In search of sustenance after a Mini-Burn

There was no waking because there was no sleeping with rocks so perfectly positioned over my spinal column that I’m sure the prairie developed its own natural form of human torture. The inky sky outside was giving way to pastel blue, and yellow so I figured it was an appropriate time to emerge from my tent, like a glorious butterfly ready to get the hell out of dodge.

I peeked my head out to see a few of my colleagues curled in chairs and cots, their animal onesies zipped with their hoods up over their heads for warmth. My boss, Ben, the Koala was just starting to stir. He told me at the beginning of the trip that it was his spirit animal. He looked ridiculous, but maybe I was jealous that my new mom bod couldn’t pull off the look, or maybe my spirit animal more resembled the sad, slumped box of wine that sat in the corner of our encampment.

At the back corner, Jess leaned over a table making coffee. The only fellow mom working this crazy circuit, we were always the first to wake. I came up behind her and grabbed a cup for myself. She looked at me with her bright blue eyes and smiled.

“Ready for one last loop around this place?” She asked.

“Sure,” I said, “Let me grab my cash for breakfast.”

We headed out to see the festival grounds one last time. We walked through our event tent, where I had spent hours running events and programs for gatherers of the Black Sun Festival in the middle of nowhere Oregon.

“Just one sec,” I said to Jess as we came to the compost toilets. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the volunteers, who bartered work for free admission to the festival looking open-mouthed at what had become a gallery of fecal cave art. I could hear one of them whimper as the other just dropped her bucket and walk away.

“On second thought, I’ll wait till we hit the staff area.”

We meandered past the yoga and drum tents. A man clad only in Birkenstocks and a vest crossed our path and headed towards the outpost filled with handwritten messages that contained meet-up spots and lost connections. The dust from his feet covered his bare legs and buttocks.

As if we had temporarily melted minds, Jess whispers “The vest is a little much isn’t it?”

We continued up the hill through the Wiccan village with its beautiful tree structures and hanging vines. At the top of the hill, a hot air balloon was inflating one last time to take passengers on a journey across the plains. I found myself coming here a lot. There was something peaceful about this view, where you could catch your breath away from the crowds and just take in the moment and appreciate everything that felt strange and odd and foreign about being in this place.

I enjoyed these morning walks with Jess. Neither of us said much. We spent all day talking to people that the company was simply enough. I felt a slight pang of sadness this would be our last one. By now we had reached the piece de resistance, a series of concentric circle bandstands to view the Eclipse. I spent much of the Festival cynically people-watching, feeling out of place in my thirty-something skin, working a job that I never wanted to take, and being so far and unreachable. The Eclipse, however, was not one of those moments. It was moving and made this trip somehow worth the nights of trying to tune out the electronic base music.

We came up to the main stage area. The leave-no-trace team had already begun sweeping through the massive piles of trash. A lone neon Hula Hoop lay towards the front of the stage. Fifty yards in front of us a girl coming down from a trip was rocking back and forth. My instinct wanted to go up and put my arms around her but Jess nudged me onward. She was a veteran festival goer and told me from the beginning it’s best to give people their space.

“You’re doing good this morning,” Jess says breaking the silence.

“I mean, I haven’t rushed to the cell station to check my phone, so I guess that’s progress,” I admit. Truthfully, I’m just too hungry to race off in the other direction.

 We had made it to the food grounds and I was already making a beeline past Zen Palate, and Buddha Bowls, and Earthen Smoothies for the setup at the corner. Under a small white pop up a simple banner read “hot dogs.” Inside the ranchers who leased the land to the music festival were already grilling.

“Morning Frank. Morning Jim” I said.

“Morning ladies.” Frank and his brother Jim replied back.

I had made almost daily visits to the hot dog tent. The food vendors were expensive, and you can’t beat a three-dollar hot dog. It was also endlessly entertaining watching Frank and Jim watch the people who had invaded and temporarily squatted on their land. Without even asking Frank hands me two hot dogs, while Jim mans the grill. I take a bite and savor it. As I chew, a young man nervously comes up to the tent. Without making eye contact he throws down his money. Frank hands him a hot dog. He looks around to make sure no one is watching, inhales it in three bites, and scurries off.

“’Nother Vegan,” Jim says. “We made a fortune on em this week.”

We look at the lake as I eat. People have started to wake from their campsites across the festival. Some had already taken to the slide for one last swim in the water. In the middle of the lake, an amphibious DeLorean was slowly sinking to the bottom to be discovered by some future generation of ranchers. A small group stood at the shore using the water to brush their teeth.

Frank shakes his head as he gazes at them.“They are gonna end up with worms.” He mumbles.

I know he’s not a funny man but I almost choke on my food. I am going to miss these guys.

I watch the sun crest higher on the horizon. Everywhere, grounds crews are beginning to strike stages and installations.  I think of the year-old child waiting for me at home. I wonder if she finally lost her baby smell in the ten days I’ve been away. She had only stopped breastfeeding a few days before I left. The tears well up in my eyes and for the first time in a while my boobs begin to leak milk.

“Ah-em,” Jim coughs pointing his tongs towards my now wet shirt. Jess puts a sympathetic hand on my shoulder.

“Come, on man, this definitely not the weirdest thing you’ve seen this week.”

“No, but it’s definitely the saddest.”

“That’s fair,” I shrug.

I hear the cattle behind us. Future tasty bun morsels roaming the pastures outside the festival grounds. Finishing my breakfast, I bid farewell to Jim and Frank and head back to my tent a weeping boob fairy. The hot air balloon wooshes overhead. It’s time to finally go home to my daughter. The moment I had longed for since I had to first pack my bags was finally here and in another dozen or so hours I will finally have made the long journey home and the week of working a music festival will be long behind me. Though I still have yet to find a better hot dog.