|Frank plays at Bluegrass Festival|
Frank drove Big White onto the grounds of the Coombs Bluegrass Festival. It was the town’s 36th annual event and our first. He parked our motor home between a vehicle of the same length and a fifth-wheel unit. I put down a small piece of carpet at the front door of our temporary living quarters and setup two lawn chairs in the shade. We were stationed at Tall Pines.
We had volunteered to sell tickets. We strolled down a narrow path in search of the jamboree organizers. A woman named Karen told us to show up at the beer gardens at 5 p.m. for our first four-hour shift. Satisfied with her instructions, we hiked down the side of the highway leading to Coombs Market; a local shop famous for having goats living on the top of the building.
Across from the mercantile, stood a few people associated with the local church. They were serving lemonade, iced tea and water. Frank was feeling faint from having woken up so early and the scorching rays of the sun that day. We sipped on several free servings of cool liquids and headed back to our campsite.
That evening, and for the next three days, my body and mind absorbed the plunk, plunk sound of banjos, the plink, plink of mandolins, the boom, boom of the base fiddle and the nasal tones of various songstresses and songsters. One afternoon, there was a call for anyone who played an instrument to participate in the ‘Biggest Bluegrass Band Extravaganza’. Frank stepped on stage with his bones and joined others in several renditions of familiar bluegrass songs, including ♫ ‘Roll In My Sweet Baby’s Arms’ ♫.
Our volunteer service was greatly rewarded with new friendships, rekindling of familiar love and a new understanding of music.
|Coombs Has It All|
|Volunteers at Bluegrass Festival|
|Friends Enjoy Music|
|Frank Features His Bones|