Celebrating 25 Years: The Summer Routine

For ten summer seasons, I’ve had the privilege of being a part of the Westben Summer Music Festival. I look forward to each summer the same way one anticipates jumping into the ocean for the first time in the year. Like the cold waters of the Pacific, it’s a brisk, invigorating experience that begins sharply with adrenaline, and by the end, as you watch the sunset, you swear you’re never going to leave.

For these past ten seasons, as a guest of Westben, the routine leading up to the summer always starts the same way; it starts with a phone call. Firstly, the phone call comes from an infectiously enthusiastic, musical polyglot. The kind of personality where music seems so interwoven into their sense of self that you’d swear they have a running musical score in their head following their every move. The call lasts between fifteen minutes to sometimes over an hour, and once the musical dust has settled, two friends catch up on their lives, and a plan is agreed upon.

Second, the routine settles into the prep phase. Musical selections come and go, themes are expanded upon and discussed. Then, depending on the scale of the production, we collectively cobble together a loose plan to make it work inside a wonderfully charming, acoustically surprising barn.

Thirdly, after months have passed, flights are booked, music is memorized, and the travel phase to Westben begins and ends on a train platform about 4500 kilometers apart. I’m then reunited with my third grandmother (yes, you can have three if you unofficially adopt one) and her joyful and endlessly imitable laugh.

The fourth step in the routine is the first few moments on the Westben grounds themselves. Even after ten years, I’m always in awe of the serene natural surroundings that seem purpose-built to champion the stewardship of music’s connection to the land surrounding the grounds of Westben. I relish this quiet moment. This singular moment of peace. I may enjoy it so much because it’s the only quiet moment I usually get in the two-week production period. You take breathers where you can! Then, after a big hug and greeting from the enthusiastic musical polyglot and his lovely wife who wears more and more hats every year, the work begins.

Now, at this point, I could go into the steps of show preparation and rehearsal, but I think Westben’s productions are better experienced without too much knowledge of how the sausage is made. I believe this because every year, the stellar collection of artists that Westben brings together does something akin to magic. The audience forgets for a brief moment that they're sitting in a barn in the beautiful countryside. Their imagination is whisked away to their memories, what the music means to them, means to the performers, and that special connection between artist and audience giving their all for a piece of art.

Once the shows end, the routine comes to a close. It feels like I had just arrived when suddenly I’m back on the train platform making my way home. This moment is bittersweet. I don’t like it. It feels like you're leaving without having that one last laugh, a shared connection, a moment of reflection. This feeling doesn’t last long though. It’s replaced with gratitude. Gratitude for the community that welcomed me, gave me a temporary home, opened their doors and welcomed me like family. The routine, with luck, will repeat next year and as the train leaves the station, I come to realize that nothing about this experience was a “routine”, it was a pilgrimage, and I can’t wait to do it again.