> SOUTHERN INDIANA — “At every party there are two kinds of people- those who want to go home and those who don’t. The trouble is they are usually married to each other!”

- Ann Landers



The very best part of being me is that, in addition to being married to a wonderful wife and having a great son,  I can go to go just about any event. For the most part I can simply ask and will be invited as long as I write about it. Sometimes I wonder if some of these people have ever even read my column!

Anyway, I went to a very unique little evening called Buck-Fest, if in fact such a thing really exists. Nobody will take credit for — or even remembers — coming up with the actual name.

“I didn’t come up with Buck-Fest,” said its namesake, Tim Buckman.

I asked several long time guests and nobody even knew how long it has officially been Buck-Fest. The last official name was “Jam-Fest” before that.

Buckman played in a performing band in the late 70s and early 80s. When you become a family man the road life just ain’t so easy. He decided around 1984 to have a little party and invite some musician friends over and sit around, and, duh, jam.

Now, when I got there we talked a bit and he explained the gradual growth into the now annual event with more than a hundred people passing through and for the most part a lot of very talented musicians, singers, etc. Everywhere you walked, around dusk, were some people jamming somewhere in the six acres of paradise where Tim and Sharon Buckman host this fascinating get together.

I also talked to many old friends, some high school, some college, and some just from living. There were some non-musicians who meet year-after-year to catch up on the last 12 months of life.

I know for me writing is really about leaving something permanent behind. After spending one evening with them, I know Buck-Fest will be a cool legacy. Without a doubt Tim works the room, as his presence (along with that of Sharon) being the common connector for an otherwise diverse crowd. Drinks might have been consumed and it was a party night but with responsible guests.

“We have never had to break up a fight.” Tim said in referring to the often unfamiliar faces on some nights. If a friend asks to bring a guest, “They are responsible for their friend’s (behavior).”

Really, though, it is for the most part a mature and laid back group with music by far being the main focal point of the night. If you don’t have a better than poor command of a musical instrument, don’t try to impress these players. There were some extraordinary impromptu musical groups performing. It was nowhere for a Mel Bay Book One guitar lesson’s graduate to attempt to play.

Lots of guitars, fiddles, banjoes, and a stand-up bass created the background (and often foreground) music. It was kind of like live stereo sound with a different performance in any given yard location.

Sharon and I spoke with the next door neighbor — if you call a 60-acre working farm next door. Her name is Breezy. I am not kidding that is the only name she revealed to me. Sharon says on an occasional Buck-Fest night Breezy has come over at 2 a.m. to help clean up when the party dies down. After spending time with them I can only say, “Wouldn’t you like to be a fly on that wall?” Country neighbors are simply the best.

It was a potluck with pork, brisket, and some turkey fixed up by some male cooks the night before. I don’t want to be overly presumptuous but I wouldn’t be too surprised if the first drink of every fresh beer cap snapping goes in for flavoring purposes.

I will probably try to get an invite back next year. Who knows, after they read this account they might ban me for life. And I might even bring a dish and my wife next year. There are no longer formal, physical invitations sent out. The Internet has forever changed life as we knew it.

One of the original 20 or so guest who have attended every year (save for 2000 when it was cancelled due to some unseasonal and poorly-timed Tim surgery) is local prominent attorney and accomplished musician Mike Gillenwater. He was sporting a fresh tan and the type of flowery shirt one wears to the beach while listening to Buffet croon, “Margaretville.” (As a side, the performance of that song might have been my best single concert moment while singing along live with Jimmy Buffet.)

Gillenwater reverently told me, “I got my wife and me up at 5:45 [a.m.] and drove in from Florida to be here. I wouldn’t miss it.”

Even to the majority of people whom I never got a chance to personally meet and talk with, you still made for a great atmosphere. No black tie event here, rather it’s simply come-as- you-are and be yourself. Sharon plays it off like the event kind of runs itself, but hosting more than 100 people in an evening will never take care of itself. It is definitely on my A-party list and I have been to some real shindigs. I was once an official guest of the country of India.

So in closing I will say that, in fact, if nobody officially ever claims to have coined the word Buck-Fest, that’s what it is now and probably will forever be. That’s okay even if it isn’t an actual word. After all, my experience is not that Buck-Fest is a thing, but perhaps, more of what I think is a state of mind. There was something for everyone.

Or as a very inebriated young male philosopher friend explained to me decades ago, “That’s why they call it a party!”

Lindon Dodd is a freelance writer who can be reached at lindon.dodd@hotmail.com