Banjos and Pyro-kids

Alright, here we go, back on the band wagon.  It's been a busy busy week and a half or so.

Last weekend was Winfield.  If you are not a folk music fan, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about.  Winfield is the common name for the Walnut Valley Folk Music Festival, which takes place in Winfield, KS.  It's 3-5 days (depending on how early you get there) of banjos, guitars, fiddles, camping, faire food, and port-a-potties.  This year was the 41st annual, and my family has been there every year since probably the 5th (not really sure).  When I was in elementary school, we always got out early Thursday to go, stayed all weekend in tents and hung out with Grandpa and the Aunts and Uncles that could make it.  It was awesome!  There was fun music, and campfires, and staying up late, and sitting with Grandpa, and eating awesome food that had no nutritional value!

As an adult, it's a bit of a different story.  Setting up my own tent in the rain.  Having much less flexibility and cartilage so that you feel every rock you sleep on.  That awesome food with no nutritional value now gives you heart burn, and probably mud-butt (which goes really well with port-a-potties, let me tell you)!  However, being an adult, I think the best thing about Winfield is watching Grandpa and the kids enjoy it. Every year, my grandfather celebrates his birthday by going to Winfield.  He turned 87 this year, and he's still camping!  He loves sitting, listening to music with his grandkids all around him.

My favorite memory is Grandpa asking each of the little cousins one at a time if they would like to go get a funnel cake with him.  When the oldest said no, Grandpa was a little disappointed.  Next one said no, more disappointed.  Next one, even more!  Finally, the youngest one woke up from his nap, and said "YEAH!"  I don't remember a bigger smile on Grandpa's face.  I'm pretty sure that the cousins are just an excuse for grandpa to get funnel cake!

This year was the cousin's first exposure to a campfire.  There's such a community atmosphere in the campgrounds, and when one of our neighbors had a campfire, it became the Randolph family hang out.  The kids absolutely loved putting things in the fire.  Sticks, leaves, hay, tomatoes, cookies, didn't matter.  Saturday night, I came back to the campsite to see one of the little cousins (the 5 year old) sitting outside his tent looking so dejected.  I asked him what was wrong, and he said that he didn't want to go to bed, he just wanted to sit by the fire (for "sit by the fire" read "poke things into the fire").  A big ol' tear rolled down his cheek, and I told him that he got to dream about all the things that he would poke into the fire the next morning.  The next morning, the youngest (3) was all about the fire.  He would pick up a cookie, break it, and say, "It's broken, can I put it in the fire?"  When I told him that he could still eat broken cookies, he decided to drop the cookie bits on the ground.  "It's dirty, can I put it in the fire?"

I have to admit that I was not looking forward to this year, because I was basically guilted into it.  Grandpa would tell me that he was so glad I was coming, and dad bought two tickets without asking me if I actually wanted to go, but I'm really glad I did.