<< Back 10/23/02 A harmonic convergence of yodeling and yoga By Jay Hardwig Love and music. Grits and karma. Hominy and harmony. That’s how I’ve decided to describe the vibe at the Lake Eden Arts Festival, where Eli and I put in an appearance last weekend. Yes folks, after two straight weeks of going to carnivals, the Smith-Hardwig clan decided to stretch our proverbial legs and go to a festival instead. Just what distinguishes a festival from a carnival is unclear — they both have port-a-potties and funnel cakes, after all — but after some thought I’m prepared to offer this guideline: a carnival has giant turkey legs, Aerosmith mirrors, and minimum height requirements, while a festival has $20 T-shirts, draft beer in dixie cups, and at least one mandolinist on the grounds. If I’m right, then the Lake Eden Arts Festival — a three-day celebration of art and song and spirit that comes to Black Mountain each spring and fall — is properly named. In addition to beer, T-shirts, and near-constant music on three stages, LEAF features local crafts, outdoor fun, and an impressive array of spiritual shenanigans from across the alternative map. More than the average music fest, LEAF is dedicated to positive vibes, and 5,000 folks were there to soak ‘em up. Some were there for the music, some for the bliss, and others because they had free press passes, but all seemed to have a good time; while there was little hominy to be found, the harmony was overflowing. There was, for instance, a bit of cultural harmony. There were lots of kinds of folks there — not all kinds, by a long shot, but lots of kinds — and everyone got along famously. While the music was international, the feel was local; if you had put me in a blindfold, taken me aboard a spaceship, and secretly landed me in the burrito line at LEAF, I would have guessed I was in Western North Carolina. If only a few of those present could actually claim mountain heritage — most of us, I’m betting, had never tied a mule to the hitching post, never slept on a cornhusk tick, never made sorghum with old Aunt Alma — there was at least an appreciation for the hills. If Willie Nelson reconciled the hippies and the cowboys, events like LEAF are reconciling the mountaineer with the shaman. Call it the Hillbilly New Age, if you like; at any rate, only rarely does one find such a confluence of hiking boots and crushed velvet, of tie-dyes and plaid, of kids in Carhartts and men in skirts. And while a few of the sights may have turned heads down at the local VFW hall, at LEAF there was a certain sanguine come-what-may, do-your-thang spirit of independence and mutual respect that was easy to admire. There was also harmony of the spiritual sort. All day long there were “Healing Arts” workshops, come-one-come-all sessions that ran the gamut from bellydance to BaDuan Jin Qi Jong. While Eli and I passed on these opportunities — I had my hands full just trying to explain the meaning of the word cosmic to the little tot — others took full advantage of the offerings. There was pre-birth bonding, there was “sweat your prayers,” there was “Draven Arcane;” in one moment of spiritual counterpoint, a gentle hilltop yoga session was serenaded by the burning gospel fervor of the Golden Trumpets down the hill. If anyone at LEAF could lay irrefutable claim to harmony, it was the Trumpets. With five vocalists and five musicians, the Trumpets took the biblical injunction to “make a joyful noise” to heart, raising the hair on the necks of all who bothered to listen. Indeed, for much of the afternoon, the sweetest harmony came from the music stages, as LEAF delivered on its reputation for bringing in great musicians from around the world. John Wheelan was among them: the 7-time button accordion champion from across the pond played a sweet string of reels and jigs and waltzes and such, giving a cheerful lilting Celtic concert that sent toes to tapping and a few would-be Riverdancers to their feet. After Wheelan and the Trumpets, we took in the percussive and rhythmic “hip-hop” chants of Senegal’s Gokh-Bi System; the West African whippersnappers packed Eden Hall just as a buffet dinner was being ladled out. As is the case at many a music fest, we committed countless crimes of omission, hearing only small bits of the Hackberry Ramblers and the Steep Canyon Rangers. Due to Eli’s early bedtime, we missed Alex Torres y Orquestra Los Reyes Latinos and the Wild Magnolias altogether. So it goes. Even in the midst of such a harmonic convergence, Eli didn’t seem too impressed: the highlights of his day were two shuttle-bus rides and a 6 o’clock slice of pizza. As the seekers got yogic up the hill and the Golden Trumpets raised the tent-roof by the lake, Eli ran himself ragged through the grass and played peek-a-boo beside the tents. He was having plenty of fun, but was hardly blissed-out. As I sat sipping on a cold one, watching my son fiddle with his juicebox, it occurred to me that his life is pretty harmonious as is. While he has his disappointments — many revolve around cookies and bedtime — his life has not hit many sour notes. He knows little of strife, loneliness, and alienation, and feels no need to recharge and reconnect. That knowledge, and that need, will come soon enough. In the meantime, I hope he absorbs, if only subconsciously, the foremost lesson of LEAF: there are very few problems in life that a clear mind, a cold beverage, and a little accordion music won’t cure. (Jay Hardwig is a writer and teacher who lives in Asheville. He can be reached at smardwig@charter.net)