The Summer of Shawn (Part 3): Mountain Jam

The hike up Montage Mountain was long and sweaty and full of tie-dye.

Joe, Kory and I – all college roommates – were hauling camping gear through gravel and dirt to find a spot to camp out for four days of the 2013 Peach Music Festival in Scranton. It was a grueling journey where supplies spilled, muscles flared and fists were almost thrown...almost.

We settled on a slanted plot of land inside a hidden trench on Slope Four of the campgrounds. It had to have been one of the worst spots on the mountain, but our bodies were tired and all we could think about was drink and music. A bottle of peach whiskey and some Rolling Rock fueled us for the rest of the night while we enjoyed a performance by Rusted Root (most popular for their 90s hit “Send Me on My Way”).

The first night ended quickly, especially after we discovered that the propane connector for our portable grill didn’t make it to the festival. For the remainder of our stay, we ate cheese and lunchmeat until it ran out or spoiled. Then we moved on to just bread and beer and laughter. 

On day two, we came to the realization that sleeping on the almost-vertical Slope Four was not conducive for a good night’s rest. Joe and I – accompanied by our friend and resident wild card, Thumper, who arrived on the mountain in the early morning hours – stumbled over to Slope Five where we found ample room on flat ground. After we rousted Kory, the four of us marched our tent and supplies to the new location. Later in the day we met our new neighbors, who had made the trip to Scranton with plenty of LSD and mushroom chocolate bars. 

Everyone on Slope Five (and the entire mountain for that matter) loved to tell stories. Brian, a weekend LSD salesman, talked about his mom and how she got him into the festival scene. His girlfriend, Ali, liked to listen to everyone’s stories while twirling her dreads and always replied “I dig it” at the end. A few tents away there was a character named Keller who had a beard down to his chest and rarely wore a shirt. At one point during the weekend, I saw Keller ingest five different kinds of drugs before heading down the mountain to see a band.

I didn’t quite get it until Saturday night. A group from Slope Five settled on the center of the venue's hill to watch Bob Weir (of the Grateful Dead) and Ratdog. I struck up a conversation with another neighbor, Bryan, about Weir. The mellow, 40-something mushroom enthusiast broke down some of the Dead’s best songs and talked about how many times he’s seen the band. When Weir’s set was over, Bryan, with much remorse, headed back to the campsite before the Allman Brothers Band came on. His old bones couldn’t handle any more dancing, he said. As we jumped around and danced during the Allman Brothers’ set, hollering at every song, I started to notice just how committed everyone was to the music. There was no judgment on that hill - only some drug-induced dancing, spacing out on the stars and grabbing the closest person next to you for a short embrace. Joe and I stuck it out until the very end to hear the epically jamtastic “Whipping Post.” The rest of the night went with the wind.

Kory and Joe left the next day around noon, but Thumper and I had to see the Black Crowes. Although we had lost most of our group by Sunday evening when the Crowes took the stage, the two of us joined a small dance circle in the dirt and got down to “Remedy,” “Hard to Handle” and a fantastic cover of “Hush."

 

Traveling down Route 81 toward Harrisburg, my eyes were fixed on the glowing taillights in front of us. I knew that, for me, the title “hippie” would never be the same. It had been restored to its former beauty after I got the tiniest bit closer to Woodstock that weekend.

For those four days in August, I didn’t worry. Although all of my possessions were out in the open, I never felt more confident that they would be there when I returned. I listened to people. I listened to their stories and watched as they swayed back and forth in the setting sun, occasionally turning a stumble into a beautiful dance. During those few brief moments when everyone cheered wildly, transfixed on a guitarist squeezing every last ounce of passion out of a final note, I felt like I had found another home on the mountain.   

As Autumn Takes Hold

I would have to say that the summer of 2013 was one of the best I’ve had yet. The play outweighed the work, but everyone deserves a streak like that sometimes. As my job search continues, friends and former classmates are finding work, beginning new careers and falling comfortably into adulthood.

I firmly believe that people from my age group will help cure diseases that have plagued the human race for far too long. A few will break their backs working the land like their ancestors before them, fueled by sweat and the need to survive. A few will chase their dreams, and they’ll either rise or fall.

Sometimes you have a path all planned out in your head and it involves going to school and getting a degree and finding a job. But the friends, family and strangers I encountered during the summer of 2013 made it clear that it's fine to stray from that path. You'll find your way eventually. 

And if there's a little bit of careless rambling along the way, well...that's okay too. You won't be young forever.