After The Show: Kerrville’s Welcome Home Fest

Jasmine Meshell

Music Journalist

After the Threadgill shows, I made my way and trekked down the hill into the big meadow and stumbled upon a camp at the foot of the hill. Gathered around were about twenty folks, some watching and some playing, among them are three guitars, an upright bass, a fiddle, and a saxophone. They joke amongst each other deciding what to play next, with two people turning towards each other with their lucky charm between them, polishing off their shoulders for good luck. I sat in awe as they effortlessly improvised off of one another. A troubled voice of a man emerges, singing wildly all the while more campers approach to join. Mid-song a woman shouts across “Frank, You got anything over there?” and a booming, bluesy solo resonates from the Bass. As my journey begins, I hear an uproar of the campers shouting Johnny and all that’s seen is a sparkly purple suit jacket before turning to the road.

Strolling past Camp Mama Tried and the rainbow porta potties was a group of 6 young guys strumming and singing “I wanna go home with an armadillo” sitting on two benches opposite each other under the Kerrtesy Cart Shack. I thought it was so harmoniously alchemic the way strangers could play a song without the knowledge of a name as they went around and introduced each other. Among them they had two guitars, a banjo, a mandolin, one acoustic bass guitar, and a guy drumming away on his legs. While their words dwindled out and they traded the instruments amongst themselves, one of them in a red jacket on the outer side introduced his song. “This is a song about when I got drunk in Costa Rica”, with a slight chuckle, “ and how I got lost”.  I turned the corner onto the white crystal road, further into the meadow. I felt drawn to a woman with a sultry, raspy voice singing a dissonant melody to her ukulele. Their camp was protected by a circle of rainbow lights and the campfire crackling along to the music. A man in a golf cart invited me to admire their unique stories along with them. Across the fire, a younger guy picks up his guitar and prefaces the backstory before sharing. “This next song, I wrote it… I was in Corpus Christi with my girlfriend at the time and we went to go walk on the beach and it was…the edge of the bay and all the oil rigs lit on the horizon and it kinda felt like the moment where I was supposed to tell her that I loved her, but I knew that I didn’t”. Laughter filled the area as he shared his song. I returned to my camp after that inspired, tired, and profoundly seen.

After two days of the festival and six cumulative hours of sleep, I chose to rest before the night’s festivities. Throughout the day, there was a buzz about the ranch, for the wedding between Mark and Kimber at Midnight over at Camp Mama Tried and the whispers of an intimate concert being held on Chapel Hill. It was to be an eventful evening that I didn’t plan on missing. Well, life doesn’t always turn out as planned. My little sleep got the best of me, and at 2 a.m. I crawled out of my sleeping bag to try and catch the show on the hill. I could hear the parties coming from every which way as I quickly unzipped my tent and embraced the crisp breeze and dark blue sky illuminated by hundreds of stars. I throw my jacket on while staring above me, anticipating the adventures lying in the night. Happy Birthday is being sung as I pass the wedding celebrations, the word ‘birthday’ replaced by Wedding Day befitting of the circumstances. The white cake was being sliced and I sighed, sad to have missed it. I headed down the dirt path, over the bridge lined by assorted, hanging handbells, through the mystical tunnel of trees, and up to Chapel Hill to find the stage pitch black with only one soul lying on a bench in the back staring up at the stars. I proceeded down, past the meadow, and into the Sunrise strip where I found a whiteboard titled Merrville, a mermaid tail stemming from the ‘M’, with the lineup for the night below. I arrived mid-set of the last performer, Rain Rues. He had a way of shining a light in the dark night. Rain radiated pure positive energy with every note he played whether the song was heart-wrenching or heartwarming. My favorite was one usually performed with his sister, Blue, titled “The Sea”. The crowd sunk their heads as they felt the missing presence of Blue, but all quickly raised to sing Blue’s harmonies alongside Rain. The audience knew every lyric, all together singing “Let’s do it all again, that’s how it all begins”.

Back up the road, I saw faint orange flickering and hear cheers from The Kerrossroads. A woman is dancing with two balls of fire hanging from chains in each hand. The flame exchanges from her hands to the next, the fire sings as it wooshes past my eyes. Before long, a couple carrying an orange velvet couch plopped down next to me. When I looked up, a crowd of 50 people had joined the circle around the flame and the band.

By the time I headed to my 4 a.m. volunteer shift, I realized my time at Quiet Valley Ranch would soon come to end just hours after the sun shined on a new day. It really does feel like coming home, whether you’re born and raised or not. Kerrville is a beating heart and music is the blood flowing through its veins. Not an hour goes by without the strumming of a guitar.