We are having a surge of articles about Woodstock. I was not there. Let me get that out of the way. I was stuck in a two bedroom apartment with a son and a husband who would leave soon after. My life seemed to be over except for the thread that tethered me to my child. A thread of love. Vietnam was happening, and the world I envisioned to embrace was no where in sight. I looked at the images of Woodstock on the television and it seemed like a world I might want as my own with freedom, wild visions, and hope to escape the mundane.
My husband eventually walked out. Years afterwards when I went to college to learn something practical I met the man I would marry and live with for the rest of my life. He was at Woodstock. Through him the windows opened wide and let the joy of the world in. My son who was seven took this childlike quality as something he could recognize. We all three grew up together.
I had Woodstock after the mud and the publicity and the darkness set in Hippie living. I had Woodstock with loved ones later on in the Rocky Mountains, living on more altitude than a farmer’s field, with everyone an artist — talent be damned!
Somehow we kept the good part of the vision Woodstock beamed . Joanie Mitchell said it was all about trying to get back to the Garden. I have a garden which soothes me in my old age. No tempting snakes or judgmental Gods. Just green and sunny for half the year.