Monday
August 10, 2009

"Hope is the thing with feathers"...

left Hazel Park yesterday around 3 p.m.- a little later than originally planned. just before Cleveland the EuroVan (Mrs. Henry) began knockin', or maybe tickin'. we pulled off the highway and as cars flew past us Mike made a quick assessment... loose mounting bolts for the right axle. we decided not to turn back but to keep moving forward, and hope for the best. as we persevered the knocking would come and go- daunting at its arrival but sweet relief at its departure.

Ohio -----> Pennsylvania -----> western New York

night. mountains. knocking. exits seven to eight miles apart. knocking became louder and without break. knock, knock, knock, knock... like an old, rickety, wooden roller coaster- with the same sensation of uneasy anticipation that when we'd finally reach the top of the hill that we would plummet suddenly to reach the point where it would all begin again.

what i thought were rain drops hitting the windshield i realized were bugs. rapid and consistent. fish flies perhaps? or are they just in Michigan?

lakes on both sides of us.

a frog leaped across the road.

then came the rain. knock, knock, knock, knock...

downpour.

it was past 11 p.m. Cuba, NY. small town. seemed to have everything we needed. repair shop. auto parts store. used car
lot.

Mike thought we should proceed onto the next town. thirteen miles -----> Belmont... nothing.

headed back west to Cuba. we splurged and got a room at the EconoLodge. $89. was reminded one of the reasons we don't rent motel rooms very often.

checked in. ran back to the van in the rain for a few things and to grab a couple bottles of beer.

imprint of bottle left behind in the wall by former guest. must have been thrown with great malice. stale smells. cold room.

slept well and woke early. cleaned up and headed into town with Mrs. Henry. at the repair shop we told them of our woes and they were kind enough to make us a priority.

Don, the owner, discovered that the mounting bolts for the right axle were in fact loose. he tightened them with his special wrench (one that we didn't have with us) and he and Mike took Mrs. Henry for a spin. knock, knock, knock, knock...

upon further inspection it was determined that it was the transmission. we now had a decision to make. Don thought that she would make it back to Michigan, but we weren't ready to head back to Michigan. Mike is very mechanical but if we broke down we might not have the blessing of doing so in, or near, a town. instead we might become stranded in the middle of nowhere with no way of fixing such a thing as a transmission at the side of the road.

we paid Don for his time then jumped in the van and headed to the used car lot. a lesson in non-attachment. we explained our predicament to Stu the owner. he showed us several used utility work vans. they had all sorts of brackets and scaffolding on top. fencing behind the driver and passenger’s seat, and stacked locked boxes affixed in the back. they were huge in size. like train cars. i was asked my thoughts and expressed my concern over the gas mileage. not good for mother earth, and takes far too great of an advantage of an unsustainable resource. i was against them.

i inquired about the rusty Dodge Caravan sitting near the back of the lot. was it for sale? it was and we took her for ride. she drove well. quiet. Mike checked under the hood and under the body. she would soon need new back brake line but other than that, she was good. back to Don's to see if they could put a hitch on some time today. they could. back to Stu's lot.

traded in Mrs. Henry and paid out some. i must admit that it was sad to leave Mrs. Henry behind, she's been so good to us, but it was obviously time to part.

back to Belmont. DMV. applied for an 'in transit' plate. was told by the man behind the counter that an 'in transit' plate is only good for getting us from 'point A to point B', not from point A to Point B to point C as we planned. he explained further that our trip would have to be cut short. we had to leave Belmont and head back to Hazel Park (though we had fifteen days to do so). we said, 'okay'. paid the $10. got to the van with 'in transit' plate in hand and both agreed that we would be going on to Woodstock. we would just have to hope for the best, again.

returned to Don's. they put the hitch on. thought we were ready to hit the road but no receiver for the hitch. it was almost 6 p.m. and the shop closed at 5:30 p.m., so it was up to us to find a receiver. Don and his wife apologized profusely. they had asked if the hitch was complete when they ordered it and were told it was. we didn't think it was their fault and we expressed that.

