Clearwater-Logged

The following is an account of Clearwater’s Great Hudson River Revival music and environmental festival which took place June 18 and 19, at Croton Point Park in Croton-on-Hudson.

10:12 a.m. – Inching with the others toward the Croton Point Park entrance on Sunday in our sorry Subaru Imprezza with missing headlight and damaged hood from the tree limb that fell on us in Tarrytown’s CVS parking lot. Filled to the gills with a caravan of supplies; baby, toddler; paper, pen, camera to catalogue the day.

11:07 a.m. – “This is a song to the fish. Thank heaven for clear water,” says Native American Joanne Shenandoah, first act on the main Rainbow Stage. Thank heaven for the screen room we’ve set up on the edge of the clearing as a cozy home base with cooler, blankets, chair, shade.

11:55 a.m. – Stalking old man; Pete Seeger? White hair, disheveled, his belongings in an old grocery bag, festival officials shaking his hand. Rep from KZE Radio in Red Hook sets me straight: not Pete, the father of this forty-year-old festival, now in his 90s. Not skinny or old enough. “There’d be anywhere from five to 100 people gathering around him like he’s Jesus. Our modern-day Jesus. And he holds his banjo close at all times so he doesn’t misplace it.”

12:10 p.m. – James McMurtry on the Hudson Stage. Stunning vista of the river this festival helps clean, protect and honor. Two men walking on water! No, they are rowing up to the shore, standing on surfboards. “That’s cool,” says McMurtry.

12:35 p.m. – The search continues. “Is this supposed to be Pete Seeger?” asks a young girl about the clay model on the little wooden replica of the Sloop sailing ship. Yes, says the volunteer. Aha! Take photo.

12:53 p.m. – Return to tent. Some shared ganja among the crowd got to our (now snacking) tent mates. “What a day for a daydream,” sings John Sebastian. A middle-aged lady sings and sways to our babies from the periphery of our screen room: “I’m lost in a daydream.”

2:23 p.m. – Admire a model of the Atlantic Sturgeon, the largest fish in this river, at up to eight feet. Prehistoric looking, and it is, here for 100 million years. Various aqua-education awaits, including a demo called "Eww Eel" which we skip.

2:50 p.m. – Children’s songster Peter Yarrow at the Family Stage. “I’m on my way” he sings with his daughter and others, part of the Generations theme of this year's event. Twirling hoola hoops surround, Father’s Day card-crafting, playground, temptations of nearby food court – fruit dipped in chocolate, frozen cherry limeade.

3:10 p.m. – Toddler learns lesson in “brain freeze.” Man already dotted with Calamine meditates under a tree dripping in poison ivy. Modern-day Cassandra’s "watch out" warnings go unheeded; the woman instead sprays herself vigorously with bug spray.

3:35 p.m. – "My name is Luca." The singer's name is Suzanne Vega. First she gives her “thanks to Pete Seeger for existing on Earth.”

4:11 p.m. – Our tent mates have lured the juice-vendor into our lair with the promise of the Indigo Girls in exchange for mango-yogurt delights.

4:48 p.m. – “The closer I am to fine,” the lady-duo sings. A few people have taken to hiding behind our tent in the weeds to smoke. Where is that Cassandra to warn them of ticks?

4:51 p.m. – “What will you take from this world? Well mercy could prove us but nothing would move us to rise above just being cruel,” a big Indigo instrumental flourish with violin, accordion.

5:17 p.m. – We dismantle and prepare to downsize for an evening move to the World Dance Stage. Our daydreamy neighbor offers two tips for future festivals: “It’s always on Father’s Day weekend and the earlier you buy your tickets the cheaper they cost.” And in parting, "See you back around here next year."

5:37 p.m. – A sign says, This festival is powered by wind, sun, and soybeans. Beans! Impressive considering the magnitude of this operation.

5:45 p.m. – Porta-potties have figured more into our day than need be logged here. One visit of note: Wearing my baby; lady approaches and asks if I need some help. She’ll give me her car keys as collateral in exchange for holding my baby. Depends what kind of car, I think.

6:11 p.m. – Back from a pilgrimage to the boat-display near the beach, a banner reads, We are the boat, we are the sea, I sail in you, you sail in me – Lorre Wyatt.

6:24 p.m. – Klezmer from the Klezmatics on the World Stage. “Music therapy,” a winded dancing man says.

6:31 p.m. – Enjoying some VIP friend-of-the-band perks with Tarrytowners Anna and Pablo of Colombian folk-jazz band Folklore Urbano. Pete Seeger requested they not play so late this year so his closing ceremony could coincide with sunset.

7:10 p.m. – Discover it's dangerous to sit with a baby on the dance stage while a Latin band plays. Down to napkin-writing now. Child-fatigue setting in, much boo-hooing over booboos. So we dance.

8:11 p.m. – There he is. With that man we once thought was Pete Seeger by his side, David Amram. “Turn turn turn,” they sing. Purpling/pinking sky to the west; Native American chanting; goosebumps.

8:45 p.m. – There he is again, in the performer parking lot, surrounded by five followers. Alongside a tan VW van from as far back as the origins of this magical festival. The license plate says, Tis Thus.