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Top Comments: My Woodstock Edition [1]
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Date: 2022-08-15
You were expecting an iconic photo of the concert? Nope. This is the Woodstock I know
This almost was an Open Thread, planned title “Top Comments: Writer’s Block Edition”. For all I know, it may still read like that when it’s done; if that’s the case you have my apologies! It’s been another whirlwind week and when I sat down to write, my Muse [aka the creative part of my brain] looked at me, said “oh hell no you’re not laying this thing on ME”, and decamped to the beach until after 10pm Eastern. Here goes the rest of my brain…
As I pondered what to write, I was reminded that today is the 53rd anniversary of An Aquarian Exposition: 3 Days of Peace & Music, known forevermore as Woodstock. As Daily Kos readers are an educated bunch, I presume (think? desperately hope?) that you know the Woodstock Festival was NOT held in Woodstock. It was of course held on Yasgur’s Farm, a 67 mile drive from the town of Woodstock.
Woodstock is nestled at the base of Overlook Mountain, as seen from the Ashokan Reservoir, part of the NYC water supply. This IS my happy place and my image of Home.
I grew up less than two miles from the Woodstock town border, and have always considered it my hometown. The picture at the top of this diary is what I think of when I close my eyes and think of Woodstock. When I was a teenager in the late 70s — early 80s, tourists would come to Woodstock and ask us locals “Where was the Festival held?” I’d dutifully tell them it was in Bethel, an hour away. That ::gestures around at the scenery:: if 100000 people came here for a Festival they’d STILL be there since there’s a two-lane road through town, one that intersects it, one that goes up Overlook Mountain to the Buddhist Monastery, and ZERO traffic lights. They’d look at the plethora of artsy stores, the folks smoking week on the Town Common (yes, in front of the church!) and the tie-dye shirts at the amazing Not Fade Away store, and reply “Aww c’mon man, tell me where it was!!” I sent them without fail to the Woodstock Golf Course. I figure I sent at least 100 people there, and I chuckle thinking about them grousing about capitalism and how Max sold out.
So as you think about the Woodstock Festival (which my parents did NOT take me to, but a classmate can be seen briefly in documentary films about the event), the followup concerts, and the event that shaped a generation, know that I don’t think about that at all. I think about biking over for ice cream and sodas at Stewarts, bell-bottom jeans at Elephant Emporium, the fantastic candle mountain (still growing!) at Candlestock and playing pinball at the Pinball Palace.
Take a look at the Drip Candle Mountain as you head over the fold to the Tops!
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