Don directed us to the closest Wal-Mart for the part, but i don't do Wal-Mart. i've been boycotting Wal-Mart for over ten years. trying my best to inform people of the many ill wills of the company-

use of child labor
slave labor/sweat shops
human rights violations
environmental crimes
unpaid work
contribution to loss of US jobs
low wages
practice of squashing out the small business person
urban sprawl

low prices at a very high cost.
and they just keep spreading out. like a virus.

i asked if there was another place but Don thought that considering the time of day and the size of the surrounding towns that Wal-Mart would be our only option. this was the first time throughout our compromising day that i thought i was going to cry.

i was of the mind that i would rather be stuck another day than to step foot into a Wal-Mart. Mike, who also abhors the practices of Wal-Mart as well, said that he would go; but that didn't appease me. it didn't change anything for me.

my gut ached.

i knew Mike was more than ready to go, and so was i, but i just couldn’t, and wouldn’t, abandon my ideals that easily.

just before we left, Kathy, Don's wife, told us that there was a tractor supply shop just before the Wal-Mart. she didn't know if they would be open but it would be worth a try. Don told us that we could return to the shop to put on the receiver and to do the wiring and even, if need be, camp in their lot for the night.

in the van. 86 west. tractor supply, open. receivers in stock! on to an auto parts store, they had wiring! no need for Wal-Mart. reprieved.

back to Don's. Mike began figuring out the wiring. not much for me to do but cut and strip a couple of wires. hold the flashlight. it had been raining all day so we worked in the mud. and in the dark. Don came back to check on us with a race car in tow. wiring was finished and working by 10 p.m., i was very impressed with Mike's wiring skills. we hooked up the pop-top camper. Don hooked up water for us so we could clean up. we couldn't express enough our gratitude for all of his and his family's help. they were a saving grace. we said our 'goodbyes' and headed east on 86.

another frog leaped across the road.

the moon was high in the sky. like one eye looking down on us. drove until about 1 a.m., pulled into a truck stop to sleep for a bit. Mike in the back of the van, me in the passenger seat. what to do with my legs? lull of diesel engines sang me to sleep.
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Tuesday
August 11, 2009

woke around 4:30 a.m. and continued on. beautiful sunrise.

sleepy eyed.

Sumac. Golden Rod. and Joe-Pye reaching toward the sky.

drove into Mt. Tremper just outside of Woodstock around 8 a.m.

farmer stands, home based art galleries, and large metal sculptures lined the roads.

trees. mountains. streams.

set up camp. had a beer. tired out. napped.

woken by the ranger. kind greeting. she told us that we might be fortunate enough to see a mama bear and her four cubs. They had been making their presence every now and then.

cleaned ourselves up and headed into Woodstock.

at the Alchemy Cafe'. the Alchemy was originally home of Albert Grossman. the property is a sort of compound consisting of the cafe', a theatre, bar, restaurant, and Woodstock's radio station. the radio station was once Todd Rudgren's studio- Utopia.

the Alchemy is now rented by Nick Martin and his girlfriend Stephanie. Mike connected with Nick a while back through our good friend Mystery Tramp who passed away last year. i couldn't help but be reminded of Mystery Tramp. this was his kind of place.

there's a man with long gray hair and a long gray beard, wearing a straw hat and red, plaid pajamas. he's taping postcards to the wall in geometric patterns. the post cards hold images of waterfalls, a nude woman, and the American Flag. i'm soon told that he played at the original Woodstock. with Tim Hardin.

there are three people sitting on the sofa nearby. a fireplace. they're talking about Woodstock, and taxes, and being a muse. two men and one woman. i think one of the men is from a newspaper. he's taking notes in a very serious looking notebook.

i overhear that the man mopping the floor also played Woodstock. he's wearing a vest with many small notebooks and pens stuffed into the pockets. i learn that his name is Billy Mitchell. not only did he play Woodstock but he's played with Carly Simon, Richie Havens, John Lee Hooker, and once opened for Jimi Hendrix. he keeps looking at me and smiling. i keep smiling back.

