Pouring rain, hippies, mud and blueberries! Sounds like an excellent smoothie. There was a guy using a bike to churn his blender of lemonade but his butt kept hitting the blender lid while he pedaled. I hope he wasn’t farting. The free ride up Chair 7 was a big hit with tiny tots and big old ladies alike. It was interesting to see how we weighted down the wire compared to the empty seats coming back. Alas, even if we are hippies, we are after all still American.
The lift stopped a few times which made us all bounce like blueberries on a trampoline. I could not resist bird and animal calls to other riders who called back as I am guessing that they weren’t able to access their wireless devices for a while. I did not however, have any luck getting them to join in on The Sound of Music. I wonder does the mountainous nature of Alyeska resort discourage wireless reception or is it the nature of the attendees themselves to forgo it? Perhaps it was because everyone was occupied in the present moment, either tasting some blueberry treat, hoisting diapered offspring in the air or wringing out their polar fleece. Below us swingers on the chairlift were more conventional families of swamp blueberry pickers, above us bucket of rain.
My old roommates and their beatific baby found The Blueberry Pancake mountain biking trail a more sheltered walk down. This included an animated narration, at certain challenging points, of thrills and spills where people we know have bitten it. There was a canopy of trees to keep out the worst of the rain and many little berry pickers with many empty buckets which could have been more cleverly used as rain helmets. Indeed inside the lodge there was a table of toddlers doing their best Devo tribute with their multicolored pails.
Sometimes I have to admit I am one of the relics of the 2nd, but not necessarily, new wave of hippies. I’m more of a hybrid of preppy and hippy. I know who played at Woodstock but only from movies. I never really liked The Dead but I have friends who held up those silly signs looking for tickets. I can’t stand Birkenstocks, with or without socks. Yet, I care nothing for privacy. I actually like living collectively and was accepted into a so-called Marxist collective living arrangement in Berkeley primarily because I did the dishes after my interview. I think this might be a good closer even at a sorority house. I find a good warm hat the height of fashion. My current favorite hat is pink tie dye. I would rather be outdoors doing something free than just about anything else in the world no matter what the weather. I love homemade baking and acoustic music. However, I don’t need any marijuana to get me to eat sweets and I actually like to work. I can’t sail but I can wear a pink polo shirt on occasion.
Unlike the new wave of hippiedom, I have never worn my hair in dreds, nor listened to Marley except out of politeness. My old roommates and I discussed a future vacation at a kibbutz. They belong to a newer wave/hybrid which is somewhat retro hippy iconoclastic Alaskan. Kibbutzing has been on my empty blueberry bucket list ever since I read Exodus, attended Brandeis University and considered converting to Judaism. I know I will stick out like a sore thumb but then I stick out most everywhere anyway, like a toothpick in a land of olives.
There’s a new play on Broadway called “The Talls” which got me thinking. Being tall is not a problem so it’s hardly funny or sad as a basis for a play. It’s just dumb. That’s why they have the little people TV show, they get lots of crap everyday. I get complements, come-ons, a few remarks about the weather and basketball. Oh the agony! Apparently this Tall play is about teenage angst. I suppose if tallness is a metaphor of some sort I could ” tolerate” it. Really as a teen age girl I was unaware of any tall stigma or privilege because I was busy noticing menstruation, boys and blemishes. Maybe if I was 6’6″ it would have been different but I think it was worse for my mother than it was for me. She was afraid I would be ostracized. Boys didn’t date me. That was because I was goofy and a little scary not just because I was tall. I know lots of short goofy/scary gals who don’t date much either. Many of us hot peppers wind up a little out of the mainstream in Girdwood, Homer or Talkeetna where it really is more difficult to shock people, or on their own reality TV show like Snookie. Some of us are making contact through bird calls on the chair lifts. We tend to flock at these types of events. So if you don’t mind flying through the rain on a crazy chair lift sounding like a cuckoo, come join me at next year’s Blueberry festival in Girdwood. It’s more preppy than the Forest Fair, but you can still wear your Xtra Tuffs.