stolen from a little bird

Raven: the last four days in review.

the last four days in review.

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Yesterday at 7:06pm

on hands and knees in rows of beans
in the morning sun
picking and eating,
looking out on rice lake,
sharing thoughts and ideas and moments of quiet
with beautiful company
and a smiley bean of a baby
perched in a laundry basket.

down country roads
through rolling hills
eating groundcherries
singing along with buddy and julie
with the windows down.

finding home
in a field
among strangers and friends.
music that moves me
inside and out.
sun soaked sweaty skin.
dirty toes.
no sense of time.

eating together.
sleeping together.
living together.
the stories and stresses and gifts and discoveries
that ooze out of such intimacy
and proximity.

full moon at night
fires and songs
and sweet irish cream.
blackouts
and wipeouts
and moments i wish i could undo
and millions more that i wound never change
even if i could.

journey home
through wild gardens
and secret streams.
blueberry tea in a funny shaped house.
honest conversation,
words that come from the belly
and the heart.
friends that make
even shitty days
worth waking up for.

deep breathes
and no breathes,
tired and sleepless
a jumble
of wakefulness
and wondering.

the fullness
of gratitude.
the richness
of living.
the gift that was just sitting there,
waiting.

post fest blues, after wearing yellow.

the let down.

after something so lovely.

the sense of time, the loss of time.

makes me wonder, makes me adore, makes me hate, makes me cry- tears of joy, sorrow, release.

so many people working so hard... together, in community, in communion.

I get a little worked up thinking about it still... the million tiny fires we'll never know about- that we've never known about- people who work so well as a team that they don't need to check in, they just do it. And in the big things, fall into working for the community, not for the recognition or the chance at being in charge. Incredible.

And the million tiny moments of wonder and joy? I only hope I'm able to share them.

This was a hard weekend. I worked HARD. and I'm proud. I said it, I'm proud of what I did- and I'm also still so worried I missed something huge- that there was some piece that along the way I dropped and couldn't see. And I worry that people didn't get the most out of it. I'm not saying that part to get some sort of boost or response "to feel better" or draw praise, I just want to voice what I'm thinking and worrying...

So if for the next couple of days I'm weepy, I'm distracted, just know I'm going thru some sort of grieving process.

SVFF 3 sleeps

crazy process this... putting so much into one little weekend.

sometimes I look around and I can't even believe it...

all these people, working for the same goal. some have never even been there before, but are just as excited, just as passionate.

i'm feeling pretty run down. it's the toll of switching back and forth from work brain to festival spirit.

and i feel bad about how cranky i am.

but not really.

i think maybe, it's just more unguarded... there will be casualties along the way. meh. there already have been.

it's nearly time!

two days early

meh, we can pretend it's monday.

Pavlov's Uke

Just before lunch break a coworker entered into the office, looked at me, then jumped...

"But? isn't it lunch time?"

I was just about as confused as she looked.

then she said... "I was sure it was lunch time, I heard a Ukulele in the back room a few minutes ago"

awesome.

soon and others

sometimes I just get

too excited

breathing doesn't happen

right- like I forget to

and my stomach turns

upside down, and

I shake and want to

run. or yell. or scream.

or.

something.

so I bite my nails

and clench my teeth, my stomach

and I don't breathe.

and I stifle a smile

because you probably would

just look at me funny

and ask why.

I just am.

um... sleep? no. but at least there's this to look forward to!

In just a few days, a gate will open, and people of all ages will wander the side of a grassy hill overlooking Lake Ontario. They’ll greet old friends, and settle themselves down to listen to some of the finest music out there.

Eventually though, they’ll have to stretch their legs.

And a little further down the hill, they’ll find another layer to the festival exists.

Not only is Shelter Valley Folk Festival a great place for exposure to some of today’s most exciting in Folk, Blues and Roots music, but it plays host to a fantastic selection of local artists.

The Artists’ Village opens up before you into a world of texture and colour. Original works of art share a space with their creators, giving opportunity for discussion and demonstration, while workshops invite guests to touch and take part in the creative process. A perennial favorite in the workshop department takes place Saturday afternoon, where folks are invited to express themselves in colour, guided and inspired by some of the festival’s musicians (this year with the musical group Po’Girl).

The juried show runs the duration of the festival and includes a mix of returning and new exhibitors covering a broad range of mediums. Tie-dye goes hand in hand with a folk festival, and returning Artist Rri Povey of Rrijoice-Tie-Dye takes the craft a little further. Povey hand stitches her patterns and designs before dying the fabric. Turtles, guitars, flowers and stars are some of her popular designs. A newcomer to the festival this year is Richard Cox, builder of beautiful Irish wooden flutes. Each instrument he builds is a work of art, beautiful to the eyes and the ears. Cox first heard of Shelter Valley Folk Festival from a friend who has been an Artist in the Village before, his friend spoke so highly of SVFF that Cox just had to apply.

So much waits to be found and experienced in the Artists’ Village...

Tickets are still on sale for the Labour Day weekend event, online at www.sheltervalley.com by phone at 905-355-1244, or in the downtown office on King St.

July 1st

sometimes I might pull things from that really nice notebook. sometimes I've written them. sometimes I haven't.

who knows?

There are somedays where I don't even believe it's my own life. Days where so much good bad crazy manic lovely happens- that I don't believe it's even for real.

"you just don't write this stuff"

"you can't make shit like this up"

what if your morning started with the nicest fruitiest granola, made by a friend, who called and said coffee was made and waiting for you?

what if you sent people to the wrong place for a parade, but they still came and you all had a great time? and you played your kazoo, and rode your bike in a pretty skirt and gave it your everything?

what if people you loved so deeply were there, along with all your favourites?

what if you drank pints on the patio, ate poutine, laughed, took pictures and moved an office over one space closer to a chocolate shop?

what if you set up your tent, blew up your air mat, and nearly had a nap in the sun?

what if you had the most adorable old man living beside you? and you spent the afternoon and evening walking back and forth to the neighbours- chatting and laughing? and they looked out for you?

what if your favourite people came and you loved them through the rough spots?

what if you dragged them to the waterfront through all the tourists?

what if you ate too much pulled pork, cranked some ice cream to smooth vanilla perfection, then dolloped it on to a cobbler from heaven?

what if then maybe you laid in the sand on a blanket by the lake with the real town- not the imported one?

watched women hula-hoop with fire, campfire visited, then experienced some crazy enormous fireworks- so good that you clapped, and maybe teared up?

what if when you got back you danced a jig under the glow of twinkle lights while the fiddle played for you?

would you even believe it happened?

When you live the life of a folk song...

... you're bound to have someone write down everything you say... in hope....

"we grew everything but peas, momma wouldn't shuck them"

sheesh.

corney

it's corn season.

growing up, I hated corn season. I just wasn't that interested in it... I was interested in the butter... but could care less for the sensation of corn stuck between my teeth. and. I was too lazy to cut it off the cob.

and, it wasn't all that good.

it came to my attention a few years ago that I was going about corn all wrong... I was called a "PINHEAD" and was told to stop buying my corn at No Frills.

Since switching to buying my corn from the adorable old farmer down the way... I have become a corn addict. My compost bin is filled to the brim with husks... my trips to the loo ever so satisfying.... it's likely I should be investing in dental floss.

Thank you Farmer Dolly.