Ode To Sandy Holler

Sandy Holler is driving up and hearing

“Welcome home!”

And knowing it in your bones:

You’re home

Home

Where I’m called Hemp Mama,

Where my son Abner first arrived when he was one

And now he’s a man grown

Twenty-three years old,

The age I was when I had him,

A full circle of life & love & belonging.

Sandy Holler is sacred community,

Where we life each other up

In all our funky beauty

And recognize ourselves

In each other.

Sandy Holler is stretching back through time

To that first place

Where a pumpkin candle melted

By a campfire,

Where my baby boy said, “Fuschia!”

And a SHARE brother reminded me of that

Years later, how smart my kid was,

How little Abner stuffed his cheeks with grapes

Like a chipmunk.

Gratitude for all the ways we remember

And share our re-collections,

Gathering again and again

The threads of connection.

Sandy Holler was all the babies

Passed through holey standing stones,

Blessing new life

Calling forth Spring,

Naked in the sunshine

Bathing in the flowers,

Crouching in the reflecting pool

In the shelter cave,

Watching the sunlight scatter

On the water,

Holding arms out to another brother,

Witnessing the wonder.

Sandy Holler is the blessed Coffee tent in the morning,

Or tea if that’s your jam,

With all the fixins:

Milk and sugar,

Even almond milk,

A bit of luxury:

Not having to worry about firing up the camp stove

In the fuzzy AM,

Just meander over

To the Coffee station

And fill ‘er up,

And home-baked goodies of all sorts,

Just every little delicious offering

You could imagine.

Sandy Holler is the Rainbow Kitchen

Where we serve

Up creative concoctions of love,

Banana chocolate chip pancakes

In the bleary mornings,

And later, one meal morphing into the next,

Giant trays of salads with whatever produce

We all brought from our gardens,

And wandering folks line up,

Standing patiently, bowls in hands,

Waiting for the tabouli,

The hummus & bread,

The Stone Soup

From all the thrown-together bounty.

Sandy Holler is washing dishes in the back,

Because that’s one job that never, ever ends,

And I join the long line of women and men

Before me who bent to the sink

And blessed all the ways

We feed each other,

Scrubbing and singing,

Light-hearted,

Playfully flicking water at passersby.

Sandy Holler is chopping carrots

And hearing a sister’s story about how

She kicked the habit that

Was killing her,

And she is strong

And proud of her success,

Yet humble in her knowing

She will have to keep doing

What it takes

Every day for the rest of her life,

And the rounds of carrots pile up

As she speaks and I listen,

Nodding, learning, affirming,

Stories rising with the falling knives

And together we weave the new way forward:

Carrot by carrot,

Her truth, my awe

At her honesty

And courage.

Sandy Holler is yoga in the grass

Faces to the sky

Reaching.

Sandy Holler is the warmth of a hug

Or the respectful, loving space between us

When someone doesn’t want a hug.

Sandy Holler is sitting on my faded blanket

Selling my hemp jewelry,

Making it to order

For little kids who want this

Particular bead

And that particular pattern,

And I gently weave my love

Into each knot I tie

For these brothers and sisters,

Grown and growing

Like weeds, each year

Astounding how we change,

Yet keep our core

Of light

That shines

From our eyes

When we see each other again.

Sandy Holler is a lemonade stand

Where you get the lemonade for free

Because making money is not the point,

Just connecting with each other,

And passing the hours

Shooting the breeze

With random folks who wander by,

And there are no strangers,

Only friends waiting to happen.

Sandy Holler is walking down the vendor rows

Marveling at all the homemade beauty,

Buying when I have the cash to spend,

Trading when I don’t,

Moving the energy around.

Sandy Holler is making art

With the little ones in the art tent.

My inner child is alive and well

So I string beads,

Paint paper plates,

Scatter glitter everywhere.

Sandy Holler is sitting around a campfire

Singing along as folks play their guitars,

And sometimes the impromptu music

Is the best of all,

Raucous and rowdy,

Sweet and tender,

Spontaneous and wild,

And you never know

What you’ll find

One fire to the next.

Sandy Holler is Star Camp,

Which is a lot of painstaking work by day

To create a magical glowing wonderland by night,

And we loved this tradition so much

We brought it home and created our own

Backyard Star Camp for our wedding,

And our friends and family sat under the

Day-Glo stars and had a taste

Of the magic of SHARE.

Sandy Holler is dancing my heart out down at the Main Stage

Holding nothing back,

Whirling in circles with my skirts billowing,

My dreads flying,

My hands tracing fractal patterns

That surely everyone can see,

Not just me

On this long strange trip,

And that right there,

My friends,

Is the beauty

Of our community:

Over and over we find ways to take

The vibrations inside us

And make them visible to each other,

Through dance

And music

And food,

And song,

And art, and meditation, and yoga, and chanting, and games,

And parades of little children marching around with their homemade drums.

Sandy Holler is dancing with all my favorite boos,

Meeting and parting and meeting again

Making each other laugh with our antics,

Bodies talking their playful talk,

Eyes flashing and grinning.

Sandy Holler is little kids blowing bubbles,

Dancing around and popping them,

Running through rainbow orbs

In tie-dye t-shirts and patchy skirts,

Tiny hippies catching sunlight magic

In their little hands.

Sandy Holler is tie-dyed everything:

Dresses, pants, shirts, skirts, head-scarves,

Tapestries, purses, aprons, souls.

Sandy Holler is a giant ongoing work of art

That grows and changes every year,

A living creation that we all made together.

What a wonder.

Sandy Holler is a song

You can sing anytime,

A tapestry of sound

We all weave

And carry with us.

