I want to run away to join the circus.
A couple of weekends ago, a performance group called
Aqua Chautauqua showed up in our backyard. They arrived on the south end of the island on a small fleet of sailing ships, their mode of transportation for their Summer ’08 tour. Several truckloads and a couple of busloads dumped this ragtag group of jugglers, storytellers, musicians, and their assorted accoutrements at our front door. The two other interns and I spent the day setting up a stage, lights, trashcans, and parking signs to prepare for the evening’s performance. Poor Lucy had just gotten off the ferry herself that day, not expecting a circus to welcome her to her new home on Lopez.
After the dust settled (did it really?), we shared a delicious dinner prepared in our kitchen by Chautauqua’s support team. The buffet’s scope (and it’s whirlwind preparation) was reminiscent of my old job in Massachusetts, and sharing it with such a diverse group of people seemed awfully familiar, too. Dinner seemed to flow seamlessly into clean-up and before I knew it, the band was dressed and lined up and the yard was full of islanders ready for a show.
The Fighting Instruments of Karma band led a parade of jugglers, hula-hoopers, and ragamuffins through our yard to the make-shift stage just at the edge of the woods where tents were pitched for the troupe’s sleeping. The show was kicked off with an acoustic guitar sing-along led by Faith Petric, a 93 (and ¾) year-old woman who had witnessed an original Chautauqua. We sang Acres of Clams (we live in Puget Sound, after all) and my mind was cast back to morning meetings on the Farm. The other interns who showed up were amazed that I knew the words to the simple chanty.
So many performances rounded out the night. Jugglers passed clubs back and forth, over and under, and backwards. A group of women hula-hooped on each others’ shoulders.
There were folk songs and spoken word/performance pieces by children. Gags and hijinks, displays of flexibility and low-to-the-ground acrobatics drove the performance to its finale: a juggle of nine Objects of Terror that included a cleaver, a torch, an egg, and dry ice.
The whole show was built around entertainment to educate. One of the Chautauqua’s missions is to support community endeavors and build awareness in each place they stop of the community-building issues and resources available. The interns building straw houses were recognized for our work and hats were passed to raise money for my hosts’ 4 year-old granddaughter who had surgery to remove a tumor from her abdomen just a week after I arrived. So many people had come out for the show that I recognized, even after my short time here. There were a gaggle of interns and several resident builders, the people whose homes are being built. I met their families and friends and so many other islanders involved with other community institutions like the four-month-old radio station and the CSA farm.
After the show, as the crowd thinned, Levi and I started a fire in the fire pit in the yard. Those who were left crowded around to fight the chill and guitars appeared. We were regaled with Beatles covers by a band called Abbey Road Live, who had just performed a pay show on the island the night before. Another group, from the Chautauqua, calling itself the Snow Cubs played covers of songs by the Fleet Foxes, the Decemberists, and others. They had tight and haunting harmonies, backed up by guitar, mandolin, and bass. It was a beautiful way to end an amazing day.
Finally, when all the locals had gone home and most of the performers had settled into their tents tucked away in various corners of the property, I headed back into the kitchen. I met a woman named Shine who was part of the kitchen team and she asked me if I was going to run away with them. I suppose my interest was so obvious she could read it all over my face. That night I went to bed to the sounds of pans banging below my room and visions of life in the circus.
