It’s a warm Okanagan evening in late August. I’m sitting on the lawn of a perfectly mown amphitheater with about 400 other music-y types, waiting for a band to take to the stage. This is almost like any other outdoor concert venue, except for one small fact: I can buy wine by the bottle, because the concert is at a winery.
There have been moments of what-the-hell-did-we-do since my fella and I moved to a small town in the middle of British Columbia’s fruit belt five years ago, but this isn’t one of them. Dancing, barefoot, on the lawn. Getting grass stains on the balls of my feet. Watching the moonrise.
It takes approximately three glasses of anything alcoholic for a Canadian crowd to get up and dance. This observation is not the result of a scientific experiment, but I’d stake my bottle of <insert valued wine here> on it. A Californian friend reminds me of this every concert we attend – as she drags me (willingly) to the dance lawn about three songs in.
This weekend, this almost-getting-to-be-fallish August night, I missed my California dancing partner as I watched the first set from my comfortable lawn seat. Just before intermission, another dance partner showed up. He and I hit the lawn at the start of the second set. By the third song, half of the audience was on its feet. Job well done.
For the record, we drank two bottles that night – three, if you count what was consumed post-show. But the impact of rate of consumption is skewed by the dancing. Or so I tell myself.