Every year, the Walnut Valley Festival in Winfield, Kansas has a theme. This year, the theme was "Music and Memories". The festival organizers publish a one-page daily paper (on a legal-size sheet) which prints the performance schedule for that day, winners of the previous day's contests, and human interest articles. This year, the reporter visited a variety of people - primarily in the campsites - and asked them to share their favorite memories of Winfield. He never got to me, so I'll share my story here.
You may recall I was worried about the impending storms. The night before I left, Brother Dave called and suggested that since I missed Woodstock, I should go to Winfield to have a similar experience. What he didn't know was that I had already experienced a deluge in Winfield. That was 1999, the second festival I attended.
The first time I went to Winfield was in 1998. I went with Shannon. We spent a lot of time together at the festival, and were romantically involved within three months. In 1999, I filed for divorce then moved from Norman to Oklahoma City, both at Shannon's urging. Both were the right choice, but the kicker is that after I accomplished both things, Shannon broke up with me. So, I did not want to be near Shannon when I went to Winfield in '99.
Keeping that distance required that I find a different area to camp.
I had already begun singing with Sarah by this point. She is a big fan of the Walnut Valley Festival, and invited me to join her camp – which consisted mostly of members of her church.
Sarah and I are both early risers. We started every morning singing. Playing with harmonies, choosing new songs. We had been asked to sing for an up-coming Peace Fest, and were wood shedding our play list. Some people in a near-by camp enjoyed this unique alarm clock so much, they invited us to join them for dinner.
When I find someone whose company I enjoy, I tend to stick with them as much as possible. So, Sarah and I attended just about every concert together. We visited as we waited for each concert to begin. We shared favorite moments during the concerts. We grew very close.
In fact, we fell in love over that long weekend.
The rain started sometime after dark Saturday evening. A cool front was close behind. Sarah and I huddled under the awning of her tent and visited even more - there wasn't room to hold and play instruments. We were camped several yards from the river, and were well above water level, but were on a down-hill slope. The tent I had borrowed wasn't well sealed, and there was some question about my remaining sufficiently warm and dry.
Sarah suggested that I sleep in her tent. She made it clear that she had more than sleep in mind; in fact, she had a very enjoyable way of keeping warm in mind.
Problem was, she was pledged to John. And I felt honor-bound to respect that commitment.
So, I stayed in my tent and slept in about a half-inch of cold water.
Rain reverberates on a tent’s sides, and a small storm can sound like a major torrent. A really hard rain can sound like Noah’s Flood.
Sometime during the day Friday or Saturday, a person in the camp to the south of us had bought a beat-up up-right piano at a near-by yard sale. He said his intent was to see how much damage he could do to the thing through the weekend. It hadn't cost much, was beyond repair so far as he knew, and so he saw it as potential firewood. When the rain began, he started playing that old piano. Pounding chords when the rain was heavy. Soft arpeggios when the rain slacked off.
My memory is that he played that he played that piano until some time after dawn. So, I didn’t sleep very well.
Sunday morning was still cold and wet. Sarah and I went to the fairgrounds for John McCutcheon’s last set of the weekend. It had been scheduled for an outdoor stage, but rain still seemed probable, so they moved it into a barn. Sarah and I sat just a couple of yards away from John, huddled together under a blanket.
Holding hands under the blanket.
We caravanned back to Oklahoma City late Sunday afternoon. Sometimes Sarah drove, sometimes I did. We were still linked.
I was nostalgic about those magic four days by the following year. Each succeeding Winfield has been measured against that time, and few have come close.
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