Nick and Mike are talking. Nick suggests an impromptu show. Jean 'Caffeine' is the first on stage. she's from Canada. glasses and blue hair. she too left her car behind- in Hamilton- along with her girlfriend. Mike played next, a good set. then Nick.

Nick asks us to come back for the Blues Jam tonight. Billy will be hosting.

returned to camp for a bit. over the fire i cooked up portabello 'burgers', potatoes, and Michigan green beans with olive oil, fresh garlic, sea salt and ground pepper. first cooked meal since Saturday. been livin' on raw nuts, Michigan cherries and peaches, oranges. a large part of my diet is raw, but there's something very comforting about warm food. i think we needed it.

back at the Alchemy. Billy let Mike open the Jam. Billy looks frail upon first sight, but he has endless energy. lots of stories about dropping acid. he embraces music. playing with one pant leg tucked into his left cowboy boot. Mike Esposito on bass. plays Zen like. eyes closed. head tilted slightly. smile. used to play with The Blues Magoos.
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Wednesday
August 12, 2009

sleep was wonderful. only noises throughout the night were pinecones and branches falling and hitting soft ground. cleaned up under the solar shower, which hangs from a broken tree limb. did some exploring in the woods. the forest floor, the cycle of life made visible. pine needles, leaves, bark, pinecones, bones, bugs... she knows what she needs to nourish the soil that nourishes her.

drinking coffee. morning fire. fire meditation. wakan.

it's raining now. in the camper. Mike is playing guitar. just finished reading about Inipi. white willow. grandmother earth. cotton wood. give thanks to the stones. grandfather's breath.

rain stopped, went into downtown Woodstock.  lots of shops.  shopping.  shoppers. 

i bought some postcards to send. 

although downtown Woodstock is a bit commercial it's nice that it is made up of almost entirely independent and small businesses.  they don't even have a McDonald's here.  apparently never have.  they sell a bumper sticker that says so.  i was a bit dismayed to see a CVS Pharmacy near the edge of town, but my faith was restored to see the plethora of signs bound to lamp posts, guard rails and newspaper boxes that read, "Boycott CVS".

we saw a flyer in a store window promoting a show for someone we used to know when we lived in Ann Arbor. Dan Kahn. he'll be playing in town at the Colony Cafe in September. small world.

hung out at the Alchemy most of the night. lost of music. there was a man across the street juggling with glow-in-the-dark juggling balls. i need to find me some of those.
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Thursday
August 12, 2009

last night I fell asleep to the song of the owl and woke to the call of the camp rooster. perfection.

the rain has finally let up. we had to move our camp. the spot we're at is reserved by someone(s) else for Friday and Saturday nights. new spot just as beautiful but a little closer to road. our last spot was very isolated and deeper into the woods. we can hear cars pass every now and then, thankfully there isn't a lot of traffic out here. i soon become very fond of this spot, and love the little corridor of trees behind the site which provides more privacy for showering.

on the road to Sundown.

took 2 1/2 hours to get to Bethel. winding, mountain roads. we will re-route for Saturday for hopefully quicker, winding, mountain roads.

arrived at the museum at 5:45 p.m., but learned from the security guard that the last ticket sales for the day were at 5:30 p.m. we stood there defeated. not saying a word. i believe our heads literally hung down. the security guard had compassion and told us to follow him. he walked us into the museum and spoke with a woman, and we were allowed entry. thank you Mr. Security Guard Man!

the museum was beautiful. i could have spent hours upon hours there. So much to see. So much to read. So much to take in, but we only had an hour and fifteen minutes. we were able to quickly view the John and Yoko exhibit in the basement before having to leave.

"sometimes i wish i could be the rain."

