Melted like chocolate kisses at the Waldensian Festival

Last weekend, my wife and I wandered around Main Street in Valdese greeting vendors, curious about their wares. Live music pounded from the main stage. We purchased a sunflower that a local artist welded from rebar. We signed up for a raffle for a free bathroom renovation. Temperatures barely broke 90, but the asphalt sauteed sunshine to a frying hiss.

In late August, 1689, Henri Arnaud led 900 Waldenses from Lake Geneva over the Alps to their Piedmontese valleys from which they had recently been exiled. They fought both the cold in those mountain passes and the French Army. Some 500 Waldenses died on the nearly 175-mile trek.

We gather every August in Valdese to celebrate this Glorious Return when forebears of this town’s founders returned home against all odds.

I kept those forebears closely in mind as we wended back and forth from the bocce courts at the Le Phare des Alps (LPDA) to the Old Rock School. We stand on the shoulders of giants.

Each year, this Waldensian Festival weekend is a hot albeit glad time.

On Friday, the Waldensian Heritage Museum hosted a ribbon cutting for their new basement gallery. Speeches were made while the photographer snapped pictures as if we were stars at the Grammys.

Later that evening, Rachel and I watched “From This Day Forward” at the outdoor Cranford Amphitheatre. The Old Colony Players outdid themselves in this summer staple.

This year, the show hit the boards without the benefit of microphones. I feared I wouldn’t be able to hear a thing. Somebody who had seen the show earlier this summer said crickets or cicadas harped and yawed so loudly, they couldn’t hear the actors no matter how loudly they enunciated their lines.

That day’s heat or that week’s rain put the kibosh on the insect chorus, and I missed only a few words. This must be due partially to the fact I’m slowly learning the Waldensian story and can fill in some missed lines.

I certainly misunderstood Henri when he insisted to his beloved, Anna, that “Everything I do is for you and Alice Cooper.”

Alice Cooper never was a Waldensian rock star.

Dylan Webb, an entertaining villain, played King Louis with dastardly relish. Less entertaining was how the natives of Connelly Springs were portrayed as liquored-up hicks hitting the hooch and speaking with an out-of-tune, unfunny twang.

The story of historic Waldenses and Roman Catholics is fired with both theological difference of opinion and astonishing violence. This play, like a Peckinpah western, captures the stabbing, mauling, jabbing, axe-wielding, punching, choking, and gun play. The grandparents sitting in front of us tried to explain to their wincing kindergarten grandson what was going on. Violence is hard to fathom.

One of many great things about this community drama is that the small cast assumes multiple roles. The bad guys are killing good guys in one scene, then moving through folk dances or singing solemn hymns in the next. This mash-up suggests a common humanity.

At 7:30 a.m. Saturday, we gathered at the LPDA for the opening ceremony of the bocce tournament. The bright morning was cool and green. The Caldwell Men’s Chorus, donning t-shirts resembling tuxedos, sang such a stirring-loud rendition of The Star-Spangled Banner that the crowd couldn’t help but to break into thunderous applause. The tournament drew 22 teams from around the state. The fast courts required an easy roll, a soft touch. Watching games was, punily, a ball.

At the mile-long Fun Race, children bolted off the starting line at the Rec Center. We adults whooped for them. At the finish, the first-finishers, in an unrehearsed act of kindly brilliance, cheered on the last-finishers.

The day was filled with neighborliness.

The Waldensian Presbyterian Church hosted two brief organ concerts. At the noon concert, the sanctuary provided an air-conditioned slice of heaven.

Both our police and fire departments staffed help centers. Passersby stopped to say hello. We usually meet these public servants on our worst day.

Not today.

Hellos came easily. I heard only one siren all day, and it came, as all sirens do, as a call to prayer.

I missed the chainsaw artist and the balloon man (and the train museum), but I enjoyed watching the Skillet Jumpers sizzle on the main stage. Every now and then a couple took to the street in front of the main stage and danced a slow dance in the bewildering heat.

Scouts gave away samples of peach cobbler. Neighbors caught up with each other standing in line for shaved ice. Children enjoyed bouncy houses beneath the trees at the Old Rock School. Out-of-town cousins had returned for family reunions to see the old homestead.

By the end of the afternoon, we were melted like chocolate kisses.

I greeted a little girl and her mom on Main Street. The girl’s face was painted like a blue, Carolina Panther.

“You’re a tiger,” I said.

She looked to her mom, squeezed her hand, looked back to me, leaned forward, and roared.

“Wow,” I said. “You’re so cool.”

Panthera tigris. Powerful. Sleek. Strong.

Also, adorable.

Becoming quite the conversationalist, she yammered something uncomprehensible in her little girl voice.

I nodded, like I do when I’m clueless.

“And I’m not a tiger,” she said clearly. “I’m a people.”

Yes, she was.

A people.

We are more than our masks, our colors, our politics.

We are a people.

Crowds knotted together at the LPDA for the final bocce games. We clapped after good rolls and groaned audibly at missed chances. We cheered when the last roll stole its place for come-from-behind points.

Only at the end of a long, hot day can such a slow game stir such wild affection. Beer and grilled soutisso piled with onions and peppers might, also, have contributed to the spirited mood, along with the coming promise of evening cool, and moonrise, and rest.

What a nice day to be together.

Roaring, shaking hands, cheering each other on.

One people.