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• Reliving Cornerstone Festival 2009

If words could accurately describe what it was like for a newborn child to experience the world for the very first time, I would have a much easier time describing my first summer music festival. However, since such universal accuracy can’t quite be conveyed in the form of adjectives, describing the adventures that stood before me at the front gate of Cornerstone Festival will have to be an elaboration of a single word: Amazing.

It was weird. I honestly came into the whole thing not having the slightest clue what to expect, other than all my friends had been attending for the past several years. I had never been camping, I had never seen more than 6 artists perform at any consecutive time, and I certainly had never chatted with my personal musical idol about my attire, but after six days of Cornerstone, I came out accomplishing all of the above and so much more.

The whole thing was one adventure after another, starting from the drive there. A trip that would have been simple—had my co-pilot, Evan, and I decided not to use MapQuest—sent the two of us on a journey through weaving country roads, an Amish town, and some steep hills that made my little protégé shake, all topped off with some illegal driving maneuvers and a few car stalls due to my inability to drive a stick-shift properly.

To add to the two hour journey, just as we think we’re approaching Cornerstone Road, the address of the festival, we turned to see a sign that read “Cornerstone - 4 miles” followed by an arrow pointing us back in the direction we’d just come from. Awesome.

Finally. The Front gate. I’m not even sure what I expected, but what I saw was not it. It was a seemingly endless expanse of camp sites, dirt roads, and huge, brightly colored striped tents. I knew that this place was way bigger than what I gave it credit for.

So caught up in the moment, I struggled to decipher the hand signals given to me by the volunteer ushering us in.

“We’re virgins!” my co-pilot and I screamed with regard to our inexperience at Cornerstone, realizing only after receiving some awkward looks that such word choice was probably inappropriate at said Christian rock music festival. Oops.

When we finally did make it through the main gate, paid our $145 ticket fee in cash, and received our wristbands (of which mine still remains as an extension of my left wrist), I was immediately running to catch my first show, The Rocketboys. From that point on, the remainder of my trip would be a constant struggle of time management with hopes of seeing as many of my favorite bands, as frequently as possible.

I was in awe by the size of the festival. The grounds were dotted with 35 stages, on which almost 500 bands performed over the course of the six day festival. The bands ranged in genres from the screams of The Chariot to the sung-poetry of Bradley Hathaway, and spanned popularity from Underoath, who headlined the entire festival, to The Weaker—a representative of the 217—who performed with many other local bands from all over on generator stages around the site.

For days on end, the question was never, “what should we do tonight,“ but “what amazing artist do we want to see tonight, and who are we going to have to miss to see them?”

After my first night, snuggling up on the nice hard ground, was a quick reminder of my first new experience at cornerstone: camping.

I wouldn’t call myself high-maintenance by any means and not having my curling iron or cell phone charger didn’t seem to bother me a bit, but where my beef with camping did become an issue had everything to do with running water, or lack-there-of.

Believe it or not, an hour into the festival was my first ever experience with a make-shift bathroom known as the Porta-Potty. Although extremely disgusting and never preferred over indoor plumbing, I soon found that it could be tolerable if a sweatshirt was placed over my entire mouth and nose to allow for minimal, but fresh(er), air. Another trick was definitely going immediately after they were emptied.

Sidenote: if attending a summer festival, make sure anti-bacterial hand sanitizer is of no short supply.

The issues of camping, outdoor cooking, and “roughing it” (which was actually me showering at my brother’s nearby apartment) aside, Cornerstone more than made up for its pitfalls.

What was amazing about Cornerstone was how incredibly nice every single person there was, from artists to the staff, to every single Tom’s-Shoes-wearing music fan there.

On the last day, at least six inches of mud covered the entire grounds, and I saw many vans and trailers and golf carts get stuck in it, and not once did I look behind the stuck vehicle and not see a crew of passersby stop to lend a hand.

Not only that, but the musicians who were performing for tents crowded with fans were often just hanging out at the festival like everyone else. The Rocketboys, a group from Texas, were personally manning their own “merch” tent (I quickly learned that “merchandise” is not an commonly used term with the music crowd). The guys talked to me and my rocker boyfriend for quite a while about how they recorded their new EP and how they would playing at Blacksheep Café in Springfield with my boyfriend’s band.

My personal highlight of the festival was when I got to meet Laura Blaylock and the rest of the members of Deas Vail, my all-time-favorite band. I saw the group twice, and following their second set, they were all hanging out behind the tent they performed at. After telling them how much I loved their new EP, pianist/vocalist Ms. Blaylock even told me she liked me dress.

As the days flew by and I finally started to learn the ropes and my way around, I realized that the experience was actually drawing to an abrupt halt. It was Saturday afternoon, and after a rainy Friday night, the grounds were soaked, and only the die-hard, mud-encrusted, Underoath and Devil Wears Prada fans were left.

As the campsites that had been occupied all week slowly started to disappear, I realized how sad I actually was for everything to end. The place had become my home, and going back to my real home which was littered with responsibility didn’t sound very appetizing.

The last note, of the last band came however, and the music ceased, and it was over.

So we packed up and we carried on our own paths and we drove away from the festival into the expanse of nothingness that surrounded the Cornerstone for miles.

And here I am. Back in my comfy bed, with my clean self, my electricity, and my running water. It didn’t take me long to realize that those things don’t really matter. What I learned at Cornerstone, from all the kids in their cut-off jean shorts and their flannel shirts, was that life was about more than having expensive things. It’s about being together, loving each other, and appreciating good old Rock ‘n' Roll.