I’ve just returned home from the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival. This was my 13th year there. I went by myself a few times in the 1990s and then stopped going for awhile; my first year back (with my spouse) was 2002, the year the Dave Carter died. We’ve gone every year since then. This year there were a number of things I had to give up (including the possibility of going to music camp – all the ones I considered overlapped with the festival) in order to go, but I’m so glad that I went. It’s a different festival experience each year (not just because the musicians – and weather – are different); in fact, it’s interesting how much it’s a different festival for each person in any given year. There are so many ways to experience the festival and so many subcommunities that people take part in. Even apart from the camping/no camping divide (we get camping tickets so we can access the campground music the day before the official start of the festival, but we stay at a B&B nearby, an innovation that was my spouse’s condition for becoming a regular festival attendee), and the volunteer/paid attendee distinction, there are many other variations in how people experience the festival. Some of us – I’m in this group – get up early in the morning to queue for the tarp rush: you’re allowed to put a tarp down to reserve a space at the mainstage each day beginning at 7 a.m., but people get there starting at about 5 a.m. to get a good position for the rush (and over the years the early arrivers have come to map out positions beforehand, so there’s less of an actual rush than there used to be). There are people I know only because we see each other every year at the tarp rush (especially because we usually aim for the same areas). One of my favorite moments this year was at about 6 a.m. when someone started introducing me to someone else who responded by saying “I know who she is – I have her CD!” And when I told him I had a new CD out since last year he asked to buy one . . . and then when he looked in his wallet, asked if I’d accept Falcon Ridge Money, which I was fine with. (You need to “buy” special money to use for all the food vendors, but since the festival will buy it back at the end, if you want, it’s worth the same.) Other people stay up late – there’s a whole festival that goes on in the campgrounds after the regularly scheduled music ends (after midnight or one) and extending sometimes practically until dawn. Some people go to the festival and spend all their time in the dance tent. Some people with kids spend almost all their time in the family tent. Some people sit close at the mainstage (not surprisingly, this group overlaps quite a bit with the morning tarp rush people), and some people sit way back where they can erect shade tents. Some people stick it out in the field even in the pouring rain, and some run for shelter. Some plan who they’ll see when and where, and others wander around to find whatever music strikes them. Some (and, again, I’m in this group) watch the emerging artists showcase on Friday afternoon religiously; others skip it altogether or dip in and out as the fancy strikes them. There are those who bring or cook their own food versus those who eat the surprising-good festival food (and within that category, there are partisans of different vendors, including the Pierce Brothers versus Taste Budd’s coffee question). For me the biggest difference this year (other than how little rain there was compared to usual – and a bunch more heat to make up for it) was that we saw at least as much “unofficial” music as scheduled music. There are a couple campground sites that schedule their own music (at least one with amplification), and other places on festival grounds that musicians play semi-officially, but not as part of the scheduled program. It’s primarily “emerging artists” (from the showcase) who play there, because they’re vying to be invited back as the “most wanted” artists voted on by festival goers. It’s a great opportunity to hear folks in a less stressful (for them) environment, and to play more songs, and talk more, than they can in the showcase. It’s also an opportunity for other musicians who go to the festival but may not be on the bill, to play. In past years I’ve played at some of those campground stages, but didn’t scramble for those slots this year, because it felt like July was crowded enough with gigs (and other things) that I didn’t want one more thing to do. But we came in early to hear that music on Thursday afternoon/evening and at other times saw some music friends of mine play at the Acoustic Live booth in the vendor areas. The real discovery this year, though, was the Lost and Found. Lost-and-Found guy (I wish I could hunt up a good photo) is one of my favorite parts of the festival (trust me on that), and the Lost and Found (and general information) volunteers are extremely cool, and miss a lot of the scheduled music because they’re working at their tent, not close to where the music is happening. So the musicians bring music to them, and this year I heard a lot of it there. Two different musical groups (who are friends of mine through music) I saw play there – We’re About 9 and Friction Farm – invited me to play something during their set (in the latter case they even had to lend me an instrument, since I didn’t have advanced notice and didn’t have my guitar with me). Which was a lot of fun (and an honor), even though I had a ranging cold and thus very little voice. The other highlight of the festival for me (also in the unofficial music category) is the Dave Carter song circle that I took over running when the people who initially hosted in stopped coming to the festival. People of all different types come to play or sing or listen to Dave Carter songs, and I’ve met a lot of fantastic people in that context. It reminded me that what I like most about this festival is the community of people who are there because of their shared love of music, and the communities we collectively create around that music.