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I recently attended a two-day “Woodsist” music festival with my daughter Maggie at Arrowood Farms in Accord, NY. This was our second trip to Arrowood together, nearly a tradition. The first time it poured. We wore heavy yellow rain suits for two days. Despite our sunniest efforts, we felt waterlogged and weary by the end of it.
Not this year!
The weather was a gift, sunny and warm, all weekend.
On Day Two, we enjoyed a set by The Vivian Girls, an all-female rock trio. It was a lively set, full of blistering energy and good vibes. The truth is, it’s still a thrill whenever I see an all-female band. A band that rocks, that takes the stage, and owns it — and just so happens to be made up of women.
Later that day, as sometimes happens at festivals, I was wandering around and saw the band’s bassist, Katy Goodman, standing beside a male friend, presumably her husband. I’m not normally one to approach a celebrity. And if I do, I try to be respectful of that celebrity’s personal space.
But on this day, I paused and asked, “Hey, do you mind if I say something?”
They stiffened a bit, exchanged uncertain glances, but gave me the nod. It was okay if I said something. Quickly, I gathered.
And so I looked at Katy and said something along these lines:
“I watched your set earlier today with my daughter, Maggie. We both loved it. She’s twenty-four years old and has been playing guitar and singing a lot lately, just loving music in general. And I just want to say that as a father, it was so nice for me to watch her, watch you. For her to see three powerful women rocking out. Thank you for that. It means a lot, really. You’re doing good work.”
And that was that. They thanked me, a little surprised, and seemed genuinely touched.
I didn’t linger, just smiled and drifted away.
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Flowers for the living, as the Irish say.
