My Inner Hippie Got Loose

I went to my first music festival when I was 13 years old. I had grown up playing classical music and had just been introduced to the wide world of folk/acoustic/bluegrass so my parents loaded my two brothers and I (plus a cousin that was living with us) up in our minivan and headed off to Floyd Virginia for one of the first years of FloydFest. Former flower children themselves, they were more than happy to let us in on that cultural experience, and I'm forever grateful that they did. I stood in the rain listening music that I would only really come to understand later, wearing a white camisole and a pretty terrible pair of bootcut jeans and just about died because I thought I was experiencing pretty much the greatest thing any thirteen year old could experience, ever (and I probably was). I remember feeling so alive. I LOVED classical music, but the atmosphere it was played in always felt stiff to me (we wear all black, don't tap our feet, and pretend to be the most serious people on the face of the planet), and suddenly I was experiencing a musical world that was just alive. It was a free spirit in more ways than one and it was breathing and kicking and beating it's drum. I spent the next five years at more festivals than I can count, learned to play the mandolin, and finally made it through the most awkward late blooming puberty known to man.

I'm telling you all of this to say that I'm really kind of hippie at heart and it really doesn't take a lot to let it out. Bring on the feathers and braids, ya'll.

p.s. This little one adores music. I'm not going to lie, I'm more than a little proud.