Back from the Falconridge Folk Festival. I had a great, though wet and often sleepless, time. A large but incomplete Swarthmore contingent came up for Saturday, and David German successfully surprised them by appearing magically from Huston. I also met some new people, some on the dance floor, some after they randomly appeared in our tents. But the fire.

The fire was not the most fun thing about the festival. Not fun at all. Saturday night as we were getting ready for bed, there were shouts and what sounded like fireworks. Looking across the tenting field the sky just glowed orange. People called 911 and they tried to bring a fire-truck up the muddy hillside. This ended up taking a very long time, in which the van (late 80s econoline 150) which had been burning was reduced to a charred metal exoskeleton. Someone who sounded like they were in charge told us we needed to evacuate the hill (as we later found out, because the fumes from the burnt were highly toxic). We ended up walking our bedding down to the dance tent where we slept the night. Or our piece of the night. Maybe 4:00 to 7:15. Not really enough.