Brook Farm Commune, Mass.
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Ralph Waldo Emerson

James Alexy- Peace Fence

Leni Binder

heading back to camp. saw a Hasidic Jew hitchhiking. he was going the other way.

i'm craving soup. i should have brought some dry beans or lentils to cook over the fire.
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Friday
August 14th, 2009

Mike built a great fire. stayed up into the night. talking. cut my hand splitting wood. large splinter. pulled it out. put some Comfrey salve on it that my beautiful friend Tina made. took the pain away. already beginning to heal. that woman has magic.

last night Mike booked a gig at the Alchemy for Sunday. Nick is putting together a show for several musicans to play. one on every hour. we'll be leaving later on Sunday than originally planned.

Jackie Greene- Honey I've Been Thinking of You, good song.

morning fire.

when in the forest we are reset to the cycles of the sun and the moon. in sync. the realization quickly emerges that time is not something to be set and controlled. time actually does not exist. the universe knows no time. only the present moment. a constant rebirth.

went canoeing today. large pond. the sun was high and doing her best to balance out all of the rain. there was so much plant life in the water that it consistently scraped against the bottom of the canoe. we followed a huge snapping turtle for a while. came upon a beaver dam. then a beaver. sleeping lazily upon her back. good feet. waterbugs did their synchronized dancing for us. leaves floated on top of the water- a tapestry. one yellow pond lily.

back at camp. i made a peace sign on the ground out of rocks to leave behind for those that come after us.

drove into Woodstock but decided to return back to camp for the night. the shows were just too expensive for us. i love supporting any local and independent musicians and artists but we had a few too many unexpected costs with the demise of Mrs. Henry and now we're down to our nitty-gritty. we even felt the crunch with the simple purchase of two bags of ice that were necessary to keep our food... $5.50!

saw a fawn. so trusting. a little wobbly. pure beauty. i will never understand how one can kill such a defenseless animal. i will never understand how one justifies killing any animal. "we're top of the food chain" is the common defense i hear. however, i'd love to get the grizzly's perspective on that.

back at camp. fire going. we have the tiki torch lit that some fellow campers gave us last year. they bestowed it on us since they were getting on a plane to head back to Califonia. they couldn't take any liquids with them. they also gave us two blueberry beers. which were quite wonder-ful.

we found a pay phone earlier and called Welby. he said the kitties and the garden, and flowers are all very well. i have such gratitude for his friendship.
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Saturday
August 15, 2009

Dream: a little boy ran up to me. he called me mama. embraced me. i don't know where his parents were. i picked him up and carried him outside. i showed him the snow.

we have a morning fire going. my finger nails are dirty. i like when my finger nails are dirty. it's symbolic of something greater.

Thunder-Clap Newman
Bert Summer

arrived at Bethel Woods after waiting over an hour in a line of traffic. pulled into the lot. very positive vibration. people drinking beer and making sandwiches out of the back of their cars and vans. tapestries. incense. Mike and i had a beer. lit some Nag Champa.

as we approached the venue, after about a half a mile or so walk, i stood to take a picture of the land. the show was on part of the site of the original Woodstock. as i captured the view a woman yelled at me. i mean yelled! "You can't bring your camera!", "Take it back to your car", "They won't let you take it in!", “Take it back now!”... oh my goodness! i've been smilin' at everyone passin' by and tryin' to be good and i'm being yelled at. approached by someone, i can see, but yelled at? the vibration changed. so, i said, "okay, thank you" then walked on. tucking my camera away in my tote. hiding it the best i could, and hoping for the best.

i felt defiant. i didn’t feel necessarily good about it, but this is my experience and i feel strongly that i have the right to document it the way that i see. my photos will cause no harm, so why not? i suppose i can see their view, though i do not understand it. their stance is that on the very, very off chance one of my photos might make me a small profit and not them, well, they just couldn’t have that. they must have all the money related to the venue. Greed.

i'm sure that many people's point of view might be that since it is their venue/business that they have the right to conduct it any way they wish. while this might be true i can't agree with it if that conduct takes away someone else's rights, no matter how small. or very small in this case. i’m of the mind that just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. our society has gotten into a lot of trouble that way. recklessness and greed are not the same as freedom.

