The band doesn't play until 6 in the evening. There's no line at wings or beer stands and yet there's a good line for tickets that must be used for wings or beer. A tent has a large number of picnic tables under it, most of them half occupied with people. Trying to find a place to sit for a few minutes twice, I failed twice. I had been sitting and typing for two minutes and a man asked for my seat on the corner of a table. It was a seat across from his wife who had not said a word when I had sat down. I thought about explaining European style sharing of tables, but just popped up and walked to the exit. These kinds of conversations go over poorly when the audience just wants to sit down and your departure is necessary for his comfort. Anthropology is what one signs up for when one hazards into most small town festivals without three generations to ones right and left. Sometimes, giving way and going elsewhere is the only good strategy.
It's after Six, so I might leave the Subway sandwich shoppe where I retreated and go back to Mill Point to hear the band. The sun shining on the wind ruffled water is enchanting and endearing, and the point gives a panoramic view of the broadness of the Grand River near Lake Michigan. The young band members are making their first tour of Michigan after having met at Interlochen Fine Arts Camp. All the mothers are selling tee shirts and a newly released compact disk.