“Oh, grow up Dottie!”  Bitsy said and flounced down the aisle to the front of the bus, where she sat down next to an older guy in a tye-dyed shirt and torn jeans and began flirting her eyes out.  I stared after Bitsy in disbelief.  What happened to my best friend, the one that talked me into this crazy trip in the first place?  My lower lip trembled, but I caught myself and straightened my shoulders.  There was no use crying over spilt milk now.
 
“What a wicked bitch,” a warm, dry voice said over my shoulder. 

I spun around, and locked eyes with the young man sitting in the row behind me.  “I … I beg your pardon?” I asked breathlessly. 

“I said, what a witch,” the lanky young man stated more loudly.  “I saw the way she spoke to you.  Is she a friend of yours?” 

“Not any more,” I said firmly.  And promptly sniffled and burst into tears.

“There, there,” the young man said solicitously, and moved to sit next to me.  I noticed that he had warm brown eyes that matched his voice and he smelled of freshly mown hay.  He put his arm around my shoulders in a friendly, brotherish sort of way.  My grandma had warned me about boys who were too forward, but there was something about him that reminded me of home.  I relaxed next to him, my cheek resting against his red plaid covered chest.  “Let it all hang out.  My name’s Tim.”  He smiled down at me and offered his handkerchief. 

“Well, Bitsy said it would be like an adventure, but it’s been more like a tornado, a big, terrible whirlwind!”  I exclaimed.  “My whole life has been turned upside down.  I miss my grandma and grandpa, and sleeping in my own bed, and ... just everything!”  I was on the verge of tears again, so the young man hurriedly pushed the handkerchief back into my hand.  “I guess I thought it would be fun, pretending like I was spending the weekend at Bitsy’s house then sneaking away to a concert in New York, but it hasn’t been a bit of fun, not at all.”  I sniffed in a most unladylike fashion, and saw Tim cover his smile with a cough.  “I don’t even have any money to get back home after the concert,” I finished sadly.

“Well, now, everyone makes mistakes sometimes, it’s how they deal with them that counts,” Tim said firmly.  “We’ll figure something out.  Where you headed again?”

“Bethel, New York.  There’s a big concert in some farmer’s field, there’s gonna be tons of people and bands like the Grateful Dead, and the Who, and Janis!  Janis is supposed to be there, she’s the grooviest!  I wish I could sing like her,” I confided shyly.  Just then, a muffled bark came from my backpack, and Tim jerked back in surprise.  I grinned and pulled the backpack up onto the seat between them.  “It’s just Otto, he goes everywhere with me,” I explained.  My little black dog scowled up at us from the folds of the backpack.  “It’s been a while since the last rest stop,” I said worriedly.  “Do you think we’ll be stopping soon?” 
Tim looked at his watch and nodded.  “We should be pulling into the next town in the next twenty minutes,” he said.  “We can give Otto a break then.”  I smiled at him gratefully.  He reminded me of someone back home, but I couldn‘t put my finger on it. 

A short while later, Tim and I clambered off the bus.  I noticed that Bitsy had disappeared, which reminded me of one of Grandma’s favorite sayings;  “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”  Otto barked in agreement then hurried off to make friends with the nearest bush.  I turned to find Tim standing in front of a street vendor‘s booth, entranced by the wooden carvings on display.  The big man behind the booth gently picked up one of the figurines and handed it to Tim.  It was an intricate depiction of a scarecrow, leaning against a fence.  I stifled a giggle as I realized who Tim reminded me of; Grandpa’s scarecrow, which he’d dressed up with an old plaid shirt and stuffed with hay.  It stood guard in the farthest corn field, slumped apologetically while the crows picked at its straw hair for nesting materials.  

The big man next turned to me.  He picked up another carving, this time of a farmhouse, complete with pecking chickens on the front porch, and handed it to me.  My eyes filled with tears as a wave of homesickness swept over me.  The man smiled kindly and motioned for me to keep the carving.

“I can have this?” I said wonderingly.