i practice compassion, but compassion is never the same as apathy. i've met people who confuse the two.  and apathy doesn't mirror peace.  never.  apathy is a very dangerous thing, and is not compassionate in the least. apathy gives power to those things that are not compassionate.  not peaceful.  i like to consider myself a compassionate objector.

the show began in great spirit. Country Joe McDonald. Canned Heat. a speech by Sam Yasgur, Max Yasgur’s son. Country Joe McDonald read a list of all the soldiers that died in Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan from Sullivan county.

beautiful.

the rest of the night somehow lost that spirit. the music was very polished and members of bands were replaced by younger versions. i had been disturbed by the thought that we couldn’t bring in any food or drink. there was no re-entry so we couldn’t run out to the van to make a simple PB&J to satisfy our bodies. instead with an eight or nine hour concert ahead there were $8 dollar beers available and $10 dollar sandwiches. that didn’t encapsulate the spirit Woodstock for me and i felt a bit trapped.

the spirit of Woodstock also was not present in the Verizon Wireless, Live Nation, Pepsi,and Twitter ads flashing on the screens besides the musicians. it gave me a headache. at one point the woman who sang with Big Brother Holding Co. blurted out quickly into her microphone, “peace and the love by the way.” Mike looked at me and said, “peace and love by the way, i think that sums up the night”. i thought, ‘exactly’. it was as though ‘peace and love’ was an afterthought for most of the night. i mean, we have a war to protest right now. we NEED peace and love always; and we, too, have great strides to make in unity. Peace and Love should never be an afterthought.

i don’t mean to sound negative. i am glad after all that i was there on the night of the 40th anniversary. i wasn’t expecting that time to be recreated but i also wasn’t expecting it to be so far away from the original spirit. i know the spirit was alive in some people’s hearts and minds. it was for me and Mike, but for too many it seemed that the night was just daiquiris in oversized souvenir glasses. perhaps i’m just too idealistic, but that’s okay with me.

Big Brother Holding Co.
Ten Years After
Jefferson Airplane
Mountain
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Sunday
August 16, 2009

got back to camp past 2 a.m. got a little turned around. the roads wind and wind and soon our sense of north/south/east/west was lost. there are also very few signs along the mountain roads, so reference points for a novice were non-existent.

packed up camp this morning. cleaned up a bit. said our good-byes and gave thanks to the land. headed into town. met up with Arty. he’s having “trouble” with his wife. i wasn’t sure what to say. i don’t know his wife. he really wanted to talk. he says that he wants to move to the Bahamas but that his wife worries too much. he later took us to Albert Grossman’s grave which is just behind the house. in the woods. benches surround his site. very peaceful. flowers laid about.

Arty likes to take the long way around the story, but it’s always an interesting journey. he and Nick have a humorous dynamic. Nick is always asking Arty, “and where’s this story going?”. Arty has a good heart. plays well. writes really good songs. glad to have met him and look forward to meeting him again.

i felt dehydrated and i didn’t start feeling better until I started drinking salt water. i had trouble drinking water from the camp after our filtered water from home ran out. water from camp tasted like black pepper. i don’t buy water in plastic, and my stubbornness got in the way of my sensibility. i drink plentiful water at home, perhaps the cool mountain humidity played with my head. after about a half hour I was feeling like me again.

Mike played a great set. Preacher. Choke Chain. Dig that Hole. some of my favorites. Arty is playing now. A gypsy woman is giving readings. Billy is here.

said our good-byes. Nick and Stephanie have been so good to us. Nick gave me a bottle of water on the way out. we might be back by spring. Nick wants to book Mike a show. stopped at a farm stand on our way out. sustenance for the road.

Djali Mali? African guitarist.

we drove straight through. thirteen hours. Mike was determined. we arrived home around 6:30 a.m. the kitties were very happy to see us, and of course we were very happy to see them. so much love. tired but eyes wide open. inspired.