words & photography | MATT STEFFEN
It’s the end of Summer, vacation’s over, the kids are back in school, and the heat is finally relenting. Time to slow down and get back into the groove after an all too fast and often chaotic break. For a dozen’ish years now I have marked the occasion by sitting in a field, enjoying the smell of crisping leaves, and listening to music that fits the bill. Arriving right on time was the annual Whispering Beard Folk Festival, nesting into Carriage House Farm for the third year now.
After leaving my house for the fifth time to grab some other thing I’m sure I will need, I finally pull into the farm and find my ridgeline campsite. I’m tucked back in the corner between the Tye Dye Gang and the Crow’s Nest. My neighbors offer a hand setting up my tent and a cold beer while Ema Rae serenades us from the main stage across the field. We remind each other of our names and length of tenure, reminisce about last year’s crazy weather, reasons for our later than planned arrivals, and there we are: back home.
I throw my bag of last second remembered provisions into the tent where they will sit untouched for the next three days, grab my camp chair, and make my way down the ridge to the music. My path is filled with hello’s and howdy’s from Beardos infectious with excitement for the weekend. I pass four-fifths of the festival founders, scampering to and fro but still bubbling over with the same buoyancy. I stop by the MadTree truck and collapse into my chair, letting go of whatever stress I carried in here. The Beard has begun.
William Matheny and Lucas Wayne start us off with solid stories wrapped in straight forward songwriting. Nicholas Jamerson carries the easy pace into the twilight hours, serenading us as we watch the backing ridge slowly get swallowed by shadow. This is penultimate festival time, the late Summer sunset heat gives into the early Autumn chill and the music carries effortlessly through the moist air slowly presenting a blanket of stars to snug you into a wide open pasture.
Just when you’re about to drift off The Price Hill Hustle put a little juice back into your toe tapping. After a surprise induction into the Whispering Beard Hall of Fame, the Hustle run through a set blurring somewhere between spiritual, folk, blues, americana, and rock. Any one of these musicians more than capable of stepping out on their own genre, together their styles and influences weave into a cohesive bullseye.
Closing out the Friday night main stage is John R Miller, bringing things down to a slower gate with a little lilt and twang. A longtime multi-instrumentalist now backed by his own band, Miller delivers road-worn and life-tested tales with no hint of inauthenticity. Back up to the barn for a late night set if you haven’t had enough music for the day, The Rocket Flys run through a set of long jam Dead tunes for those with the energy left to boogie.
I make my way back to the tent, music fading into conversations unmuffled by vinyl shelters. The Tye Dye Gang are hosting a open jam, guitar cases and folding chairs surround their site. The Crows Nest is up and running, and will be until the sun starts illuminating my blue Coleman dome. If it is a good night’s sleep you’re looking for, I would not recommend the Ridge Line Camping section. This is for the diehards.
A new addition to this year’s festival were activities outside of farm drinking in front of a live band. For those that did not wake up nearly crippled in a deflated air mattress taco, there was yoga, guided hikes with The Archeology Research Institute, a live taping of Wake the Farm Up podcast, and the Catfish Saunter with Whispering Beard co-founder Matt Williams (I had to look his name up, would have bet Catfish was on his birth certificate), accompanied by Beard mainstays Maria Carrelli and Willy Tea Taylor. The neighboring Great Miami River also welcomed those wanting to swim, fish, kayak, or catch a glimpse of North Bend’s famous new power couple, a pair of bald eagles.
The main stage kicked off much like it did Friday, a low key afternoon of singer songwriters including Chase McCreary, Ben Turner, Eric Bolander, and Dylan Walsh. Picking up the pace a bit with Jon Tyler Wiley and VC and landing on my surprise highlight of the day Wayne Graham. A Kentucky band founded by the Miles brothers, they drew in the crowd with a slippery mix of southern twinged hypno alt-country rock I couldn’t quite put my finger on but thoroughly enjoyed trying. Rounding out the night was a wonderful set of traditional mountain music fitting its setting by The Local Honeys with the customary closing set by The Tillers. For those too amped and not quite ready to turn in, Jeremy Short burned through a set on the small stage by the barn.
Sunday morning I’m woken by the sound of inevitability. Beardos like zombies, grumbling and squinting, nodding in concession, trying to squeeze their collapsed tents into the bag that seemingly shrank since Friday. We made a good run of it and one by one we drift off until next time. Like most years I came with no plans or knowledge of who I’d run into, and only quickly perused the lineup. I had no concern that it wouldn’t come together to be a great time. Those organizing the event and those running the farm would have it figured out. The Beard is the hang, a chance to relax and reflect, the music is the ice cream on top.
