Back in the early 90’s when I was still in high school, my love for the Grateful Dead began.  It was easy to flow with the free ramblings of the music, the words that became my backdrop, the creativity that stemmed from my love of poetry and color and nature.

Even before I graduated, I logged hours on the road, and turnstile entries around the country.  It didn’t hurt that I had a cool Deadhead boyfriend from California, who knew how to mail order and sell cases in the lot.

After my first mini tour, I finished my last semester of high school, tracing tape covers and stringing beads during class.  I walked around with a songbook, and always wore my patchy hat and long hair flying underneath. 

Everything was geared on getting back to Dead tour, back to the music and the glimpse of an American freedom, I didn’t know before in my small town Kansas life.