july 6, 2003.

Sunday morning was slightly less miserable than Saturday night. As soon as the Boy woke up, we got in the car to see if there was a pharmacy open in town. Fat freaking chance - there is nothing open on Sunday in Nova Scotia. We decided to check out the hospital, also in town, on the off-chance that they might have a pharmacy attached to the building. At least the hospital wasn't closed. They did, however, make me wait until the one doctor was free. I passed the time reading an article called, "My husband is a sex-offender!" In retrospect, not the classiest of choices, but I am susceptible to pulp from time to time.

The doctor put a Doppler on my belly, assuring me that the Sprout was still alive in there (big relief!). He then prescribed a 6-day yeast infection cure, but soon discovered that the hospital was all out. Yup. The HOSPITAL was completely out of yeast infection cream. And the nearest open drugstore was in Antigonish, at least 2 hours away - or looked at another way, the nearest open drugstore was either 2 hours & 200 kms or 24 hours & 3 kms away. Bah.

It wasn't that big of a deal, though - I was already feeling better than the day before, and it made me think up solutions for myself. One of the first things I decided was that it was stupid to keep an unopened bottle of acidophilus in the car when it could help me get better. Then I figured out that sitting in the hot sun on a vinyl chair was probably contributing to the incubation, so I decided to fashion a cushion out of the aptly named Blanket of Mirth (a wool souvenir of the Boy's bachelorhood that comes in handy on camping trips because it's always nice to have a blanket that you don't care about putting on the ground or spilling food on). The sunburn was similarly untreatable except with aloe vera and time.

We got back to the site in good time, having only missed 15 minutes of the first workshop. Blanket in place, I covered my arms & legs with the multi-tasking orange wrap my mother bought me in the Dominican Republic 2 years ago, it being the only cover I could bear in the intense heat. Then we were good to go...

Sunday Morning Family Show

Dirk was already in place when we arrived, laughing uproariously at the Arrogant Worms, who continually referred to the sun-drenched Hillside stage as "a toaster oven," and "the big slice of sweaty death stage." I also enjoyed the sequence about the money in music: "it's not in folk music. There's only $12 in folk music, and Valdy has it all. No, the money's in children's music!" Then they harangued the audience into participating in "Rippy the Gator," a song about an alligator that eats children. "You! You in the fluorescent green shirt! Ooooh, you think you can hide? Get your arms up! This isn't teevee - I'll come down there and kick your ass!" I also liked "Big Fat Road Manager" - the line about the deli tray cracked me up.

Swamperella was disappointing again. I started to feel really bad for the sound guy, the audience and the band itself, although I stubbornly refused to agree with Dirk's continual slagging. Exactly one drop of rain fell during their set, which made me desperately hope for a break in the heat. But it was a false alarm and the merciless sun continued to beat down. After Swamperella's performance, the Boy & I went over to talk to the lead singer, introducing ourselves as the Bunny & the Bee. She smiled, and told me that I'd looked like a little girl, sitting in my wrap. Then she called over the bassist: "it's the Bunny & the Bee!" The bassist looked puzzled. "You remember," I said, "you were a swamp & my husband rubbed his butt on you." "Oh yeah!"

Lunch was the last sausages, with a hearty appetizer of enormously satisfying cheese & crackers. We started talking about our plans for next year. The Boy will almost certainly be tied down with summer courses so that he can graduate on time, and I'll be nursing the Sprout (although that doesn't necessarily preclude my attendance. I saw many, many babies this year in addition to children of all ages - it's a very comfortable place for small fry.) Dirk thinks that his sister Lucretia might be persuaded to go next year, along with her husband and an uncertain number of children - which will make a nice group if the Sprout & I end up going without the Boy.

