Crickets and cans

At this point on Rodeo Day 2013, the sun had started to slowly sink out of sight. It crept inch by inch towards the trees surrounding the giant dusty field and the sky glimmered in ashen sades of blues and grays. there was a brief spell of silence in which the crowds began to make their way towards the front of the field, a mass migration, following the towering stage which began to glow and flash in preparation for the night like the star of Bethlehem.

We walked through patches of beer-mud mixed in with the dirt, empty beer cans crunching under our boots. Finally, we had arrived. We all applied our VIP wristbands and entered our special section towards the front of the stage, in front of the mounting crowds of hundreds, pushing towards us from behind.

The lights flashed. smoke began to creep out of the back of the stage, the sunset painted a the sky a deep orange, and the twang of a guitar broke the silence of the night.

As soon as the sun had fallen behind the trees, the sounds of the concert rang out and filled the valley around us with music. Kip Moore was up first. Beer rained down on the concert goers, screams filled the air, and everyone there knew the words to the songs.

We spent the night jumping, dancing, singing and drinking. We twirled around in the VIP section with beer sloshing out of our cups, ultimately drinking about half of what we had pirated, the other half donated to the dried up dirt under our feet.

And just like that, it was over before we realized. It was time for the long haul back to our cars, to sit for hours while the fields emptied.

We stumbled through the chaos of abandoned coolers and grills, tire ruts and an occasional lost shoe or shirt (or shreds thereof).

When we finally made it out of the field, we went straight to the trailer. The second car full had been kind enough to pick up as many tacos as they could carry.

We sat around and tossed tacos left and right, eating what didn't hit the floor, sprawled out on the couch and chairs around the trailer. One by one people began falling asleep - succumbing to the long, booze-filled, sun drenched day, only to wake up the next morning and make the drive back North... to wait another 364 days until... the next Auburn Rodeo.