Monday November 24, 2014


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Musical medicine


July heat turns up intensity.

If someone’s angry, he's twice as angry. Something needs water? Water now.

I’d made plans months ago, deciding to go to the All Folked Up Music Festival in Montmartre. Even so, the event approached with every muscle in my body clinging to the farm. Toes and fingernails dug in for a fight – against myself.

I had excuses for staying home. Animals can’t run out of water. Mine are accustomed to fresh greens twice daily, and calling in someone to do that for me is just too much to ask. Asking anything more of Farmer is hardly possible either.

I unsuccessfully tried to give the ticket away.          

“Why don’t you just go for Saturday then?” Farmer asked, surprising me since he dislikes my leaving him even more than I.

Why wouldn’t I? Why throw away $50 and a chance to hear Saskatchewan sing, and relax into some desperately needed soul salve? I ran back over my options, re-examining this vacation resistance. What the hell is summer for if not to get away?

Truth is, this is the one time of year I have no desire to go anywhere. This farm is my Eden. It all happens here. Miracles by the moment unfold with bees in the raspberries; zucchini and garlic all abloom.

But what about that promise to myself to feed the soul with live music?

Friday came and I took Princess swimming. She met instant pool friends – the kind that hug upon introduction and instantly decide to be best friends. When people recreate, such moments are possible, conversation flows. Was it the crowd I feared?

Saturday chores started early. I put a note on supper in the fridge, and Farmer left with Princess to do some farm business. I packed some things, fed Treasure and drove away.

My children would have loved Montmartre and the swimming pool just outside the festival perimeter. Perhaps next year I’ll take them. They would have danced themselves into a restful state just like the children jumping barefoot in their PJ’s to the evening bands.

The highlight for me was a young Regina group called Indigo Joseph who, despite their years, packed more intelligence into the lyrics of their opening song than I’ve heard in years of radio. Inspired, I thought this is why I was supposed to be here: a pure hour of inspiration and surprise. Medicine.



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