Breakfast at camp, early morning. The light was incredible. Our neighboring tent cabin was occupied by a band from the pacific northwest called the Master Musicians of Bukkake. Seven dudes in a tent. They were super nice, and though none of us were familiar with them, we enjoyed their stories of playing psych rock in black robes and hoods, especially as they were an interesting group of fellows, all quite different from each other. They were at Fernwood to play a gig the following night, by which time we would be in Berkeley. Milky, one of the band members, came over and helped Mae with our fire, since our wood was all moist and dewy. Milky had no shoes on, and was donning this big floppy hat that I just loved. He reminded me of the adorable hippies we used to hang out with (and be, ourselves). We kept referring to Milky the rest of the trip. We like his name. The whole bunch were great neighbors. Oh, and Fernwood has darn good showers for a campsite, perfect coffee, and really, just look at that sunlight shining through the redwood treetops.
