Midland Folk Music Festival

 

Summer is starting to wind down, and the sun has began its gentle descent over the rolling fields of the Midland, Michigan fairgrounds. I find myself grinning like a fool at the sheer improbability of it all. This was my third folk festival of the season, and while the previous two had been swarming with people like ants at a picnic, this one had a distinctly different vibe. The Midland Folk Festival is a hidden gem, not attended nearly as well as it deserved, but that just made it feel all the more like a secret treasure—one only the most discerning (or hopelessly lost) musicians know about.

Midland is a quaint town, nestled an hour and fifteen minutes north of our Michigan house. The drive was easy, with the late summer breeze ruffling the trees along the highway, making them wave like old friends. The fairgrounds themselves were nothing short of charming, with their neatly trimmed grass and a picturesque scattering of white tents that promised music around every corner. The place even had some surprisingly swanky restrooms and showers—luxuries unheard of at most festivals where a port-a-potty is considered a lucky find.

As I strolled past the main stage, a modest affair draped in bunting that had clearly seen better days, I marveled at the absurdity of the situation. Here we were, 500 musicians strong, gathered in this delightful, slightly out-of-the-way spot, ready to share our love of music. And yet, for reasons unknown, the crowds were sparse. It was as if the festival had been kept a secret from everyone except us musicians.

But that didn’t dampen the mood. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect. With fewer spectators to impress, we musicians felt free to let our hair down—figuratively for some, literally for others. The atmosphere was relaxed, almost familial. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and if you didn’t, well, it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

I quickly ran into some old friends I’d met down in West Virginia at The Appalachians String Band Festival. It was one of those serendipitous reunions where you lock eyes across a crowd and burst into laughter because, really, what were the odds? We spent the better part of the afternoon reminiscing about past festivals, swapping tall tales of missed cues and impromptu jam sessions that had taken on legendary status over the years.

But it wasn’t just about reconnecting with old friends. The beauty of the Midland Folk Festival lay in the new connections waiting to be made. I found myself surrounded by a group of fellow dulcimer enthusiasts, some of whom I’d never met before, and within minutes, we were strumming away like we’d known each other for years. That’s the magic of these gatherings—music transcends introductions, and before you know it, you’re part of an impromptu band, harmonizing with strangers who become friends by the end of the first chorus.

The fairgrounds were alive with music. There were eight locations scattered about, each dedicated to different workshops—guitar, mandolin, fiddle, banjo, dulcimer—you name it. At one point, I wandered over to a dulcimer workshop just to see what the fuss was about. The instructor, a spry man in his seventies, was demonstrating how to coax the sweetest sounds out of the instrument, but not without a few self-deprecating jokes along the way. The whole group was in stitches, and I quickly realized that here, learning was just as much about laughter as it was about music.

On Friday evening a contra dance broke out. This was my first experience witnessing this. The band "Swollen Fingers" belted out a number of old time tunes to the joy of the dancers. 

A contra dance is a lively, community-oriented social dance rooted in the folk traditions. It's a partner dance where couples form two long lines facing each other, with each couple interacting with the couples next to them as the dance progresses. The overall vibe is fun, welcoming, and full of energy, making it a favorite for dancers of all ages and experience levels.

As the evening wore on and the sun dipped lower, the crowd—such as it was—gathered for a final jam session. The air was thick with the sounds of strings and laughter, blending together in a way that only happens at festivals like this. Midland may not have drawn the biggest crowd, but what it lacked in numbers, it made up for in heart. And as I played my last note of the night, surrounded by old friends, new friends, and a whole lot of good music, I knew one thing for sure: I’d be back next year, come rain or shine, for another dose of Midland magic.

photo from: https://tacomacontradance.org/about-contra/