Riverside Jam from a vendor’s eye view is quite a bit different from being a reveller in the country music scene.
This vendor was selling her yummy smelling Gold Canyon Candles with her wonderful husband all weekend, and let me tell you – the people watching alone was something not to be missed.
Friday night, the crowds were quiet, but the array of dress was as loud as any hard rock concert. Pink, turquoise and wild straw ‘cowboy’ hats adorned heads in alarming numbers. Mini skirts and cowboy boots stomped and strutted on the bodies of young, lithe teenagers. And nota one of them looked like what I call a real cowboy.
There was an element of dress that was laughable at points and mysterious at others (her mother,or daughter, let her out of the house like that?) Exactly how many fat rolls outside the shirt are considered sexy? I'd like to know - really.
The music was foot-stomping fun. There was so much talent on that stage that by the time George Canyon performed on Sunday night, I was thoroughly doused in country music. And George Canyon, with his deep, rumbly voice and chiselled country-boy jaw just cemented my love of the Jam.
However, threre was so much more to see than the performers on the stage (not that I could get close enough to really even see the performers, as people pitched their chairs to mark their spots early in the mornings).
Early Saturday morning (by Jam standards), I was walking back to the car for something and I spotted a couple near the Canoe Club. The morning sun sparkled on the water’s surface as the couple stood under the branches of one of the mighty oaks that grow so majestically near the river’s edge, and they were locked in a tight embrace.
There was nothing seedy or inappropriate about their behaviour. They were just out enjoying a quiet morning stroll when the urge to climb all over one another occurred. The kiss they shared was long and deep, and he cupped her face like a man doomed to love forever. The thing that made it so special to see? They were at least 60 years old. Good stuff.
The music started at 1:00 p.m. every day, but that didn’t stop the couple sound asleep in the cool, breezy shade of another oak. The green grass was their mattress, and his chest was her pillow. This couple in their fifties were having an awesome nap, heedless of the endless noise of motorcycles revving, performers singing and people laughing.
Wandering through the campgrounds was like stepping into a permanent party zone.
Cutie and I passed a darkened-don’t-come-a-knockin’ campsite that was seemingly involved in their private party, if the soundtrack was any indication. And trust me on this - there was so much noise that it was a miracle we could hear any given thing. So, I'm guessing the bouncing trailer was a seriously happenin' party.
We passed barbecues and laughter and dancing. There was a site full of friends seated in a circle, while two shirtless man-boys (20 somethings) played their guitars and caterwauled loud enough to scare the racoons from the forest.
It was all beautiful, and everyone was having a good time. And that, I guess is what that weekend was about. Good times, good friends, new friends and great music. Can’t wait for next year!
