The Crowded Field

This weekend, I'm heading to Kingston for the Ontario Council of Folk Festivals conference. This is a once-a-year event where folk festival organizers get together as a community. It's a chance for artists to meet the people who might book them, to drop off promo packages, shake hands, smile--and possibly play some music too.

I must admit, these events make me pretty nervous.

But why? I hear some well-meaning festival organizer ask. After all, everyone's doing the same thing: trying to make wonderful music and spread it around. Yeah, my little nervous voice responds, but some music is being judged more wonderful than others. What if my music isn't important or needed, when there's so much "better" music around?

"Oh yes," responds my mythical Folk Festival Artistic Director, checking her list, "Mmm....you are correct...you are in fact #2,467 on our list this year..." as I bolt awake out of my bad dream.

Folk festivals often take place in small towns and rural areas, on hillsides dotted with wild flowers. On the winding roads up to the weekends of music, the wildflowers are also seen on the side of the road. A songwriter friend of mine wrote about these "Flowers in the Ditch". I enjoy being in these fields of flowers all swaying in time together, all blooming in our unique ways, our colours seeming more intense because we're all crowded together. At the same time, I sometimes feel lost in the crowd, and jealous when another is "picked".

In situations like the subway, I'm the only singer in the vicinity, so I get all the attention. But sometimes it's negative attention because the singing is unexpected and may seem by some to be out-of-place. "What's that dandelion doing there?!" (I have an unfinished song that includes the line "I can't tell the weeds from the flowers anymore".)

It's important that I stand as part of the field, even if I'm not singled out for special praise. (I'm not evading the conference, as I've sometimes done in the past.) I need to focus on others more than myself in such situations...yet I need not be a shrinking violet. (My own props to help me stand taller include new clothes...which I rarely buy...and some well-rehearsed familiar songs that I can sing at the come-one-come-all "campfire room".)

We recently acquired a car, which I'll drive to Kingston. The other day, Dave found a little bud vase that sticks to the windshield with a suction cup. Before I leave on Saturday, I'm picking a flower still blooming in our October garden, and it'll
be with me all the way.