We are Stardust --Back to the 60s

Apart from Church this evening I spent the day cleaning up the trailer removing rust and 6-years accumulation of dirt. It was another beautiful day with bight sunlight and clear blue skies.


I heard one of Hurlburt’s gunships flying over so I shaded my eyes and looked up at it. It provided me with a flashback to good ol’ 1969, the summer of love and Woodstock, the gathering of half-a-million of my contemporaries on a farm in upstate NY for rock concert.

There is a line in Crosby Stills Nash and Young’s song “Woodstock” that goes:

And I dreamed I saw the bomber death planes
Riding shotgun in the sky,
Turning into butterflies
Above our nation.

Well today when I looked up at that Airplane it was a beautiful sight. The bright sun was reflecting off the four propellers giving the plane a golden glow. Then, as I watched, a Monarch butterfly passed above me between me and the plane. It was as if the plane turned into the butterfly with its wings all aglow in the bright sun. Maybe the paint fumes were getting to me. I just thought it was interesting and I couldn’t help but remember the lyric.

The lyrics to that whole song captures the way a great many of my generation felt-wandering, searching, lost and believing the older generation has got it all wrong.

Well, I came upon a child of God
He was walking along the road
And I asked him, Tell me, where are you going?
This he told me

Said, I'm going down to Yasgur's Farm,
Gonna join in a rock and roll band.
Got to get back to the land and set my soul free.

We are stardust, we are golden,
We are billion year old carbon,
And we got to get ourselves back to the garden.

Well, then can I roam beside you?
I have come to lose the smog,
And I feel myself a cog in somethin' turning.
And maybe it's the time of year,
Yes and maybe it's the time of man.
And I don't know who I am,
But life is for learning.


By the time we got to Woodstock,
We were half a million strong
And everywhere was a song and a celebration.
And I dreamed I saw the bomber death planes
Riding shotgun in the sky,
Turning into butterflies
Above our nation.

We are stardust, we are golden,
We are caught in the devils bargain,
And we got to get ourselves back to the garden.


Well the paint fumes are wearing off now.

The big question for tomorrow is whether I continue to take advantage of the nice weather to work on the trailer or do something more interesting like go kayaking or run off with our cameras?