Woodstock Pilgrimage

This past Friday Jan & I drove off for upstate New York leaving auntie in charge of the cats and fish. We meandered through Rhode Island, across Connecticut cutting up to Interstate 84, drove into New York, crossed the Hudson River, turned down and eventually ended up in a small town Bed and Breakfast in Windsor, not terribly far from the New Jersey border.

Those who know me know I’m not a fan of B&B;’s. Those who don’t know me are often surprised to learn I am in fact an introvert. I’m what is called in the trade a faux extrovert, so the confusion is natural enough. I genuinely enjoy people. I really do. But, the time comes, and it will come; and I need to shut the door.

Setting aside my profound lack of interest in the massive collections of chotchki that seem to be required by law at any B&B; worth its salt, I just do not want to hang out with the innkeeper and make small talk. When the day is done I want to lounge with no one but family, to burp when I wish, to read as I want, or watch television, debating only with Jan or auntie about what should be on. And in the morning I want to get up put on my raggedy bathrobe and make coffee the way I want it and to not be subjected to some gigantic breakfast spread where the personal worth of the preparer is obviously part of the deal, much less more of that small talk.

But there we were, in a better than average B&B; visiting with a part of the family I never had met.

The turning event was that Jan’s sister, Karen is married to Doug. Forty-one years ago Doug was eighteen and a photography student. Somehow he managed to get a press pass to the big shindig in Bethel that would come to be called Woodstock. He took his pictures. A few months later there was a small showing. Then the negatives went into glassine wraps and were stored. Forty years later he stumbled upon them, thought they weren’t that bad and sent jpegs to the museum at the Bethel Center for the Arts. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJ4QF45Vygw?fs=1

So, here we were, to see the show “Collecting Woodstock,” mostly featuring Doug’s work forty-one years ago.

At the B&B; we met up with Karen & Doug, as well as Ed, Doug’s cousin, the son of Doug’s mother’s identical twin, and vastly more a brother than a cousin, and Ed’s delightful wife Elaine. Later we would also meet Carol, another cousin, who was the elder sister figure in Doug’s and Ed’s upbringing. Her husband George, a retired cop, and their son Michael. The star of the show for that first evening was Jean, Doug’s mum. Jean has been a UU, an early opponent of the Vietnam War, a feminist, and general all around fascinating person…

Jean has been ill so she did not join us the next day for our drive to Bethel and the museum. Carol and Mike went separately with plans of their own for later in the day. Karen and Doug drove themselves. Ed and Elaine, Jan & I went on our own.

Adventures ensued.

We walked the site of the concert. Stood at the spot where the grandstand had once been. Gazed at the monument.

Talked with people.

Once we made it to the museum and grounds we were met by Wade Lawrence, the Museum’s director who gave us the two dollar tour. That is we got to see lots. And very much felt like VIPs.

Doug’s pictures are amazing. The web description for his part of the show says a lot.

Woodstock festival photographs shot by then 18-year old Doug Lenier.

These photographs are representative of a selection of 90 photographs recently purchased from Lenier by the museum. These photographs offer a fresh look at the festival, the crowds, and the artists. Mr. Lenier was a photo student in the late Sixties, and he played as a musician at the 1967 and 1968 “sound-outs” in Woodstock, NY, the precursors of the famous Woodstock festival. He was determined to photograph the 1969 Woodstock festival in Bethel, NY – he grabbed his girlfriend and his Nikon FTn, and his girlfriend’s dad drove them to the festival. Mr. Lenier is a professional photographer and currently works in the music industry in California. Upon reading about The Museum at Bethel Woods, he reviewed his old festival photos and contacted the museum. He was encouraged by friends to get his images in the pubic purview, and the museum is pleased that he reached out. We are especially excited to finally have photographic documentation that confirms the existence of the oft-mentioned but never previously seen, Ferris wheel which was located atop the hill near where the museum is currently located.

I hope anyone who is interested in that bit of American history gets to the show before it closes at the beginning of January.

What set me to ruminating, however, were the relatively large number of guys with white hair, those of my generation who still have hair, how many sported small pony tales. Fewer of the women present from the same age bracket were in tie-dye, but still enough to set me to thinking. Well, that and the ubiquitous wafting sent of patchouli oil.

Flash from the past, we call it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fuISB2ksnMM?fs=1

I found myself thinking of those tumultuous years. Of hopes and dreams and fears.

And how precious our ideals are.

And how easy it is to forget the rain and mud, all the hard parts.

I think our project as human beings is to treasure the moments of our lives.

But to not fetishize them.

The moments pass. Appreciate.

The memories are lovely.

Enjoy.

And don’t forget the hard parts.

Then throw it all into the great enterprise of this moment.

And maybe if someone gives you a big breakfast, well, enjoy it.