Frebur, here.
I attended my first PSG in 1995, accompanying the one and only Sparky T. Rabbit. That innocent trip to Eagle Cave in Wisconsin my life changed forever.
I was, at the time, engaged to a religiously tolerant Catholic woman (!). We were getting ready to settle into a quiet suburban life with no kids (!!!!!!!), and with my altar tucked away in a dresser drawer.
PSG was a huge culture shock at first. It did not feel like “coming home”; it felt like landing on Mars. But after getting to know the wonderful people there, and after living in a culture of such kindness, freedom, and creativity, PSG had me under its spell. I remember one evening, lounging in the grass at an outdoor feast, music wafting in the air, watching women dance ballet at the edge of the trees (I think one of them was named Melanie, maybe…). After moments like this, I knew that my body could go home, but my heart would always stay.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
Witch Mama 
I remember that year very clearly. You were a wonderful breath of air, a lovely friend for the other Chris to connect with, and, as it turned out, a nice addition to the life of the woman I was camping with.
It's a funny ol' world, isn't it?
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Was that 95? Or 93? I fondly remember the year we met. And it rained and rained and rained. I was lucky to be in your company.
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