Sadly, Not A Cob In Sight
ghostsofpompeii
Master
Before I start I need to correct a misstatement I've made time and again. I've often said I haven't seen another pipe smoker since retiring from the Steel Mill. And in many ways that's true. During my normal daily travels throughout the years that's been the case. But I completely forgot about the many times since retiring that my wife and I attended the Annual Bluegrass Festival each Labor Day Week-End at Earl Park, Indiana. Each year for four days during the Labor Day week-end people gather from all around the surrounding counties for a four day festival of food, crafts, games for the kids, a tractor pull,camping, and of course Bluegrass Music performed in the outdoor bandstand. It's a Norman Rockwell painting come to life.
I don't profess to know a thing about Bluegrass Music or the musicians performing, and can't tell the professional groups from the amateurs. And I don't own a single Bluegrass Record, nor would I consider buying one or listening to Bluegrass when at home. But on that one day a year when I attend the festival I'm completely into the music, tapping my toes along with the rest of the people in the crowd. It's contagious. And best of all, it's music that makes me smile, forget my problems, and feel good. I appreciate all forms of music when performed well - especially live music - and these Bluegrass Musicians that attend the festival are fantastic. Even the groups of amateurs who don't perform on the bandstand stage, but gather together around their campfires and play for the sheer joy of music.
The fairgrounds are pretty well sub-divided into sections for campers to set up their RVs, tents, and campsite; areas segregated for the food vendors and crafters selling their wares; an area for amusement park rides; a pavilion for games, raffles, and BINGO; a great big strip of land for the tractor pull; and a bandstand and benches for the audience to enjoy the performing musicians. Most of the musicians seem to set-up camp around the bandstand while regular families might be located more along the outskirts or positioned closer to the food vendors. And as you walk past the various campsites near the bandstand you can hear the sound of banjos, guitars, upright bass, fiddle, and mandolins coming from every direction, and see musicians of all ages picking and grinning and having a gay old time.
In years past I'd see a group of what could be best described as bearded mountain men sitting around the campfire playing music and puffing on genuine handmade corn cob pipes (not Missouri Meerschaum pipes with Lucite stems) - but a corn cob and what amounted to a hollow stick without a mouth piece rammed into the bottom of the cob. Nothing fancy. Just a corn cob with a hollow wooden tube jutting out of the bottom. And these gentlemen would be puffing away and playing some damn fine music. You could also find a few fellows puffing briar pipes and well stained Meerschaums with plenty of age on them. My point being - pipe smokers were in abundance.
Yesterday, it all came back to me as I pulled into the lot to park my car and announced to my wife, "For once I'm not going to be the only person smoking a pipe." But as the day wore on I was bewildered to discover not a single pipe smoker was to be seen the entire day while I was there. Scattered groups of musicians were encircling their private campfires as before, old bearded mountain men in bib overalls were lumbering all around me gnawing on corn dogs and other unidentifiable clumps of meat skewered on sticks, and cigarette smokers were abound ... mainly skinny middle-aged women with tattoos. But not a pipe smoker among them.
I still enjoyed my experience there as I always do. And the music and food was great. But the absence of the old pipe smokers circling the campfires puffing and playing was as disappointing to me as going to the Field Museum in Chicago and discovering both the dinosaur and Mummy exhibits were temporarily closed for remodeling.
Comments
I found the same held true on the occasions when I have attended the annual NJ Crawfish Festival. I have no interest in -- in fact, an aversion to -- Zydeco and/or Cajun music, but finding myself submerged in it, it's not bad at all ........ Why do I go if I don't like the music? Obviously, the crawfish.
But I'm not sure this all holds true for polka music.
"Welcome to heaven: here's your harp."
"Welcome to hell: here's your accordion."
@jfreedy Be sure to represent us even if there's no one else smoking g a pipe.
@pwkarch I did my best to represent the pipe community. Even made sure I positioned myself in such a way that the wind was blowing my smoke away from the others sitting around me. Got no comments about how nice the tobacco smelled ... but got no complaints either.