The Boy & I also made our very first foray into the StanFest showers while everyone else was eating or watching the show. Since we only had one set of soap & shampoo, he went first. I hung around the girl's bathroom, watching a girl use a curling iron on her perfect hair. (Some people have an entirely different definition of camping than yours truly. I'm torn between shame that I can't maintain the illusion of glamour after 2 days in the sun and relief that I've found a mate and don't have to worry about these stupid games.) The showers ran on a meter, and were wildly inconsistent in temperature, by which I mean that they rapidly and unpredictably oscillated between boiling hot and icy cold with no warning. Seriously burned as I was, this was way too much for my skin to handle (especially the hot!). I spent my 10 minutes standing outside the shower, rinsing quickly whenever the water cooled to a reasonable temperature and using a dishcloth as a washcloth all other times. I emerged slightly soapy, but very at peace with the world. I was clean! Yay!

When we got back to the tent, even the tiniest patch of shade had evaporated. I lay down in the tent to get away from the sun, and the next thing I knew, I was alone. The boys had gone off to see the Singing Stan show on the mainstage, and I could hear an incredibly powerful "Northwest Passage" covering the grounds like mist. I got up & stumbled down to the concert site just as it ended. The boys assured me that Nathan - for it'd been he on the last song - had been incredible.

TRAD.COM

Not really knowing where we wanted to be next, the Boy & I seated ourselves in the nearest patch of shade. This was an incredible stroke of luck, as we were just in time for a set with the Northern Lights, the bluegrass band I'd missed on the mainstage. It was an utterly charming set, alternating between the Northern Lights, David Francey (a wonderful Scottish/Canadian family guy who builds houses, tells stories & writes perfect folk songs), and a pair of sisters from Mabou who were parachuted in to fill Murray McLauchlan's place. Each of the acts was absolutely first rate at their own specialty, and each seemed blown away by the others. "They just happen to have brought their step sandals," said David bemusedly, after one of the sisters did an impromptu step dance while fiddling a reel. The mutual admiration created a very good feeling in the tent, and we were glad to have lucked into this particular patch of shade.

Young & Restless

The Bill Hilly Band turned out to be amazing collaborators - every song the Arrogant Worms came up with, the BHB embellished & improved it with their extensive knowledge of traditional world music. I particularly remember a really funny song about a Greek vacation that was extended into a particularly fitting mandolin solo. On their own, the BHB also shone, especially on the song "Love Alone," which they broke off half way through to troubadour an audience member with "The Street Where You Live." (He'd put his hand up when the crowd was asked if anyone wasn't feeling enough love this weekend.) After a minute of this, we realized that the guy next to him was Nathan Rogers. With this set, the Bill Hilly Band became my StanFest Heroes.

Song Crafters III

I was the only one of my group at this stage, and my main motivation was to see Charlie A'Court with his acoustic guitar. It was so, so much better than his electric mainstage set on Friday. My faith was completely restored. Ian Janes was there, and suddenly his funk made sense. I quite enjoyed his songs, and was amused by the difference context makes, as he sang one of the songs that had left me completely cold during the humour set. Michael Pickett was smoking once more - there's nothing like blues harmonica properly played. Michael Jerome Brown was okay. (I used his songs as a chance to run up the hill & grab more fish n' chips.) After the set, I introduced myself to Charlie A'Court as "the girl with the rocketbride page." He was charming, as usual, saying that he only remembered meeting me once (on my birthday). Since I expected him to forget me entirely, this was a nice thing to say.

On the way back to the tent, I saw a small group clustered around a fence. Realizing that one was Nathan Rogers, I saw my chance to thank him for "Lunchlady Land." As I got closer, I realized that he was totally rocking out to something on a huge set of headphones, attached to a small rig around the neck of another person. I smiled as I got closer, now trying to figure out what was going on. It turned out that the rig belonged to a guy from community radio, and he had a recording of the incredibly powerful "Northwest Passage" that had filled the site earlier. My eyes dazzled. I spent a few minutes negotiating a copy of the tape, talking to Nathan & the others, and generally enjoying myself. Mostly Nathan talked (every third word being 'fuck') and the rest of us listened. It was then that I found out he'd originally planned to sing "At a Medium Pace," the Boy's favourite Adam Sandler song. And it was a tongue stud flashing in his remarkably Stan-like mouth.

