A 26-year VETERAN VOLUNTEER'S MEMORIES
Beginning with VFMF #2, I'd been an inveterate, constant volunteer with the festival, eagerly waiting for that happy weekend in July every year. My family and friends knew that this yearly festival was my pilgrimage not to be interfered with.
My 26 years were filled with various committees, including Gate, Media Relations, Postering and office work, Admin, Dugg's Angels, and, in the last years, finally proudly coordinating my own committee, the T-Shirt Angels. Staff and committee coordinators, the GM and Artistic Directors got so used to seeing me around that they'd feel free to call on me to pitch in if they found themselves short of person power, and so I'd gladly put in double time working the Gate or running errands for Admin. Working with hundreds of volunteers, coordinators and staff was always a special time reconnecting with these folks, and we all shared the common love of the festival, the music, the artists, and the entire experience of just being there. Music from the most remote regions of the world like Mongolia, South Sea Islands, African, Egyptian and Middle Eastern communities as well as local Canadian artists like Katari Taiko, Sawagi Taiko (with whom I performed during an amazing afternoon workshop), Ian Tyson and African American groups like Sweet Honey in the Rock, The Linda Tillery group thrilled me (and continues to do so) to the spine.
Friends and family who would come out to visit me from out of town would be told that this was the time and place where love and respect would override anything negative, that it was the happiest place to find one's own belongings still remaining on the blanket in front of main stage after several hours of abandonment. And people you'd pass by would have smiles on their faces, which compelled everyone to smile and acknowledge one another purposely, to spread goodwill throughout the park. Throngs of gay and lesbian people could congregate at this park and be left alone to happily be themselves without fear of ridicule or harassment.
There was a basic trust between people not easily found in other public gatherings. One year I noticed a little girl on a nearby blanket pathetically trying to scoop out her yogurt with a plastic fork. So I ran as swiftly as I could to our volunteer mess tent and grabbed her a spoon, and gave it to her...her parents returned shortly and noticed this and weren't disturbed that their child would accept something given by a total stranger. Probably it had something to do with the volunteer Tshirt I was wearing.
Spending time in the volunteer/artist food tent was always a highlight for me, and sweet memories of talking with a flirtatious Greek pianist, sitting with Melanie of the Linda Tillery group and humming "My Girl" with her, chit chatting with Heather Bishop and Janis Ian...as special as making small talk with Buffy Ste. Marie in the CD tent. After giving Keola Beamer the Hawaiian "hang ten" sign at the conclusion of his Slack Key Guitar workshop, he smiled and then introduced me to his mother; he certainly lived up to his last name, the personification of the warm Hawaiian Island spirit.
Lining up for the volunteer/artist meals was always an event, getting my ID badge clipped by the smiling clown hostess, bestowing glowing compliments to the kitchen committee people, jokingly harassing Linda the visually impaired coordinator of the Disabled Access Committee about her not eating enough vegetables...through the years, this would become a yearly tradition for us both, my going up to her in the line and muttering in her ear about vegetables and her recognizing my voice immediately and giving me a boisterous laugh.
Decades ago, my brother told me he was planning his wedding for a certain weekend in July, and I simply told him that I couldn't be there for it, as it was the weekend for the Folk Festival, and that if he wanted me to be there, he'd have to choose another weekend. Rather annoyed, he then picked another weekend, and I consented to attend. Unfortunately, the Folk Festival lasted longer than his marriage, which did not surprise me.
These days I am not able to volunteer, as rheumatoid arthritis has stolen my ability to use my hands and feet effectively and without chronic pain. So every July there is a lump in the pit of my stomach, knowing and seeing all the changes the festival has gone through all these years I've not been able to participate and I try my best to just remember the happy things I was able to experience way back then. And I think, if this new generation of volunteers and audience people are as blown away from being there as I was at the start, then that's a whole lotta more love out there for this special weekend in July. Remind you of the 60s? Well, I'm stuck in the 60s and proud of it! For me, the Festival was the closest thing I've experienced to give me back that fundamental love of music, peace and goodwill.