Many years ago in Tampa, I was nearly crushed at a stadium concert featuring the Allman Brothers Band. We were making our way down a breezeway entrance at the old Tampa Stadium when 20 or 30-thousand people behind 20 or 30-thousand other people started pushing. We were among a throng trapped between two concrete retainer walls below the bleachers.
Fortunately, Enlightment Production’s Battle of the Bands at Twelve Stone Farm on Saturday, May 31 presented no such quagmire for those in attendance. I was glad too, because enjoyment derived from being crushed in a sweaty horde of stoned, riotous and flatulent rock-n’ roll fans has been put far astern by this aging hipster.
At 12 Stone Farm, a cool spring breeze tempered by an afternoon sun caressed one and all, and the green rolling hills, huge horse-pastures and distant tree lines lent a sense of openness and natural beauty to the battle ground.
On stage, the audience was served a talented buffet of Blues and Southern Rock music, a menu occasionally soured by a wanna-bee band. Nevertheless, each band was allotted a half-hour to perform their original music and the competition produced an abundance of fairly diverse performances – some obviously deserving of prime-time gigs.
Despite their name, Shuffle Junkies was my choice for overall best band. Still, I seldom attend anything lasting more than a few hours, so I missed about half of the performances. A bluesy ditty titled Betting Man’s Blues, written and sang by the group’s stick man after returning from a trip to Vegas, delivered the tightest guitar riffs and a particularly strong vocal performance.
Another strong performance caught my eye at some point. High in the rafters was a nest of open-mouthed baby swallows being fed by an adult female. The adult male flew numerous crazy patterns over the crowd, apparently in an effort to draw attention from the nest. On the other hand, Daddy-Swallow could have been flying in rhythm to the music. After all, Swallows are song birds.
After a couple hours of really good music, one of the not-ready-for-prime-time groups took stage and began yelling into the microphone above screechy guitar work punctuated by sticks rapping on tubs. My ADD kicked in about then so I got up to walk around.
While strolling around taking in the postcard setting, I remembered a few things I had read about Twelve Stone Farm and owner Chiquita Berry. According to my sources, Berry doesn’t stop at offering the farm as a retreat for local arts and entertainment folks and their fans. She offers her place as a sanctuary for abandoned and otherwise neglected horses. Across a nearby ravine, grazing lazily in a large hillside pasture, was a group of these beautiful animals. I was impressed by their relaxed manor and seemingly content dispositions.
Anyway, as I watched these horses occasionally skin-shake horseflies while wandering freely about the range, it occurred to me that I was a part of something larger than a musical event.
Many of these horses were spared certain death or horrible existence in tiny grassless corrals with rat infested stables. Most had had hoofs untended by a farrier for years. Other common abuses include malnutrition, untreated sand-belly, infections, and flat out starvation. Witnessing the collective compassion for so many creatures wakened a dormant sense of compassion in me.
I remembered reading somewhere how more than 20 years ago Chiquita Berry took over payments on the 100-acre Twelve Stone Farm from a financially stressed friend and bought an old tractor from a neighbor. She mowed acre after acre of seedlings and weeds so high only the tractor’s hood was visible. Later, Berry had two dilapidated buildings torn down, one was where she erected the open shed from which the bands now performed to the delight of fans.
I had read about Berry’s successful struggle to make large payments on the farm, and how she and her friends personally performed so much of the construction work on her home. On a nearby knoll, Berry and a friend literally mixed the clay and mud and molded an old world Cob structure with a Native American Medicine Wheel embedded in the floor.
Berry has hosted troubled youth groups at Twelve Stone. She works with animal adoption groups. She has helped women, men and children rehabilitate and meditate on a better future from her “little piece of heaven” called Twelve Stone Farm. Meanwhile, a myriad of events have been held to benefit community organizations. All the while, she has provided a lifeline of food, shelter and medical care for so many horses and assorted animals on the farm.
From what little I’ve read about this woman, now in her 70s, I’m convinced she embodies the spiritual concept of kindness and compassion. She stands for good, and backs up her convictions on a daily basis.
It is difficult to place a value on Twelve Stone Farm because compassion isn’t often measured in dollars or stock. Rather, it’s measured in the kindness shown to one another among families, friends and within communities. By this standard, Twelve Stone Farm is priceless.
Clifton and wife Leigh recently relocated to Burnt Mountain from the Tampa Bay area where he spent 25 years selling building materials to major accounts. Throughout this year, he will be sharing his experience as a newcomer with Progress readers. |
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| Some of the attendees who enjoyed entertainment and surrounds at Twelve Stone Farm. |
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