Roughly about a year ago during the lovely month of July, I found myself deeply pondering the idea of abandoning my lovely little Western Maryland hometown for a world perpetually lit by garish office buildings and fast food joints, by the headlights of tardy Metrobuses and automobiles spread across the chunk of asphalt we lovingly refer to as the Beltway.   The first two months of that summer of 2009 which, in the last weeks, saw me tucking two decades of life under my belt and the small brass key to my very first Frostburg apartment into my back pocket, were very odd for me.  While tying up loose ends in a community here, I was also developing a community network elsewhere.  However, during that time period, it seems that I truly lacked a common ground; I was neither here nor there, and my sense of self had never been so muddled.

It’s almost a year later now and my current life looks nothing like I imagined it last summer.  Plans to transfer schools, to transfer my bank account, my car, my shoes, and my kittens to an ‘unknown’ urban world have long been cancelled now; other opportunities having arisen back here in Frostburg.   Free from the troubles that accompany a resettlement of life and education, I am both ecstatic and peacefully content to once again be free to fully enjoy another summer in my hometown, along with all that it has to offer.

I’ll be the first to admit that, like a lot of college students and people in general, I end the school year with visions of doing, well, just doing nothing in the summertime.  Apart from working a part-time post at Mountain City Traditional Arts, I don’t seem to be compelled to reach heights of ambition much beyond reading Garcia Marquez on my back porch with the cats for company.  To be honest with you, for most of the long days of my summer, that’s perfectly fine with me.  Every once in a while, though, (and I am very grateful for it) inspiration gives me a jolting kick to the behind; and it’s during these rare occasions that I take advantage of spending my holiday here.

In effect, it was an upshot of one of these instances that I got the chance to experience one of the newest and most obscure happenings of summer in Western Maryland.   On the second Saturday of July, a day after what I’d describe as “the storm of the season,” I set off on I-68 and wound my way through the mountains toward Flintstone, MD.  Since I had unfortunately missed it in the melee that was last summer, I was doubly excited to be on my way to attending the second annual occurrence of Common Ground on Martin’s Mountain, a festival of music, ideas, and community held at Covenant Village near Flintstone.  Held over the space of three days, this year’s event ran from 12 PM on Friday, July 9 to Sunday, July 11 at 6 in the evening.  Although it is obviously not required by any means, attendees are somewhat encouraged to camp out on the Mountain, where a bathhouse, community kitchen and fire pit provide most (if not all) of the amenities needed. 

Regrettably, spending the full weekend up on Martin’s Mountain wasn’t in the cards for me this year.  Hence, following about a half an hour of driving, much of which was on a winding, unpaved and rocky type of farm lane, I emerged from a canopy of trees to find myself on the crest of a lovely mountain topped by rolling green fields.  Crowning the highest point of this hill sat a large yellow and white tent under which sat a group (from my far-off view) ant-sized adults and children.  

Parking my car on what must be the flattest part of Martin’s Mountain, I tied my tennis shoes and made my way across the hilly field to the tent, affectionately known as “Sprout Village.”   Reaching my destination, I was glad to take refuge under the awning, away from the rays of the midday sun.   Looking around, I greeted a few acquaintances and then, taking advantage of a dull stage and sound-check session, I decided to take stock of my surroundings.  Wandering out into the open field and the fresh warm air, I settled myself down on the sharp, irritating grass and lay flat out on my back to read my recently obtained copy of the Common Ground program.

“Wow. I had no idea,” I said to myself upon flipping open the normal tri-folded piece of white computer paper.  Ever the incorrigible skeptic, I fully expected the Common Ground Festival to be just one more gathering of the tri-state area’s faithful young hipsters and punk, come out for ‘the scene’ and to watch their favorite local bands play. Consequently, you can envision my reaction as I read over the program’s three full panels of daily happenings and realized that the musical performances really were only a tiny fraction of each day’s happenings. It isn’t just about the music; as Jon Felton, a large part of the brains behind Common Ground, so eloquently describes it, “We’ll also be exploring what it means to us to be people living on the planet, in this region: our common ground.”

Speaking with a number of other individuals, I quickly discovered that a large number of festival attendees were still off in the woods, participating in small group discussions and various nature walks.  Wanting to be able to take part in one of these presentations, I wandered up to the Deerfield building, a small trailer that houses the community kitchen.  Opening the metal door and entering the cool room as quietly as I could; the room was filled with an astoundingly varied demographic, ranging from teenagers of about thirteen years old to older people  in their mid 60s and even early 70s.  The crowd was being held captive by the charisma of Leo Eby, a Mennonite man who lives on Martin’s Mountain and is neighbor of Covenant Village.  Mr. Eby was in the throes of lively discourse he called “On Earth as it is in Heaven?” in which he suggested thought provoking similarities between the “workings of the natural world and the spiritual world.”

Numerous other discussions and presentations took place over the weekend, many addressing issues of food, religion, and living off the land.  While many of group gatherings focused on discussions of a vegetarian lifestyle and the challenges and rewards of eating locally and consciously, I was immensely pleased that there was also a demonstration on the natural skinning and tanning of animal hides; I viewed this as an illustration of the presence of an overwhelming variation in community representation.  However, for me, the most stunning thing about the many different presentations that occurred that weekend was the wide array of topics that each discussed; yet each of them came back to stressing the issue of the importance in our lives of both the community we are a part of as well as the land on which we live.

Putting a perfect capstone on a tremendously rewarding and spiritual day for me was the musical show that took place in the evening, beginning at about 5 PM and kicking off with a most marvelous children’s parade.  As various local bands took to the stage (including The Working Week, Hannah Bingman, Tara Toms and Tumbleweeds, John Felton’s Soulmobile, Cotton Jones, and Aligning Minds) I was touched as whole families came wandering out of the Deerfield building and the bathhouse, some carrying dinner and others carrying snacks, but all towing along tousle headed children whose eyes lit up at the bands on stage.  Until that moment, I don’t think I had ever been aware of the importance of families and children to their, and my, community; I truly feel as though the presence of families made the day just that much more special.

Packing up my bag that evening, getting ready for the long drive home in the dark, I was rewarded by the sight of musician Seth Martin beginning his set, accompanied by outstanding dulcimer players Amy Fabbri and Anne Lough.  What was so special about this set, particularly when I was leaving, was that unlike the other performers, these three sat in ground level chairs amongst the crowd, and engaged that tiny community in sing-a-long numbers; it was a scene greatly symbolic success of Common Ground and the celebration of community. 

Driving home sans music that night, I got to thinking about life in general and my life in particular.  As my car began to climb that rise beside the Ali Ghan Shrine Club and Puccinni’s Italian Restaurant and I finally entered the raised freeway through Cumberland, it became clear to me that I couldn’t possibly wish to call anywhere but Western Maryland home.  And all of a sudden, as though an epiphany struck me out of nowhere, I came to the realization that humans cannot live without communities and bonds, bonds to people and bonds to the land.  Without ties, to others and to the earth, we cannot possibly build a sense of self; without them we would just float in a space of nothingness, with nothing to shape us and nothing to tie us down.