Me: “People are going to look at these photos at not even remember what was happening. Or that I even took the photo.”
“It’s okay, that’s not the point. They’re not meant to be remembered right away. They’re not memories. They’re discoveries.”
It was a quiet evening, initially. I had been busily gathering my camera gear for the past hour, trying to pick the perfect camera and lens to make this night work the way I had envisioned in my head. I was running around my room with Mark, getting gear set up and ready to use. After a final look around, we headed out.
Friday evening was a little cold. The sun was shining. There was a chill in the air, and an excitement brewing in the air overhead. We knocked on everyone’s doors. Explained our purpose. Everyone let us in. And then it began.
It started on front porches. There were kegs, and plenty of willing participants stepping up to the challenge of making sure they were empty by the end of the night. I had heard that an indication that Fest season had begun is when everyone started wearing their basketball jerseys out to the parties and guys started sporting American flags – on shorts, tanks, a flag a piece of clothing because their original clothes were gone… I didn’t see the latter (although I did see a bunch of guys in American flag shorts), but I definitely saw my share of Celtics, Bulls, Cavs, and Nuggets jerseys. Everyone was outside. No one was a stranger. I’ve found that the best photos emerge when I sit and get to know people. I sat outside with a group of guys I met that I learned were singers. I made some really awesome friends that night (most of which probably wouldn’t even remember me if they saw me right now). They got up on porches and sang. I’m a sucker for music. We were instantly friends. The two guys in the photo above had drank 14 cans of beer by the time I took this picture, at 7:00pm. If that’s not an indication of how the night went, I’m not sure what is.
Me: “How many of those have drank?!”
“Fourteen. And counting.” (He then did a keg stand. And played beer pong. And won.)
Me: “Does the fourteen include all the other alcohol you’ve drank and have on your… um… what should I call that?”
“Nope. The fourteen only includes cans. And it’s a staff. My beer staff.” (He later started calling it his ‘scepter’.)
The streets and yards were littered. At first glance (if you were REALLY far away), the scene could maybe be described as of having shining faux diamonds buried in sacred grounds and gardens that lined the beautiful streets (I actually heard a drunk guy describe Mill Street like this on Saturday: “Full of diamonds. Everything is SO shiny…”). In reality, aluminum cans and glass bottles that once held alcohol were haphazardly thrown across yards where the grass was replaced with mud and puddles of stale beer – along with some other fluids I’d rather not think about.
I have been sitting here for almost a week now, staring at these photos, trying to come up with beautiful words for this weekend expedition. I stare at these photos. I watch the video that Mark made. I look through Instagram. Anything, anything for a source of inspiration. I have decided it may not come, and I’m okay with that. All of my words are in a blur, and I just can’t seem to find any order to the chaos of the first two Fests. I guess that sums it up, though. It was chaos. Students danced on second-story porches. They played beer pong in the yards until the game was won, and then moved 10 feet over to the next yard to play another round. Inside the houses, drinks were pouring. Beer’s not your taste? No worries. Somewhere, you could find someone to make you a mimosa, or get you vodka, or anything just to help you throw your sobriety out the window. the DJs were blasting music up and down the street, and anywhere you went, you heard some remix of Timber, Dark Horse, a song from Big Sean, Kid Kudi, or Ellie Goulding. It was inevitable. If you walked a few feet, you’d hear another song either from a rooftop, a DJ, inside a house, or a set of speakers in a yard. It was chaos. I wish I could describe Milliron and Mill Fests as a beautiful event, in the way I see so many events. This is different, though. It was daylight outside. There were police. 76 arrests. There were so many different things happening all at once, there was no possible way you could ever keep track of just one party or one person. It wasn’t possible. I suppose, it a sort of roundabout way, that’s what made this party so spectacular. There was no giant concert, and there were no fancy lights. It was just, pure. (And ‘pure’ is used lightly here.) I had heard about Fest season at Ohio University far before I had chosen to attend. As I walked the streets this past weekend, camera in hand and reporter’s notebook in my back pocket – as I experience most things around campus – I realized that this truly was the essence of college. We still had lives. Still had schoolwork. For some, there was still graduation in a only month or two. HallOUween is a crazy party. CRAZY. But Fest season, well, it’s different. For HallOUween, students from other towns, colleges, and even other states gathered on our streets. For Mill Fest, it was only the students who truly loved this place that gathered together. I walked up and down, stopping at houses, saying “hey” to people I knew. I know of a couple alumni that actually came back, too. I’ve talked before about the people who attend OU being a sort of family. This was insane. It was a reunion, a block party, a pre-graduation celebration, and first-time hello’s (that may not have been remembered the next day after the hangovers wore off). It was a celebration for those who were attending their very last Mill Fest before they graduated. It was a first look into spring semester and all that it holds for first-year students like myself. There was no order. There was no flow of events. There was not a set schedule, and there was not plan of attack. It all just… happened. Gloriously, it fell together as simultaneously, it’s participants fell apart as the alcohol in their systems eventually began to take effect. Everything was alive.
This upcoming Saturday morning, I will be going out once again: Cameras in hand, notebook in my back pocket, and pen in my hair. I will try to document yet another of the Fests, this time being #HighFest. It’s going to get crazy. And it’ll be chaotic. And it’ll be more glorious than the Fest before.
Check out the video that Mark Dohner, the guy I am working with this on, made during our experience at #MillironFest and #MillFest. It’s pretty sweet.
Fests #1 and #2: Mill and Milliron. Me: "People are going to look at these photos at not even remember what was happening. Or that I even took the photo."
