Heat radiated up from the parched ground, all day Saturday as I went about my tasks: cleaning water filters, checking gopher traps and caging tomato plants. Whereas my hands were busy with chores on-farm, my thoughts were drifting northward, up to French’s Camp, and the upcoming Reggae on the River 2017 music festival.
|Back-stage access is what it's all about...|
Oddly enough, an old Kinks song kept traipsing through the frayed edges of my mind. You know the one,
“Now I’m sitting here, sipping on my ice cold beer
Blazing on a sunny afternoon.” [Editor’s note: Check lyrics for accuracy?]
What’s an extra “B” here or there among friends?
Speaking of B’s, I have already communicated with Bull, the dude who is in charge of setting up the two kitchens that will be preparing and serving food throughout the festival. One is for the 3,000 or so volunteers, and must be up and running immediately as volunteers begin arriving on-site. The other is for the VIP contingent of the show, and is not required until the festival starts.
My experience these past two years is that everyone functions on Indica, the week leading up to Reggae Week, leading to great stress on the part of those who are in charge. Then, about two days, before the music actually starts, the crew switches to Sativa to get the edge they need, and it all comes together.
|Last year we built and painted these three tables.|
I am determined to alter that program this summer, and have made it clear to Bull that I am willing to back my words with actions. I will make the run up to French’s Camp every day for the two weeks leading up to the festival, if that is what it takes. My goal is to have nothing better to do by the time Wednesday comes, than to clean the bongs, rather than running around like stoners who cannot even find the damn thing.
I would term it comical, but after relocating the two huge refrigeration units, first across the concrete slab, and then back to the original sites, the humor begins to lose out to dismay. I mean it’s pretty fun and all, but not that fun.
Once the festivities begin, I will be the morning dude, presenting myself at 5:45 to Melody, otherwise known as Mel, to put out any fires that have erupted overnight. It could be a propane issue, a water problem or any of a vast range of mostly mechanical tasks, that must be dealt with before the day can unfold.
If it’s electrical, I won’t be able to do anything about it, but I will know where the electrical guru is, and can get ahold of him in an emergency. Ultimately, that’s all I really have to do: keep Mel happy by simply being around, sipping a latte like a G.
|Duct tape-the secret to success!|
In the past not having someone over to soothe Mel’s ruffled feathers, early in the AM, has resulted in visits to our campsite from various emissaries, in a vain effort to rouse Bull from his slumbers. Easier to rouse the Sphinx than to get Bull to rise before he is ready to shine.
That’s what I will get paid the big bucks for, in the form of the key wristband, which will get me backstage to take in the music. That’s all the fee I demand and it’s well worth the price.
All together now,
“Help me, help me, help me sail away
Well give me two good reasons why I ought to stay
‘Cause I love to live so pleasantly
Live this live of luxury
Blazing on a sunny afternoon…”