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Winnipeg Free Press

Plenty of daylight to find amid sea of humanity at Birds Hill Park

Opinion 'Got to kick at the darkness till it bleeds daylight' — Lovers in a Dangerous Time, Bruce Cockburn 'The line between us is so thin, I might as well be you' JOHN WOODS / FREE PRESS It's hard not to leave the folk festival feeling a bit better about humanity. — Chinese Bones, Robyn Hitchcock A couple of choice lyric lines stuck out as I baked under a smoke-filled sky at the Winnipeg Folk Festival's Big Bluestem stage this weekend. That first one earned an affirmative roar from the packed-to-bursting audience at Cockburn's Saturday afternoon performance. The second slipped by almost unnoticed during Hitchcock's Sunday workshop with his Nashville neighbours and Americana icons Gillian Welch and David Rawlings. Both speak to what makes the now 51-year-old festival such a treasured gift to the tens of thousands of people who make the pilgrimage to Birds Hill Provincial Park every year. I don't need to tell you there is a lot of darkness out there, but for four days Birds Hill was bleeding daylight. Through alchemy both calculated and sublime, the regular rules of engagement were suspended: walls fell away, boundaries softened or dissolved (in a good way) and strangers who might otherwise look at each other with wariness found friendship on common ground. Call it the Folk Fest Effect. Walking into the beer tent Saturday afternoon, I caught the eye of a judge and said hi. She quickly reached over and put a hand on my shoulder then just as quickly pulled it away, laughing as she said: 'I was going to give you a hug, but that probably wouldn't be professional.' Probably not, and she might have been joking about the hug, but had that hug landed I would not have been shocked. Hugs are so reflexive at folk fest the odd slip is easily forgiven. Earlier that day, I heard someone call my name. It was a college classmate I hadn't seen in over 30 years. We didn't hang out much back then and we were by no means close, but we fell into a warm, lengthy chat, touching on matters both light and dark and our concerns for the future. The conversation was winding down when my friend paused to hesitantly ask: 'Soo, should we… hug?' We looked at each other and the answer was obvious. 'Of course, it's folk fest.' We hugged. And then we talked some more. We could have bumped into each other in a coffee shop and had a perfectly pleasant conversation, but it wouldn't have been the same. There's something about folk fest and its sense of community that invites a desire for connection. For years, no visit to the festival was complete until I saw Dancing Woman. I never knew her name or where she was from, but every year I could count on seeing her leaping, gliding and swaying by a workshop stage in rhythmic communion with the music. Seeing her always made me smile. Then one year she wasn't there. She was absent the next year too, and the one after that. She was back this year, back like she'd never been gone, still grooving, still dancing like it was the only thing that mattered. Between workshops, I told her it was good to see her again. Explaining her absence, she said she was from Minnesota and had moved to the East Coast for a few years. Our interaction was brief and we didn't exchange names, but I'm glad I talked to her. I hope she was, too. Back in the beer tent Sunday, my wife and I shared a table with an American scientist who apologized for their 'piece of shit president' and the damage he has done to the relationship between our two countries. We shared gripes and laughs, reminding each other that we're not so different. Don't get me wrong, the festival isn't perfect. Despite the folk ethos of inclusivity and a truly diverse musical lineup, the audience remains overwhelmingly white and largely privileged, but that's more likely a societal issue, not one of the festival's own making, and a topic for another column. Still, it's hard not to leave the festival feeling better about humanity and just a wee bit more optimistic about the future. Wednesdays Columnist Jen Zoratti looks at what's next in arts, life and pop culture. Every year the festival ends with an audience sing-along of The Mary Ellen Carter, Wild Mountain Thyme and Amazing Grace. It's a tradition I have generally eschewed, too cool for school, choosing instead to ditch the fest for a quick getaway. The older I get, the more I feel my resistance weakening. I want to feel connected to other people. It is just 358 days until the 51st Winnipeg Folk Festival. Dean PritchardCourts reporter Dean Pritchard is courts reporter for the Free Press. He has covered the justice system since 1999, working for the Brandon Sun and Winnipeg Sun before joining the Free Press in 2019. Read more about Dean. Every piece of reporting Dean produces is reviewed by an editing team before it is posted online or published in print — part of the Free Press's tradition, since 1872, of producing reliable independent journalism. Read more about Free Press's history and mandate, and learn how our newsroom operates. Our newsroom depends on a growing audience of readers to power our journalism. If you are not a paid reader, please consider becoming a subscriber. Our newsroom depends on its audience of readers to power our journalism. Thank you for your support.