Taken In

As I was saying, I was about to be taken into the family of bluegrass music. It started with the usual shake-n-howdy stuff, moved right on to, "Come on in the kitchen and help me pop this popcorn and pour up these Cokes," and it eventually led to my visit to the print shop where I had a ream of flyers produced for the Tennessee Gentlemen--their first flyers ever, which advertised what their coming season would be like. There must have been 50 festivals and dates on that first flyer. "Hmmm," I said, "these guys are big-time busy in the spring, summer, and fall."

I bought a tape player and plenty of tapes, and I asked permission to tape the band each Friday night, which I did without fail.

I thought I probably ought to hit one of these festival things, whatever they are. I picked the band's first festival of the season. As it turns out, the festival I ever attended was in Mountain View, AR, at a spot known as Sylamore Creek. It was Friday, it was May, and it was cold in Mountain View, AR. I was smack-dab in the middle of serious bluegrass and old-time music country. I was armed with my tape player and tapes, the required folding yard chair, blankets, and my natural curiosity. This was it!

Following some home-made signs on little roads I'd never been on before, I made it down to Sylamore Creek, where somebody had installed a sort of front-porch stage in this bluegrass park setting, with microphones, suitable decorations on the back wall, and speakers on posts throughout the seating area.

There was an MC, there were vendors, there was a sea of folding yard chairs, there were bluegrass music fans in most of the chairs. I could sit and listen, I could tape, and I could get up and walk around to look at the vendors' wares or get something to eat. Oh, man! This was heaven! There were bands with names like Blue Mountain Bluegrass and the Wooten Brothers -- and of course, there were the Tennessee Gentlemen, here from their little Bluegrass Shack in Lucy, TN.

I listened, I recorded, I visited with other bluegrass fans, and I got comfortable with my very first bluegrass festival. Each band played a 40-minute show in the afternoon, then there was a supper break, and the bands lined up again to play an evening show. The routine was repeated on Saturday. It was like one of those "all-day singin' and dinner on the ground" events which are held throughout the South.

Because it was cold that weekend, air-conditioning was not needed; however, the Mountain View Bluegrass Festival down at Sylamore Creek had its own device for keeping folks cool. The little shallow creek ran right through the festival grounds, and in other, warmer years, I saw festival fans park their yard chairs right in the creek and sit down! They listened to some hot bluegrass music, and the clear, cool creek ran right over their feet, up to their ankles! Ooh-wee! As the ol' farmer said, "It don't get no better than that!"

I still play my tapes of that very first festival, and every now and then, my mind wanders back to Sylamore Creek and I can hear the Tennessee Gentlemen sing "Little Georgia Rose," or I can hear "High on a Hilltop," sung by Shirley Vaughn and Parker Mountain Bluegrass. My, what a time!