Summer Jam 1973

I wrote this a few years ago, it was such an important part of me, that I wanted to include it in my blog. And besides, not much is happening around here at the moment.  Its too hot to be outside.  So....


It was the summer of 1973, I had just gotten over a long, serious, illness and thought that some thing different and enjoyable would be just what I needed.  The family of a good friend owned a cottage on one of the Finger Lakes in New York and I planned on  vacationing with them the end of July. Since my friend and I were officially adults, we were allowed to make the long trip from Indiana without the watchful eye of parents.

While we had planned on going to NY anyway, we found out that while we were there, there was going to be a small rock festival about 50 miles from where we would be.    It was called Summer Jam, a one day event at the race track in Watkins Glen, N.Y.  It was to take place the 28th of July, three bands were to play:  The Grateful Dead, The Band and The Allman Brothers,  three of our favorites.  Of course we would go!  Of course I wouldn’t tell my parents!

It would be fun.  We would set out for the fest the AM of the 27th.  Though they were expecting 100,000 people at the concert, Watkins Glen,  being home to a racing event, was used to big crowds.   There were concessions, and Port-a-Potties will as medical facilities if we needed it.  No problem.  So we arranged to be dropped off at the main street in Watkins Glen, we would walk to the racetrack, and purchase tickets at the gate.  We would be picked up the next day at the same place.


We got ready by purchasing back packs, that we bleached so they wouldn’t look new, and packed some meager supplies and bologna sandwiches. We had a blanket.  I wore a halter top and jeans, but brought an old plaid shirt I found in the rags, because we were staying the night and I might get chilly.  Someone told me I would be glad if I brought a  straw hat, to keep the sun off my head.  So I did .  Completely hippied out in attire, we set out for the fest.

We just followed the crowd, and it seemed we walked for miles.  We never did see a gate.  Someone in the crowd said that it was a free concert now, because someone cut a hole on the fence.   There were cars abandoned on the highway.  It was going to be as big as Woodstock.

To me, the small town girl (and a bit of a goody-goody), it seemed like we were in a parade.  There were people selling pipes and things from the trunk of their car.  There was a pick up truck on which someone had built a log cabin, complete with a back porch where people sat in rocking chairs, smiling and waving and smoking.  I remember being so very tired and the stupid hat just bothered me.  I threw the hat down.  Thirty seconds later someone came running up handing me the hat  "here, you dropped your hat"  I said thanks, but dropped it again, only to have some other polite hippie do the same thing.  About the forth time, I was successful at getting rid of my hat.

We finally got to our destination we spread out our blanket out not far from the stage.  Others did that too, that was to be our home for the weekend.  After a short rest, we ate our bologna sandwiches and drank  some of the water that we were lucky to get.  A can of tuna fish was being passed around from somewhere, we scooped a bite out of the can and passed it on.

We wandered up to the stage, where I stood in awe looking at this guy wearing a diaper of sorts and a guitar, dancing around, apparently in a trance.  There were also girls in white dresses, and no underwear twirling around to the strains of recorded music of Jefferson Airplane and others.  We stood there staring awhile and decided we had better take our seats, as we heard that the bands were going to play soon for a sound check.

 All three bands played at the sound check and it lasted long into the night  Apparently we fell asleep somehow, and when we awoke the were people everywhere.  Although people respected our space somewhat, our blanket seemed to be the most direct way to the stage.

Soon after we were awakened, it started to rain.  Some people didn't seem to mind the rain, but we and lots of others left. We did see all 3 bands perform, that was really our goal.  Besides, we were supposed to meet the people who were supposed to take us home that day.

 I remember walking down a hill to the town, dripping wet, and exhausted.  We actually found our ride in the sea of humanity.  While waiting for them we met a guy  from Indiana who failed to meet up with his people and gave him a ride all the way to I-65 (about, I don’t know , 1000 miles). 

Yes, it was like Woodstock.  The crowd was bigger, we had our own rainstorm with lots of mud and lots of hippie looking people.  But it  was a different time, it probably will never make the History books like Woodstock did.  The Vietnam war was over, and people just wanted to have a good time without protests and politicizing.  Which, I think, we all did, all 600,000 of us!

