Now, Sandy, that performance was one of the highest recommendations I can think of for a restaurant. (Captain's Table, on Route 2, just outside of Williamstown, right?) After all, they had good affordable food, and they'd allow scruffy, giggling folkies in the door in the first place. (No, I wasn't there; this isn't the first time Kathy's told on you.*g*)
Fox Hollow was like no other festival I've been to for several reasons. Sure, the music was grand, and the workshops,and the jamming, and the visiting. But there were things in the background and foundation of the place that set it apart.
For one thing, when volunteers went out weeks beforehand to re-terrace the actual hollow into the seating area of the amphetheater (back-breaking work), Bob Beers (founder of the festival) would be out there, grubbing roots with the rest of them.
For another, there was no "us/them" feeling between ticket holders and staff, between performers and volunteers, etc. You could be sitting in the audience, and when the emcee introduced the next act, it could well be that the person sitting next to you would get up, go on stage, and perform. There was no "guard at the gate" preventing non-staff from visiting in the staff campground. True, you couldn't camp there if you weren't on staff, but you could stay as long as you were awake. And with the music, etc., that wasn't hard. One year I brought out a non-folkie boyfriend (that, as they say, is another story) and at the end of the evening concert (late, as usual), he went back to my tent, intending to turn in for the night. He was a bit surprised when I said, "I'll see you, either in about twenty minutes, or about four hours." Sure enough, I came back for a quick nap when it was light enough to read my driver's license. He hadn't slept much, either. I was camped next to Bob McQuillen (contra dance musician and tune crafter), and he shared my philosophy that you can sleep anytime, but you had to pack everything you could in while Fox Hollow was going on.