"I love community radio. I love community radio. Did I mention that I love community radio?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. What do you love?"
"Dirty sex. [lecherous wink] Naked, dirty sex in a field with animals... 'bovine' rhymes with 'so fine.'" - Nathan & I in conversation.

When it was over I ran back to the campsite, surprising the hell out of myself. Apparently good news gives me wings.

When the mainstage show began, I didn't even need a jacket. Amazing, startling weather. I still can't believe it.

Ron Hynes

I waited for "Sonny's Dream." He played it, we all sang along, I was happy.

The Duhks

They tried hard, but I just wasn't paying close enough attention. Some nasty bugs had come out and big smears of blood were appearing almost at random on my arms.

Aeslin Debison

This is the 13-year-old vocal prodigy from Cape Breton who sang for the Queen this year. An amazingly powerful voice for such a little body. The material she did was good but not great; I only hope that her management doesn't kill her golden voice with sappy pseudoballads.

David Francey

I love David Francey!! I love the story-and-song format of his performance. I love that he writes powerful songs about the sight of a skating rink at dawn, whilst taking his son to practice. I love that he builds houses instead of flopping around like a tortured artist all day long. I love how self-deprecating he is. I love him! After this gig, I ran out & bought 2 CD's - the latest for Theresa, as a thank-you for all the help she gave me last year, and the older one (with "Blue Water," my favourite song!) for us.

Mary Gauthier

She was unquestionably Dirk's StanFest Hero, not only for her amusing delivery and heart-wrenching songs, but for being generally brave & cool as fuck. She started one song with a story about having written it with a friend; after a few bars of acoustic guitar & harmonica, she stopped dead. "Now, I know what you're thinking: I wrote this with Neil Young." Wave of laughter. "I've never met him. I'd love to. But we all rip him off when it comes to the guitar & harmonica." And then she started in again. Dirk fell without a trace when she introduced her song, "Drag Queens & Limousines" as a song about the courage to leave home. "Sometimes you have to go on and hope they'll catch up with you." Great song, like something Stacy might've written if she'd grown up on Tammy Wynette. Dirk bought two of her CD's immediately after the set, and came back from the autograph tent with tears in his eyes. I was deputized to get the second CD signed, as it had been a little overwhelming for him. She's a nice lady, too. She said some very perceptive things about Dirk, having only known him for a few minutes.

Swamperella

I tried to like this set, but the bloom was very much off the Swamperella rose at this point in the weekend.

The Strawbs

Ho boy, did these guys suck! They played acoustic guitars like electric guitars and I expected a dwarf to come out and dance around a miniature Stonehenge model. Oh, it was awful and completely without irony.

Tommy Makem

Very traditional (and famous) Irish folk singer, sang ballads about past battles and lost romances. I didn't feel much of a connection with him, but it was extremely technically proficient. I was unashamedly waiting for his set to end, so we could all sing "The Mary Ellen Carter."

The Close of the Show

We crowded close to the stage so we could see my old classmate Stan with his guitar. "The Mary Ellen Carter" was perfectly handled by Nathan Rogers, while his mother Ariel did "Amazing Grace" and our friend Stan did "Fiddler's Green." It reminded me of last year, and seeing Angus Finnan singing his heart out when he was nowhere near a mike just for the sheer joy of it.

We went back to the tent, it still being warm enough to sit around in a jacket & shorts. The boys drank beer & I sat on a chair making sarcastic comments and trying not to scratch my mosquito bites. Eventually we crawled into Tenty & passed out. It was a beautiful end to StanFest 2003, and I'm only sorry that I missed so many mainstage sets through exhaustion & pain.