Loose Leaf Notes

At first it seemed that my husband Joe had fallen under the seduction of a mistress. Since he took on the task of coordinating on-site parking for FloydFest ‘07, I hadn’t seen him in days. For the past five years, he’s volunteered his time in exchange for a weekend pass, but this year, as the Floyd high school soccer coach, he signed on to head up one of the most intensive behind-the-scenes jobs. In exchange, FloydFest makes a substantial donation to the soccer program to help with the purchase of uniforms and equipment.
In years past, Joe and I watched many of our Floyd friends whiz around on golf carts, taking care of FloydFest business, as we trudged around the sprawling site on foot. There looked to be a certain appeal to being part of the FloydFest inner circle and having entry to places festival goers don’t go. But we rarely saw those same friends on the dance floor, hanging out in the beer garden, spinning a hula hoop, climbing the climbing wall, having their fortunes read, or sitting in a lawn chair in front of the main stage for a performance.
I knew if I wanted to spend any time with Joe I would have to come into the fold, which meant seeing FloydFest through the windshield of his golf cart. I had earned my own pink sparkly wristband, a weekend pass for performing poetry with a women’s ensemble on the Global Village Stage, but Joe had VIP status and hanging out with him gave me brief access to the back-stage world of hospitality tents where food was served, beer on tap flowed, and comfy couches awaited.
He picked me up in the golf cart for our “date.” I pulled in close and put my arm around him. The pace immediately and dramatically shifted. As it picked up, I began to wonder where my seatbelt was, feeling like a Jedi zooming through the back woods pathways. I took pictures as we tooled through the crowds, down the winding cart paths, up to the entrance at the Blue Ridge Parkway. There, I snapped a photo of the result Joe’s and other volunteer’s hard work, a parking lot full of cars and campers in organized rows.
Later, we hopped off the cart so that Joe could give me a tour of FloydFest headquarters, an on-site trailer tucked between trees. There, twenty or so walkie-talkies were spread out on a table being charged, computers were lit up, and several busy people were talking all at once. After that, we drove the cart down to the pond where Joe filled up the tank at an old barn that I dubbed the FloydFest gas station.
On more than one occasion our date was interrupted by the walkie-talkie, a run to the front gate to attend to a problem, or to train a replacement volunteer. “This is my wife,” Joe announced to all the volunteer workers he stopped to talk to. I enjoyed a black cherry ice cream in a homemade waffle cone from a nearby vendor’s stand while Joe briefly attended a meeting.
Sometimes we parked the cart, like when it was time for my scheduled 3:30 poetry performance. Although Joe was able to attend that performance, he missed the readings later at the Coffee Bus, in which I and other poets took turns standing on a makeshift soapbox and shouting poetry, mostly about Peter Pan. I edged out on the ledge like Peter as I read, then jumped off as if I was plunging off Captain Hook’s plank, making room for the next poet.

Live music and poetry, outside dining and dancing – what more could a girl ask for? Joe even appeared mysteriously for a set of Donna the Buffalo, spinning around me on the dance floor before zipping off in his cart again. After sunset we met-up for one last ride. We leisurely followed the moon rising full behind the main stage. Under the spell of a long day well spent, we waved to passersby.
It was dark and coolness had descended on the mountain as Joe walked me to my car. We kissed goodnight to the tune of Cat Empire’s final song. It was the end of a perfect date.
Update: It’s Sunday morning and Joe is back to work as I am typing this and am about to begin putting Floyd’s August Museletter together. That’s me, Mara, and Joe in the third photo, dancing on the Poet’s Soapbox to Donna the Buffalo. For an animated clip of the first photo above, the new Hill Holler Stage, click HERE. Also check out the other Floyd bloggers coverage of FF HERE and HERE. More photos coming soon …