Vacations:
An opportunity to walk between worlds
It’s June 2025, and I’ve just returned from a three-week vacation with my husband, Ellis Ralph. We are both songwriters, and each year we travel to the Kerrville Folk Festival in southern Texas, where we join 30,000 other folk music lovers. Vacations like this are more than just time off—they offer a chance to step out of daily routines and into a temporary world governed by a different set of values and to live in an alternate reality.
The first time we drove through the festival entrance, we were welcomed by a cheerful older woman who greeted us with a heartfelt, “Welcome home!” Dressed in tie-dye, beads, and a headband, she looked like she had stepped out of the 1960s. She introduced herself as Tumbleweed. I asked how she got her name, knowing it was unlikely to be the one on her birth certificate. She explained that during a past festival, a thunderstorm had collapsed her tent while she was inside. Still wrapped in the tent, she rolled downhill—but thankfully wasn’t hurt. The name “Tumbleweed” stuck, and she laughed heartily at the memory. Her story and her welcome became our portal into the parallel reality that is the Kerrville Folk Festival.
We parked our camper and soon met our neighbors at "Camp Sweetness and Light," who invited us to join their song circle once we got settled. Our neighbor John, who has attended Kerrville for fifty years, offered us rides into town whenever we needed them. At night, the camps glow with multi-colored lights, peace flags, and vibrant tapestries. We spent most of our evenings at Camp Nashbill, hosted by Bill Nash, where the motto is: “Humankind - Be Both.”
We love to drive our golf cart around the campgrounds at night, enjoying the surreal lights above the tents, juxtaposed under Texas skies filled with stars or occasional dramatic lightning storms. It’s easy to imagine a post-apocalyptic world rebuilt by musicians and hippies, where acoustic music drifts through the air and people wander dirt roads with instruments in hand, knowing they’ll be welcomed wherever they go.
A friend once described the Kerrville Folk Festival as “Burning Man for Folkies.” People are kind, generous, and open-hearted. The songs are honest. Friendships form easily. Life slows down. There’s always something going on (concerts, song critique circles, memorials, staff concerts), but the pace is far gentler than the outside world. I’m sure my blood pressure drops the moment we arrive. I sleep deeply, despite our nightly song sharing sessions that last until 3 a.m. (or maybe because of them). There’s a deep sense of ease and acceptance—permission to simply be yourself and do what brings you joy.
Each summer, we attend at least three folk festivals, though none as long as Kerrville. We were there 20 days this year. Each festival carries its own version of the same magic. These gatherings follow unspoken “rules” that differ from those of the wider world. They invite us to imagine how society could look if these values were more widespread:
Be kind.
Support others.
Share freely.
Do what brings you joy.
Be creative.
Be authentically yourself.
Laugh often and have fun.
Cry without shame when moved.
Collaborate to support the community.
Avoid competition and comparison.
Leave your ego at the gate.
Take time alone to renew your spirit.
I believe these principles reflect our true human nature—especially when we’re immersed in environments designed to foster meaning and connection.
Today, however, we face a powerful minority intent on spreading fear and chaos. Their behavior is often immature, even primitive, and it can feel overwhelming to witness constant assaults on what we hold as good, true, and just. That’s why it’s so vital to take intentional breaks—to immerse ourselves in alternate realities that remind us of our shared humanity.
Sometimes that means reading an uplifting book or watching a film that inspires. Other times it’s more immersive, like a ten-day silent meditation retreat or a trip abroad. For us, folk festivals are our sanctuary. They remind us of the best in people and reawaken our commitment to stand for what is good, true, and hopeful in the world.