And as an added bonus, if they want to get a wrist band, festival ticket takers happily supply one to them.
David's number one festival joy is the sandpile -- 3 feet high, the sides sloping down, and sand that can be moved by many children at the same time.
Oh, maybe he was a little sad when someone stepped on the tunnels and bridges that he had spent an hour creating.
Shared sandpiles suck that way.
Michael Johnson stayed at the festival from sun up to sun down.
He came with many outfits.
This one is for the middle of the day -- sun hat, sun glasses, and sunscreen.
When he moves over to the mainstage he has his own set of earphones to dampen the sound.
| ..."telling Japanese folk tales" ...|
in the 1940's those who bought candy got the front seats
The teller of Japanese folk tales rode a bike past the sand pile, stopping to gather children and parents to the tent next door -- at least those who could put down their shovels to make that move a couple of yards over.
His bike and his stage on the back wheel were beautifully crafted and his story telling trapped children and adults alike.
And has rhythms to tap far beyond her age. She may look skeptical here -- but really she just gathers information about who is whom and in which family people belong.
There are a lot of second cousins to do that with.
I know here from her family's forays out to the lake.
She is good on the rocks.
She is good on the water.
And it won't be long until she is someone's good friend.
David ran into the people on stilts when he was barely through the gates.
Instead of people in Calypso costuming, they were dressed as stylized horses, complete with fearful movements and whinning -- not the best festival introduction to someone who likes to keep the fear factor close to zero.
And that's it for "at the sandpile".