The Last Night In Galax

It is 11:30 on Friday night and as I lie in bed in my camper with ear plugs planted firmly in my ears and a fan near my head whirling on high speed, I can still hear the now familiar voice of Carlos yelling over the loudspeaker:

"Old time bluegrass bands! Buggity Buggity! Come on down! Come on down to the big yellow tent and sign in now. Old time bluegrass bands! We are waiting for you. Come on down! Thank you for your cooperation. This is your last call and when I say last call, I mean LAST CALL! Bluegrass bands, come on down to the big yellow tent- RIGHT NOW!"

The announcement momentarily drowns out the constant boom, boom, ba-boom of the bass fiddle sounds coming from our next door neighbors, beating out a rhythm to whatever bluegrass song the band is now playing. The guitars and banjos are too far away for me to hear the music. I only hear the obnoxious boom of the bass and feel the vibrations which rattle the fragile siding of my house on wheels.

I want to yell out the window, "GO TO SLEEP! What is wrong with you people?" but I know it would make things worse. In fact the entire band and audience drinking beer would probably move closer to my bedroom window. I am too old for this!

2011 marks the 4th Galax Fiddlers Convention for me and it may just be my last. I don't think I am up to it anymore, but then, who knows how I will feel next year. I may forget the sleep deprived nights and hot, steamy August days. I may not mind that the electrical outlet won't support our air conditioner or microwave. I may not remember the cold showers, rain and mud. I may even crave a funnel cake.

My husband loves this craziness. He is a musician, what can I say?