Flock

I received a call from the Missus this morning. She was passed by a caravan of campers making the annual journey to the Gorge amphitheater in George, Washington.

Yes, it's a real town. Yes, it's just down the road from Martha.

This the the weekend that the Dave Matthews Band plays the Gorge, and I'm not going. Having made many migrations across the Columbia Rive and the long hot Yakima Valley, we decided to take a pass this year.

I will be a little sad tonight as the sun goes down, knowing in my mind that the throng of thousands will be dancing and drinking on the general admission grassy half-bowl. The sun will set purple and orange behind the stage and the river will run black below.

Festive revelry will run all night in the adjacent campground. Midgets will dance on RVs and teen girls will wander, in search of easy beer.

Contrary to popular belief, there will be very few hippies. There will be minor tribes of frat boys and gaggles of sorority girls. There will be yuppies. There will be slackers. Gen X will be heavily represented, but there will be an ample compliment of Ys as well. Alcohol will flow like water and clouds of herby smoke will roll in like fog.

Perhaps next year. Perhaps in deed.