It was a typical Tuesday morning at the Appalachian String Band Music Festival, the kind of day when the only thing more unpredictable than the music was the weather. As the morning sun peeked over the mountaintop, vendors set up their stands, and campers wiped the sleep from their eyes, an ominous cloud began to creep across the sky. By 8:30, just as folks were finishing their breakfast biscuits, the heavens opened up and delivered a downpour so heavy it seemed as if the mountain itself was taking a shower.
The rain came down in sheets, drenching everything and everyone in its path. Umbrellas popped open like wildflowers, tarps flapped, and people went on their way despite the wind and rain. Despite the deluge, there was an undeniable sense of excitement in the air, as if everyone knew they were in for one heck of a story to tell back home. It wasn't long before the ground turned into a muddy dance floor, perfect for a little spontaneous splashing and sliding.
Under our canopy, a motley crew of musicians gathered, determined to keep the spirit of the festival alive. There was me, with my trusty dulcimer, and two fiddle players who looked like they had walked straight out of a 19th-century barn dance. A banjo player, whose instrument seemed more waterproof than the rest of us, was already tuning up, and a guitar player sat on a folding chair, ready to strum away. Our instruments may have been as wet as a cat in a rainstorm, but our spirits were as high as the mountain top.
As we struck up our first tune, the sound of "Old Joe Clark" filled the air. The fiddlers' bows danced across the strings, the banjo plinked happily, and the guitar's warm chords provided a solid foundation. My dulcimer rang out sweetly, despite the occasional raindrop that splashed onto the strings. We played through a medley of lively fiddle tunes, all in the key of G (it’s a banjo thing), which seemed to resonate with the sound of the raindrops.
The crowd gathered round the tent, some standing in their rain-soaked clothes. Instead of frowns and grumbles, there were laughter and cheers. A few brave souls danced in the mud, their bare feet squelching with every step. Kids jumped in puddles, creating little geysers of water that mirrored the joy on their faces. It was clear that a little rain wasn't going to dampen the festival spirit.
Between songs, the banjo player shared a joke that had everyone roaring with laughter. "You know what happens when you drop a banjo down a well?" he asked, pausing for effect. "You get a D-tuner!" It was a classic, and in the moment, it was the perfect icebreaker.
We played on, the music mingling with the sound of rain on canvas and the occasional roll of thunder in the distance. The tunes ranged from fast-paced reels to slow, haunting ballads, each one met with applause and shouts of appreciation. As we wrapped up with "Barlow Knife," the sun began to peek out from behind the clouds, casting a golden glow over the soggy scene.
The rain may have soaked our clothes and muddied our feet, but it couldn't wash away the joy and camaraderie that filled the festival. As we packed up our instruments, someone shouted, "Let's do it all again tomorrow, rain or shine!" And that was the spirit of the Appalachian String Festival—come what may, the music and the fun would go on.
So, we left the stage, dripping but happy, ready to dry off and swap stories about the unforgettable Tuesday when the rain tried to steal the show, but the music and laughter won the day. It was a day to remember, a day when even the wettest of festivals proved that a little water couldn't put out the fire of good music and good company.
