The novel that is currently in progress tells the story of a young man, a folk-music playing flower-child of the late sixties who was hitch-hiking across Canada at the time of Woodstock with his young lady love. He is the quintessential Flower Child, the precursor of the hippies of the early 70s. As all good stories go, he loses this young woman and finds himself again wandering across Canada and north-western USA in search of healing a broken heart while playing music.
He makes it to Canada’s version of Woodstock at Mosport Freeway, Strawberry Fields in 1970 where there were some of the same musicians as well as other famous name groups of the day. Half a million at Woodstock and a quarter of a million at Strawberry Fields.
I was there, and like many there, I took my turn bathing in the pond shown in this newspaper clipping.
So, my novel’s main character has authentic experience upon which the tale is told. His wandering continues until he eventually meets a long-haired girl and falls in love, love at first sight. There is more to the story, but enough said.
In a way, this tale is mythology made modern, with the hero wandering through darkness, fighting the forces of darkness, battling the complexes of life and monsters of archetypal proportions, a story told over and over again in our small personal dramas in our ordinary lives.
I know, it makes you want to read the novel, doesn’t it?