What Happens on the Hill, Stays on the Hill (Unless Cameras are Present)
Now that I’m back in the land of mattresses, nutritious eating habits, and bathing, I find myself being asked how it was that I got to be so sunburned this weekend. With child-like exuberance, I tell the asker about the magic of Falcon Ridge, the dance tent, Colorado Wraps, and cheese balls. But before long I get mired down in an explanation of the back story that preceded an event over the weekend that was so unbelievably hilarious to myself and my fellow festival-goers, but completely incomprehensible to the poor soul I’m heaping my story upon. Of course, by time I get to that point that poor soul has either fallen asleep or wandered off to watch the linoleum curl.
The problem is, after five years on the hill, we’ve developed our own language of inside jokes, malapropisms, and strange accents that is about as close to English as Unamunda is.
Which is why I’m so excited that I was actually able to capture some of this inside-jokery on camera. Contained within the two videos below is the essence of my Falcon Ridge experience:
Reveling in the same thing happening over and over and over…