The man nodded again and held out a huge paw for me to shake.  “I’m George,” he said gruffly.  His voice sounded rusty with disuse.  “I want you to have it.  I carved it from a dream I had.”  He turned to Tim and continued, “You too, I saw you in the dream.  Guess I’d better get my stuff together, I’m going with you.”

Tim and I glanced at each other in consternation.  “With us?” I stammered.

“Yup.”

“Why?  I mean, you’re welcome to come with us, but you don’t even know where we’re going.”

“I told you, I had a dream about it.”  George turned away and swiftly took down his stand, fitting the pieces and his carvings into a large duffle bag.  Tim and I shrugged at each other then turned to get back onto the bus.  George followed behind, moving silently for such a big man.  As if summoned, Otto came tearing down the street and leaped into my arms, licking my face to indicate his thanks.

The group, for that’s what it had grown into, sat together at the rear of the bus.  I quickly filled George in on my adventures to date, although he didn’t seem surprised at my tale.  When I asked him about his dream, he refused to elucidate, simply shaking his head and muttering, “Just wait, you‘ll see.” 

After that, we chatted desultorily for a while until my eyes started drooping and Otto was snoring gently in my arms.  Then Tim and George moved across the aisle, where they could continue to talk and still keep an eye on me.  I turned over on my side and snuggled on the bench seat, but I could still hear their whispered conversation.

“I’m worried about getting Dottie back home,” Tim said.  “She doesn’t have any money, and I have barely enough for food and such for the next couple days.”

George’s confidence was unshakable.  “You don’t have to fret, Tim.  We’re going to meet somebody, and she’s gonna help us get Dottie home.”

Tim’s pause sounded skeptical.  “Your dream again?” he said.

“Yup.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me, anything that will help?”

“Well, the next fella we come across is gonna be in trouble … big trouble … and we gotta help him out.  Keep your eyes peeled for somethin’ like that.”
 
Peeking through my lashes, I saw George lean back, shut his eyes and fold his arms, signaling that the conversation was over.  Tim sighed and did likewise.  I smiled to myself and pulled Otto closer then drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later the bus rumbled to a halt and I sat up, rubbing my eyes.  When I saw we’d reached Bethel, I shrieked with excitement and Otto launched straight up in the air.  I laughingly apologized, but Otto sat there in a huff, refusing to get into the backpack until coaxed with a kiss and a biscuit.  He grudgingly climbed in, and off we went.  I walked between Tim and George, craning my neck at all the sights.  Apparently Bethel was big enough to have its own airport; the Sullivan County International Airport, to be precise.  It had just opened the month before and banners were still up in the store windows proclaiming the historic event.  I noticed that there were a lot of hippies, more than I’d ever seen before in my life.  Up ahead on the sidewalk there was a big ruckus going on between a group of hippies and what seemed to be a bunch of juvies looking for trouble.  Tim and George exchanged glances then grimly waded into the fray.

“Hey, hey, what’s goin’ on here?”  George cried out in a booming voice.  It silenced the crowd, who parted to let him in.  George took the situation in at a glance.  A big, burly guy with a shaggy beard, a tye-dye shirt, ragged shorts and threadbare sandals stood cowering before the townies.  A tall blond kid with a crew cut and a bad attitude scowled at George.

“It’s none of your business!” he proclaimed.  “I was just having a little fun with the idiot-stick here.”  He pointed to the bearded fellow, who stared at his dirty toes and declined to join the conversation.  “He’s a retard or something, can’t even talk!  Either that or a big fat coward, I haven’t figured out which yet.” 

The hippies murmured unhappily amongst themselves and a few brave souls yelled. “Leave him alone! We’re not here to cause any problems.”

“Peace and love, brothers,” one voice called out clearly. 