Sandy Holler is a continuous gift to the Earth

And all her oceans, creatures, trees, and air,

A way to raise the energy

And direct it for good,

To gather our resources

And create whatever change we can,

Thumbing our noses at the illusions

Of separateness

And grasping, gasping late stage capitalism,

It’s a redirecting of what we have

To who we are,

A blessing from each of us

To all of us.

Sandy Holler is shared breath

In the depths of our bellies

As we breathe in meditation

And settle down

To hear the in breath,

The out breath,

The easy flow

Of life force

Coming in to mingle with our insides

Exhaling out, releasing to the trees,

Everything nourishes

If we let it.

Sandy Holler is a circle of dancers in the grass

Taking turns leading

And mimicking,

Mirrors for one another,

Playful windows into other

Ways of moving through the world.

Sandy Holler is holding space

For grief,

For everyone we’ve lost

Over the years,

And the older we get

The more that’s true.

It helps to gather

And remember,

To offer up words:

Hey, remember when He said that funny thing?

When She sang that beautiful song?

When we share our memories,

We keep that person alive in our hearts.

I hope someone will do that for me

When I walk through the veil.

Sandy Holler is a cigar box guitar

And a Drama-Free Zone,

A place to hear some picking and singing,

Guaranteed chill space.

Sandy Holler is pitching in to keep

The bathhouses stocked

With toilet paper and soap,

And mopping up the

Muddy floors,

Even when you’re not signed up

To volunteer,

Because it gets gnarly

By Saturday night,

And let’s face it,

Sometimes we all need a helping hand.

Sandy Holler is packing it in

And packing it out, y’all.

It’s not only not littering

But also picking up anything

Someone thoughtlessly threw down.

See, we always have newbies

Who don’t know the ropes,

So it’s up to each one of us,

Yes, that means you,

To pick up trash and carry it back to your camp

And put it in the trash bags that you

Thought to pack ahead of time.

How clever of you!

And while we’re talking about

Picking up stuff,

It’s also NOT taking something

That doesn’t belong to you.

Because who among us

Has not passed out by a bonfire?

Do you really want to wake up

To find your stuff gone?

No. You absolutely do not.

You want your drum and water bottle

And various and assorted goodies

To still be right there by your side.

So do unto others

As you would have them do unto you

And remember:

There are NO ground scores

At Sandy Holler.

I know I’m preaching to the choir.

Mostly.

If not, welcome to the ethos

Of Sandy Holler:

We look out for each other.

We love each other.

We put our love into action

In all the creative ways we can dream up.

If you’re not down for the cause,

We hope you learn a thing or two

Because you, too, are connected to us.

Yes you, the drum thief,

Your heart beats just like ours.

So knock it off,

For real, for real,

And rise

Into the Self you can be.

Consider this your homegirl intervention:

There is a place at our table for you,

But you have to become

And grow

And be

Someone trustworthy.

Are you ready?

Good.

Come on home.

Sandy Holler is a blue glass bead in my dreads

A brother danced up to me and put it in my hand.

I put in my hair on the spot

And it’s been there ever since.

How many years ago was that?
Hard to know.

Timeless connection

And I don’t even know his name.

Sandy Holler is getting a pizza

Late at night from the Pizza Kitchen,

Which has saved many lives,

You know what I mean,

Too much booze and such,

And suddenly you’re woozy

And nothing can save your soul

But late night pizza goodness.

Sandy Holler is helping a brother

Drink some freaking water

For the love of all things holy, man,

You cannot live on beer alone,

So here, let me fill your cup

With some good old-fashioned H2O,

Before you fall slap out.

Sandy Holler is drumming, that primal call to the fire late at night,

And sometimes I’m just too exhausted, lying in my tent,

Fast asleep to the soothing sound of the drums,

But sometimes

I awaken and rise

Like a flower that only blooms at night,

And I drift down to the drum circle,

And there, in that gorgeous circle of light,

I can hear the heartbeat of the world,

And I join in, barefoot, lifting my circle skirts,

Pounding out the rhythms,

Moving in ways I don’t fully understand

Nor need to,

Because I am part of something so old

It doesn’t have words,

And so I dance, slowly, each foot kissing the Earth,

And lifting with joy,

Bowing to the fire,

Bowing to the drummers,

Bending to the wind,

Singing to the moon,

The ancient moon that shines down

On all her children,

All night long,

Until the sun comes up,

And I lie down

In the soft earth and ashes,

By the glowing embers,

And curl up like a sweet child

And sleep.

Sandy Holler is Sunday morning Bloody Marys,

Spicy way to start the day

And ease the way toward leaving.

Sandy Holler is the Oolong Boys,

Sunday morning magic,

Lying curled up in sleeping bags

Down by the Main Stage,

Dreaming and grooving,

Maybe even dancing a bit

If there’s any twirls left in your skirts.

Sandy Holler is the Sunday Raffle,

The last thing we hang out for

Before the long road home.

It’s portable, that Sandy Holler magic:

You can take it with you.

When it’s time to go and everyone has loaded up their cars,

And they’re hugging good-bye,

It feels like a little death

But that’s an illusion,

Because Sandy Holler is alive

In you and me

All year round.

All we have to do is remember.

Sandy Holler is a blessing,

First and last,

It’s a smile on my lips,

A fullness in my heart,

A gorgeous magical web of connection

That manifests twice a year

Into the most beautiful physical form

Of anything on this sacred Earth,

And pulses with energy

Through the rest of the year

Because even when we’re apart,

We’re all family

And we’re always together

In Spirit.

Welcome Home,

SHARE fam!

I love you

And you and

You!

--Beth Feagan AKA Hemp Mama