Cindy Lou, 2007 was our first trip, and our first Run A Muck, too. 
Too funny Bevin, in my case, bluegrass led me to Jerry Garcia!
Started with a small Southern IN festival called Bean Blossom and a long strange trip indeed to 1st TBF in 99 after we moved to CO. Went solo that first year as the Mrs. couldn’t get the time off, since she had just started a new gig.
Fortunately that has not been the case the remaining 6 times we have participated.
My Dad was a big Man in Black fan, but I also grew up with the Oprey and Hee Haw
I guess what got me/us hooked was the total experience. From the local contingent we immeidately bonded with, to the scenery and oh yeah I guess the music was ok too! :thumbsup
My road to Festivarian Land began in the early 70’s. I had been introduced to bluegrass around 1970 attending local folk and bluegrass festival days at the town park in Hagerstown, Md listening to some off the wall star ups called Seldom Scene. It was fun stuff and they sure were good. Went out when ever they rolled around. Then, right out of high school a friend introduced me to the music of John Hartford via his brand new Aero-Plain album. Got my attention big time.
Years of enjoying the genre passed. Then in the early 80’s working as station manager at a community radio station in Dallas I began hanging out with some folks who were listening to NGR, Peter Rowan (I was already familiar with him ever since Sea Train, and O&ITW), Guy Clark, JJW, REK, Nanci Griffith, Emmy Lou, etc. Those folks lead me to exploring the whole newgrass arsenal of players, “Wooden Music” as Ray Wylie Hubbard called it, and I became a serious fan, somewhere along the line I became aware of TBF tough never sprang.
Then, in the spring of 1990 I was managing a community station in Little Rock when I noticed a postcard about TBF fall out of a NGR demo from a couple years ago. Wait. I had seen a similar card fall out of the Strength In Numbers LP jacket. Oh yeah. I heard about this. I decided I should see if Wanda wanted to drive out to Colorado this summer. She wasn’t sure but our pal Flap a DJ at the station (she hosts Not Necessarily Nashville on the LR NPR station these days) said “Dang! If you don’t want to go to that I will!” So Wanda said alright lets do it.
We drove a beat up Toyota PU across AR, TX & OK, NM, and up into the San Juan mtns straight into town. Picked up our tickets at will call on a Thursday afternoon, went in to hear some music thinking we would sprint into the mountains to set up camp in the national forest, but wound up staying all afternoon and through the final set before we thought about a camping spot. That night we drove for what seemed like hours getting to Alta Lakes where we set up camp and froze our parts all off. Went into town right after sun rise where we warmed up. Back and forth each morning and night almost tore the suspension out of the truck but we had a blast, between the music, new friends, and being surrounded by the San Juans we knew we were coming back. The clincher though was running into Peter Rowan at the Bean and chatting with him for almost half an hour.
We came back the next year and 6 months later we moved to Flagstaff and have been back 12 times together, I have made the run up the hill 3 times on my own and once each with my two sons the fest right after each of their 9th birthdays. That’s a total of 17 I guess for me and I have never been disappointed. Don’t expect I ever will be. We have camped for the Fest in the wild at Alta Lakes twice, at the now extinct Mill Creek Campground 4 times, Warner Field twice, the high school twice, and Illium 7 times.
Can’t make it this year but I’ll be bringing both boys next year. Praise the good folks at KOTO because they keep us from Jonesing too much on the years we can’t make it.
:wave
I could write a book on this topic. Been rolling in since '89 and haven’t looked back since. It doesn’t hurt that I am semi attached to Mike Bub.
Making the transition to Festivaria came swiftly after skiing here back in high school '77-80. New grass grabbed my ass and wouldn’t let go. I began to hope to see them when ever they played TRide. At the same time, my ear latched on to Tim O’brien, and basically walked the wind blew, enjoying just about anything his fingers and vocals displayed. This would become a resonating meaning of fandom. Tony Rice was a fast following to another realm. My compilation tapes stirred deep meaning in the hearts and minds of like mind.
My daddy claw hammered, and brother picked and plucked more than I care to remember, something like eight days a week, impossibly milking it 10-12 hours, capturing a riff or roll 80 some times in order not just to get it, but to unmistakenly master inside and out, round and pegged so there would be no question who’s skill had been mastered, hands, er fingered down.
TBF has always been a friend. Countless visits year after year never stop the flow. The talent, surroundings, the buzz, the sound, and the awe on the artist’s reflection and facial expression when they emerge for the very first time facing the crowd and grange for the first time. The essence of the meaning of a redHeaded stranger actually crying his blue eyes out while the pouring rain makes No difference on the audible effect. To watch a band Rize and fade, only to return make a comeback stronger more popular than ever.
It’s the comradery, the mutual admiration society, and the plain dumbfounded feeling of awe about the the whole damn thing. It hardly strictly gets much much better than this. Fun, fantastic, feel good, brazen emotions, raw, industrious , infantile, serious and just tingly.
It’s the play on the senses that just doesn’t quit. It’s a warm, fuzzy, plain and simple.