Hootin an Hollarin in is the air. Andy and I have had the privilege again this year to teach the Queen candidates a figure or two for a square dance to open the festivities. Bitter sweet. That is the feeling I get as I see these young women moving gracefully through the movements of the time-honored and timeless dance of our Ozarks.
I will be sitting on the sidelines this year. A bad knee has kept me from exercising and I just don't want to risk more injury to that vital joint. It is improving. Just not "danceable" as yet.
But I love to see the dancers take the floor each night. And Hootin and Hollarin is a great time to go through the old familiar dances or to learn a few new moves.
Sally Goodin, Cross the Hall, Whirl Like Thunder. The list goes on and on. The night air, whether steamy or cool, always adds to the magic for me. When I am dancing I lose track of time and place. I see people sitting in the stands, but the blurred light from the streetlights puts a hazy glow over the crowd. And I am in my own little world. Following the voice of the caller as they call the next move. Reaching out and taking that familiar, or new, hand and moving, always moving to the steady beat of the fiddle and guitar.
The music. Nothing can compare with a fine fiddle tune set to a rapid beat for a great time dancing. Sometimes the tempo lends itself to one dance or another. It is really up to the caller to decide. Two Little Hobos, a great dance to begin with, needs a smoother tune. But Black Mountain Rag always brings up the square dancing blood and makes your feet almost fly over the floor.
So this next weekend I will be sitting on the sidelines. Come by and visit a minute. I would love to catch up with the latest news. But please excuse me if my toes begin to tap a little. And every once in a while I might clap my hands to the beat...and smile and look forward to getting out there, where I belong.
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