Crew Cut turned on the crowd with a glare.  “We don’t want your kind around here!  Bunch of dirty freaks!  Get outta my town before I do something you’ll regret,” he jeered.  His buddies yelled loudly in agreement.  His attitude changed dramatically however, when George stepped solidly between him and the bushy-faced hippie.  The young ruffian looked away, muttered something about having chores to do, then took off down the street at a brisk walk.  The hippies, taking their cue, silently dispersed.  Deprived of a target and a leader, the bored teenagers wandered off, looking for some other trouble to get into. 

Tim stepped forward and took the stout hippie by the arm.  “Come on, man, let’s get you out of here,” he said comfortingly.  The big guy looked at him thankfully and shuffled along with remarkable speed.  We followed them down the road for a while until we found a quiet spot under a large, shady tree.  George passed around a canteen of water and Tim handed out sandwiches that he’d picked up back in town.  While we ate, George filled in the big dude with the tale of our travels thus far. 

Finally, our grizzled new friend broke the silence.  “Thanks a lot for your help back there.  What a bum trip that was.”

We all stopped to gape at him.  “You can talk!?” I said in surprise.

“Yeah, but I don’t usually have much to say.  My name’s Harry.”  I giggled; what an appropriate name.  He did look like a big, shaggy lion.  Harry smiled, seemingly reading my thoughts.  “I really do appreciate it; I’m not much of a fighter.”  He stared shamefacedly at his feet again.
 
“Not to worry, big guy,” Tim said bracingly.  “You’re obviously a lover, not a fighter.”  Harry smiled gratefully.  
 
George cleared his throat.  “Looks like we’re all going to Woodstock.” 

I whooped with glee, and did a little dance on the dusty road.  Otto pranced around, yapping in satisfaction.  Tim and Harry exchanged high fives and beamed at the others.  Struck by inspiration, I grabbed Tim’s arm on one side and Harry’s on the other, and started singing my favorite song by Canned Heat, On the Road Again.  Tim snatched George’s arm and we all began crazily skipping down the road, laughing like loons and shouting the lyrics out into the hot summer air.

“But I ain’t going down, that long old lonesome road all by myself.”
 
When we arrived at the entrance to Woodstock, we found a friendly sort of chaos.  There were young girls handing out flowers and joints (I took the first, and reluctantly said no to the second after feeling Tim‘s glare) and a group of young men alternately playing instruments and passing around a hash pipe.  I saw hordes of people on the fairgrounds, milling around and dancing, their laughter and chatter filling the air … and I could hear music in the distance.  I pulled out my well-worn ticket and then glanced worriedly around at my companions.  How would I get them all in?

“No sweat, sugar,” drawled a deep, melodious voice.  “Y’all are welcome here.  We‘ve been expecting you.” 

I turned to face the speaker.  I saw a striking older woman with beautiful dark skin and eyes, wearing a crimson full length caftan with gold roses embroidered down the front.  Tiny yellow flowers were tucked into her long, braided hair. 

“Call me Glimmer,” the woman said commandingly.  “And come join the party!” 

We all looked at each other and grinned, then linked arms again and entered the throng.  It was sheer madness, but a wonderful, outrageous, intense kind of madness.  Everyone was laughing, singing and dancing.  I saw a lot of hugging and hand holding, and quite a few people laying around on blankets and making out.  I averted my gaze from those couples, but couldn’t help from staring at one adventurous group who all seemed to be making out together.  My grandma would’ve had a heart attack!  I looked at Tim to see if he had noticed and felt myself turn fiery red when he met my glance.  Oops.  Talk about embarrassing. 

We strolled through the crowds, our mouths hanging open.  There were so many wondrous things … there seemed to be an art show going on all around us.  There were drawings and paintings leaning against the fences, and hand-woven tapestries hanging from trees.  There were booths displaying eye-catching macramé, leather and beaded goods, silver jewelry and rich, multi-hued ceramic pots and tiles.  There was even one woman doing zodiac charts and another reading tarot cards while people waited patiently in a long line.  I saw workshops where people were molding clay or working with beads, all of them talking and learning from one another.  The spirit of love and friendship seemed universal, as if it were in the very air we breathed. 
I glanced back and saw George studying some carvings at one booth, and chatting with the dealer.  He pulled some of his own carvings from his knapsack and showed them to the guy, who exclaimed enthusiastically.  George caught up to us a short while later with a satisfied look on his face.  “I sold some of my carvings, so we’ll have some money to help get you home, Dottie,” he said diffidently. 

