This is the tenth year that Lisa and I attended the Strawberry Music Festival. The most notable thing was that the youngsters in and around the camp are growing up – kids who were simply gleams in their parents’ eyes when we first started attending.

Now they’re mobile, independent, and forming their own bonds across camp boundaries.

Two-year-old True, the baby in the neighborhood, had to be literally belled last year so his mom could find him when he went walkabout. Now he finds the older kids interesting so hews closer to shore. But still, I observed his mother start a search for him, only to have him stroll back into camp. “I went for a walk,” he announced, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world (I suppose it was). “Perhaps next time you’ll tell us before you go for your walk” suggested Mom.

It was old friends and new, and one in between. Dan, a mandolin/fiddle player from San Diego, looked awfully familiar. “Wait – you were on the bluegrass cruise three years ago,” I said. He laughed, “Yes – I thought I recognized you.”

The days go by too quickly, the nights, even more so. Can it really be 1:00 AM and we’ve been picking for four hours? Whatever – if I can still feel my fingers to pick, let’s keep playing.

Wander over to the camp next door and some of our neighbors are tearing up “Whiskey Before Breakfast”. True’s mom is playing fiddle and the cowboy-hatted guitar player is Dan from “Camp Pathetic Honey”. They’re our upstream neighbors who are famous for playing (e.g.) Queen medleys at 4:00 AM. For sheer stamina, they are truly unsurpassed.

Watch this last video of Ginseng Sullivan (and the discussion leading up to it) and understand why we count the days between the festivals.