The High Points:

Chris Newman and Beppe Gambetta's jam together Saturday morning in area 2. Chris told me that they had only played together once before, and that not for very long. They could have been working together regularly for 20 years, from the sound of it.

Chris and Maire's main stage set on Friday night. I didn't see the whole concert, and I confess to totally missing the point of the performers (Sticks and whatever) that were on just before them, but I don't see how anyone can claim that a concert that included that set was too slow.

Our delayed 35th anniversary party at Woodchuck Heaven on Saturday afternoon. Thanks to Sinsull for the Mumms; I'm sorry there wasn't enough to go around and the common people had to drink the cheap California champagne we brought. And thanks to Mike Agranoff for wandering in and accepting my request for the full "Ballad of Jake and Ten Ton Molly," which I had heard Bill Staines do a couple of times 15 or 20 years ago, and hadn't heard since.

Chris coming back and playing my new-to-me Collings 000-2H for the better part of an hour Saturday night. I think if he'd had the cash on hand and I wanted to sell it, it would have been gone. Now, dammit, there's stuff programmed into it that I can never decode. I do wish, though, that he'd refrained from using the term, "smashing" to describe it. I know what "smashing" means in British English, but it still makes me nervous in the context of a guitar.

Kendall's one-liners.

The French Roast that Jeri brought in for the coffee mess.

Having both of my offspring there. But I missed the cats. They would have loved it, when it wasn't raining.

The Low Points:

The monsoon that hit just as we arrived, and forced us to huddle under the big tarp and swill beer to avoid hypothermia for 2 hours before we could set up our tents - and then we had to fight for the high and - relatively - dry spots.

Chris's Friday afternoon class in the Dutch Barn. Chris is one of the all-time great guitarists, and a good teacher. But what idiot had the idea of having an instrumental teaching session in a space where the main lighting is from the big open door behind the instructor? How do you learn anything, trying to watch the hands and fingers of someone you can see only in sillouette?

Sinsull referring to "Midchuck's son-in-law." This is scary, as I have no son-in-law. There were two people beating on the blue Johnson. Todd, the owner of it (the one with the whiskers) is Bigchuck's son-in-law. No relation. I disclaim him utterly. Though his daughters are fine people. I wonder if Dee fooled around. The long narrow one, Ian, is my son. Andrea is my daughter. Both are unmarried.

Peter