“The West is the Best,” for festivals. California especially, for a similar reason that it’s world-class land for cultivating weed, for the same cause of a regular wildfire season. It’s warm and dry here for half the year. Rain and heavy moisture will cause buds to go moldy and wreck a crop, end wildfire season, and turn a festival into a cold, damp swamp.
I’ve missed NorCal. The vibes, the people, the lifestyle, the mountain-river-explorer life. It’s good times and I can’t wait for more.
The humanity, the relationships are more work than the work. It’s not a bad thing, just a tiring thing.
I often tell people that “one of my favorite things about a festival is driving away.” That means that I love the impermanence of a festival.
After Spiro left, I took a moment to look out the front of our booth. While I rested my elbows on the tiki bar, I observed the golden hour. The early arrivals were here, their tired bodies with lively spirits lounging in small groups on the lawn under the shade of large willow trees. Not too far off, the Lightning Stage continued growing. The build crew tending to its construction all day and all night.