No Mariposa this year - but we can still summertime dream

Walking through Tudhope Park this week, home of the Mariposa Folk Festival, was a surreal experience for Sue and me.

The festival, cancelled due to Covid, should have celebrated its 60th anniversary and been full of magical moments.

Much of our Tudhope Park stroll was typical of the days leading up to the annual July festival. The vista across Lake Couchiching was beautiful as ever – the meandering waterfront trail (much of which is refinished) was sprinkled with goose poop – there were cyclists and pedestrians – and something was definitely missing.

“Birds in all creation will be twitterin' in the trees
And down below's a pond I know
You can swim in it if you please”*

What was missing in Tudhope Park were the pre-festival sounds of hundreds of Mariposa volunteers – laughing, cajoling, hammering tents pegs, and assembling structures – familiar, smiling faces putting up stages or fencing, and organizing the countless details that make a music festival flourish.

Ken’s golf cart should have been heard chugging around the grounds as he confirmed the libation selection and quantities at the popular Pub Tent and Bohemian Tent.

Pam, Ian, and Chris should have been on their phones calling shots and deftly manoeuvring around last-minute catastrophes.

At the campground, Greg should have been directing, redirecting, and redirecting again campers in tents, RV’s and those lucky enough to be heading for Westfalia Lane. 

And through it all, the anticipation and energy should have been palpable.

Those are the sounds that we should have heard.

But not this year.

This year it was crickets (literally).

Sue listened to my lament - but then stopped me in my tracks before I became too maudlin. “Try to see the flip side,” she said.

And, at her behest, I imagined the scene when Mariposa does return… and the despair evaporated.

This is what I saw:

Mariposa rises again and, because we have tasted the bitterness of its absence, we appreciate the magic like never before.

It is once again the ultimate shared experience in community – this thing we miss most during the pandemic. It’s a connection – the reassurance that we’re not alone – we sing along – with artists and with one another – we share the same joys and tremors as those all around us.

Wandering the lush grounds of Tudhope, we exchange momentary instances of eye-contact with other patrons that convey acceptance and solidarity. The look seems to say, “Yes, we are one community. And isn’t this the healing we so desperately needed after that godforsaken distancing was thrust upon us?”

Sue leaves our chairs, cooler, and jackets in front of the main stage without a care in the world. Upon our return – nothing is missing – but a nearby patron does kindly explain that they tied the arms of her windbreaker to the chair so it wouldn’t blow away.

I observe three-generational gatherings including blue-haired folkies, their adult children and joyful, face-painted grandchildren singing along to banjos and harmonies.

Sue’s gets a henna tattoo - of a dolphin - while I listen to a workshop - where the theme is “what we missed most during the pandemic” - and although for those in attendance the answer could not be more obvious - we are moved to tears by the artists’ spontaneous inspirations. Yes, we can all relate.

The food tastes better than ever – and so does Ken’s beer (or cider).

Capping it off, is the (most-highly-anticipated-annual-surprise) appearance of Gordon Lightfoot.

He walks out onto the main stage, guitar in hand, and he - as only a legend can do - subtly admonishes us for our recent shared sin. Before Covid, he reminds us, we were foolish enough to take all of this for granted…

“Let's steal away in the noonday sun
It's time for a summertime dream”

*Gordon Lightfoot, Summertime Dream

See you soon, Mariposa.

Postscript - The ingenious John Prine (his penetrating lyrics both elevate and redefine barnyard wisdom) was booked to play Mariposa this year. Tragically, he passed away from Covid-19. Years ago, as a young(er) reporter I saw John Prine play Mariposa at Molson Park in Barrie. Standing in the media pit at the foot of the stage and staring at him in adulation – I cranked away dozens of Karshian-quality shots on my Pentax K1000. We made eye contact and I think he could tell from my ear-to-ear grin that I was in full Mariposa rapture. After the shoot, I lit a cigarette and proceeded to wind up the film. A heartbreaking crunch emanated and I knew at once the roll was stripped. There would be no photos - but the memory still remains. It took me years to get those souvenirs. Thank you, and RIP John Prine.

Mariposa Virtual Stage is happening this year - Click here for more.

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