The Michigan Womyn's Music Festival has a public transit system! Two bus routes, with buses for able-bodied and differently abled womyn.

My first year, I confess... the buses scared the crap out of me. OK, perhaps that's a slight exaggeration. Maybe intimidation is a better word.

That first year I spent much of the week in a state of general confusion. Fest, like many witchy and sacred and mythical things, is much bigger on the inside than on the outside. Much bigger. One square mile doesn't seem all that big, right? I walk four miles a day, I thought. What's one measly mile? Oh sisters, my sisters... the quaint and foolish hubris of the uninitiated!

That first year, I walked everywhere. I wanted to get to know the Land; I wanted my feet to understand her, I wanted my eyes to see her secrets. I wanted to engage with sisters, who were always happy to turn me around when I got lost, or take pity on me when I helplessly held out my map and asked how to get to the kitchen, the Community Center, the parking lot. (And truth be told, my meanderings in the various neighborhoods rewarded me with some great conversations and camping ideas; and the womyn's homesteads were testaments to artistic spirit, not to mention exceedingly fun to look at.) So... I walked. If I wanted to get to a concert, I walked from my site high-high-high on a hill, down the hill, past the porta-janes clustered at the village hub they call Triangle, down the long paved path, twisting, turning, uphill, downhill. Womyn smile at you, they nod, they're walking in pairs, in groups, alone. They're open and happy. There's the butch nod, the covered yawn (if it's morning), the Festie virgin grin-of-awe as they turn their maps upside-down and try to orient themselves. (That last one I recognized from being on the inside of it.)

Anyhoo.

I walked. I did some math afterward, as I was trying to figure out how I'd manage to lose ten pounds in a week. My campsite was a mile from the area called Downtown, where most of the action takes place -- Night Stage, the kitchen, the Cntree Store. Every morning I was schlepping to the kitchen tent, grabbing breakfast in my covered Tupperware, and schlepping back to my site to drink coffee and look at the program. Two miles. Then I'd spend the morning walking (to workshifts, to places I wanted to see, back to the parking lot with dirty laundry, to Day Stage, to the Crafts area to windowshop, carrying my water bottles to the tap to fill them, taking my towel to the shower for a quick rinse). Call it two miles. Then at lunchtime, I'd schlep to my site, grab my dishes, go get lunch, then take it back to my site. Two miles. Then all afternoon, more schlepping. Two miles. Dinner? Two miles. Night Stage? Two miles. As the amazing Festie Toshi Reagon says, "There and back again." And again. And again.

Call it ten miles a day, give or take (probably twelve). For a week.

I'll say this: my feet got to understand the Land, and my eyes saw some of her secrets, and I was very, very content. But year two? MWMF has a public transit system! Two bus routes, with buses for able-bodied and differently abled womyn.

(to be continued)