first son was born. Every year, on the weekend after Labor Day, I’d fondly think about Wheatland.
Finally, 9 years later, we return with kids in tow. I am anxious to share the fun and magic of good, basic music. In particular, the activities I await with great anticipation are the Cajun Hoedown at midnight, clogging workshops, hanging with the “hippie” gang (all long hair has been cut off), and, especially, listening to Ira’s band, The Corn Fed Girls.
This afternoon, I will take the kids out of school early to make the five hour drive to the Wheat lands. All week long, I have been saying Happy Wheatland every time I passed the boys. They look at me strangely because they do not realize that they will hear and say that a million times after we arrive tonight. It’s a Wheatland tradition.
I’d invite you along but tickets are sold out. If you need some other weekend ideas check out Amanda’s blog at Serenity Now. It’s a party, didn’t ya know?
I’m off to put on my Cajun dance shoes.