My throat closed up; I was not going to cry again.  “You didn’t have to do that, George,” I whispered huskily.  “But that was real sweet of you.”  I gave him a kiss on the cheek while he blustered and protested, but he walked on with a big smile on his face. 

We got closer and closer to the stages where the music was coming from.  I bopped with excitement, and even Otto, who had been subdued up to that point, started barking.  As I heard the music more clearly, I looked at my friends with delight and disbelief.  “It’s Canned Heat!  And they’re playing our traveling song!”  I broke into a run, with Otto bouncing along in my backpack.  His barks, punctuated with grunts, led the way for the others as they followed me through the crowd.  By the time I got up close to the stage, Canned Heat was finishing up On the Road Again, and the “Bear,” Bob Hite, was launching into Let’s Work Together. The crowd roared with approval and there was instant pandemonium.  I looked around and everyone was spinning, gyrating, braids flying, fingers snapping, feet stamping.  I felt lifted up, entranced, a part of the universe.  It was as if nothing else in the world mattered at that moment … we were all one big happy family and there was no such thing as fear or fighting in existence.  By the time Canned Heat left the stage and Mountain took their place, we were all sweaty and dirty.  I started hearing whispers in the crowd that Janis was coming up next and could hardly contain myself.  I danced and grooved along with everyone else, but kept my eyes anxiously on the stage.  I hardly noticed Tim, George and Harry, who were pretending to dance while standing near me protectively. 

Suddenly I stiffened … Mountain was leaving the stage and there she was!  Janis strutted out to take her place in front of her band, the Kozmic Blues.  The next few hours were absolutely the best of my life, and it was all Janis.  Sweaty face; tangled hair.  Layers of bracelets; tattoos flashing.  Her deep, throaty voice.  All that power and hurt throbbing out into the deepening dusk.  As Janis came to the end of her set, the crowd quieted and rocked gently from side to side as we listened.

“Take it, take another little piece of my heart now, baby
Oh, oh, break it

Break another little bit of my heart, now darling, yeah, yeah, yeah
Oh, oh, have a

Have another little piece of my heart now, baby, hey
You know you got it, child, if it makes you feel good”

Janis finished up her final encore and ran off the stage; I felt drained and yet fulfilled, all at the same time.  Even if I got grounded for life, it would have been worth it.

We started back to the gates in a melancholy state of mind.  I was sad to leave before the weekend was over, but I knew I needed to get home before my grandma and grandpa started worrying.  I was also euphoric. Having seen my idol, Janis, I could not stop talking about her.  The others smiled at me, happy to share in my joy.
 
As we approached the gates, we saw our old friend Glimmer standing next to an ancient, battered school bus.  It was completely covered in brightly painted flowers, peace signs, yin and yang, and swirls of vivid psychedelic colors.  There were big blue eyes above the windshield and a smiling mouth on the front grill.  Glimmer motioned for us to join her.

“Time for you to be getting home, young’un,” she said to me gravely.  “You and your friends can borrow Old Faithful here, for the journey.” 

I shook my head in amazement and disbelief.  “We can’t take your bus, how will we get it back to you?”  I questioned.
 
She smiled and nodded her head.  “I have my ways.  You’ll see.  Now go on.”  She motioned again to the bus, her silver bracelets chiming gently.  The others climbed aboard, and George settled in behind the wheel.  Glimmer leaned over me and hugged me goodbye.  “You have a good heart, child, and a good head on your shoulders, even if you didn’t use it at first.”
I looked down in chagrin.

“Now, now, don’t take it so hard.  You figured it out in the end.  There’s a right way of doing things, and a wrong way.  And I think you know now that there’s no place like home.”  As she kissed my forehead, it felt like a benediction.