Saga of the Cherry Pie--or--Why I don't bake

It's all my husbands fault, really.  Well maybe its mine too, since 35 years ago, I impressed the heck out of him, (he, who became my husband) and his entire family, with my culinary skills by baking the perfect cherry pie.  What a joke!  It was dumb luck, but I wasn't going to tell HIM that!

My mother, bless her heart, has been noted as saying "I baked a pie once".  She taught everything I know. So as tradition dictated, I have always disliked cooking.  But I did manage to raise my family without needing recipes because the instructions were on the box.

So anyway, back to the cherries.  About 10 years ago,  my husband, remembering my awesome cherry pie, decided we needed cherry trees in our yard.  I didn't think of having cherries of our very own meant me having to do something that involves cooking.  I thought the trees were pretty and the blossoms in the spring were beautiful. Ah, but soon after the blossoms, cherries appeared. (Surprise, surprise) I was just fine with feeding our feathered friends with them.  But it was not to be, I was soon presented
with a bucket of them  (like I wanted them.)  I moaned and groaned enough that I got him to pit them at least.  I stuck them into the freezer in plastic bags, and promptly forgot about them. Forgetting about them worked out fine until he retired. Then because of his puppy-dog eyes and his nostalgic memories, I actually canned 7 pints.  It wasn't bad, so I thought I'd try baking a pie. I dusted off a cook book I got as a wedding gift, and found a recipe.  I started with ready made pie shells (of course) I found in the dairy section of the grocery store, and making the filling didn't seem to like it would be too much trouble to make.

I tried to carefully followed the directions, which were not all that clear.  I had to improvise on how many cherries to use. This cookbook told me to use 2 cans of cherries (which I would have liked to do, actually, but I had all these damned cherries). Since I was doing the deed anyway I thought I'd try to make another awesome cherry pie. I drained the cherries added corn starch and sugar, and I piled the cherries high on the bottom pastry dough.  I laid the top dough on top and pricked the top with a fork and started in making a

pretty fluted edge. As soon as I put the top crust on the pie I noticed it starting leaking some liquid.  I didn't think much of it, I thought that the corn starch would thicken when it cooked and would be fine.  I bonged it in the oven, and put a tray on the lower rack to catch any more drips that might try to escape.


Now, I have to tell you about our kitchen table.  Its a large antique, rustic table made of oak, and 5 boards make up the top.  When it was made, 200 years ago, the boards probably butted up against each other. In 2012, however, the boards have shrunk, leaving 1/4 gaps between them.  And guess what happens to stuff you spill on top of the table....  You guess it!! The stuff winds up on the floor too!  So, I not only had to clean up the mess ON the table I had to clean up the mess UNDER the table too!  Since the spill had a lots of sugar in it, it was sticky and I had got get down on my knees and scrub it up about 4 times.  But, I got it cleaned up and all was well for the next 1/2 hour while it baked.

When there was 15 minutes of baking time left I noticed that the drip pan was full on one side of burnt gunk.  (the pie did indeed looked awesome).   Thinking that it was surely done dripping by then, I removed the tray and started in at scraping and cleaning it.  It was almost clean when I smelled a burning smell coming from the oven.  The damn thing was dripping again, this time all over the bottom of the oven.  I quickly stuck the pan back the oven over the mess.  Before I knew it, smoke was billowing out the oven!   I ran upstairs to get a box fan to clear kitchen of smoke.  I opened the door to outside, plugged the fan in and turned it on only to have a fan blade break off and go round and round in the box hitting the sides violently and  falling over.  I unplugged the  box fan and began fanning the smoke with a pan lid.  By then the house was filled with smoke and burnt sugar fumes. I spent the next 3 hours scraping burnt syrup from the oven, and the pan and airing out the house.  The house still smelled like burnt sugar the next day.  

And the pie?  It looked wonderful.  When I took out the first piece, though, it began leaking syrup again.  I ended up upending the thing over the sink holding my hand against the pie shell and pouring out most of the liquid.  I don't think it was done cooking, as the cherries were still quite firm and round. 

I hope my husband likes the pie I baked, cause it might be his last one.

I'm thinking of being like George Washington and cutting down those damn 

cherry trees.