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The
sun went down over Comstock Saturday and it was glorious.
Sitting
back in that sky, laced in the clouds, were windmills, symbols
of days gone by, a multi-colored balloon and gas-powered
parachutes.
Tepees
lined the valley below, poking peaks out of grass beckoning
stillness. Longhorns
roamed the bushes, a heart and NY stamped on the hips. Children played nearby, trying to pet the calves
maneuvering just out of position with every reach from the
youth.
They
seemed for some odd reason to fit together, the 104-year-old
Dempster House, the antique tractors, the arts and crafts,
hamburgers and country western music.
The
ups and downs of the hot-air balloon worked like an old pump,
with a covered wagon and two draft horses passing by.
It
was Disneyland, Custer County style.
The
Windmill Festival at the Second Wind Ranch delivered the goods.
There
were things to see, things to do, good food and good music.
Yes, this classical-music fanatic liked the country fare
offered. Bach just
wouldn’t have seemed appropriate, too black, too white, too
complicated. Brad
Paisley better fit the scene.
The
organizers of the evening put care into the planning.
It wasn’t just another country-music night.
There were probably 4,000 people sitting in various
places across the hillside with room for 4,000 more.
The
crowd was calm, relaxed, and everywhere I looked someone was
smiling, that stress-free smile that comes with a job well done.
“Where
else can you go for music like this and let your kids run
free,” I overheard one mom say.
“And did you get a look at that sunset.”
It
had it all. It had
everything an event needs to make it a go. There was something to do, something to see, something to
eat, lots to look at and the blessing of impeccable weather.
It
was an evening’s reverie in subtle Technicolor I enjoyed
immensely.
To
the planners, this was their dream come true.
Once
in a while the world needs a good dreamer.
And
did I ever dream five years ago I’d be sitting on a hillside
listening to a country western band and loving every minute of
it my husband asked?
No,
never, I responded.
Me
neither, he said.
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