I’ve been told that I reminisce too much about Woodstock.

Sure, I’ve got a Woodstock peace sign hanging from my rearview mirror. Yeah, I’ve got one, no two, alright, I have three Woodstock posters in my office. To be fair, they are different posters.

I’ve got a few Woodstock books, the documentary on DVD and the original soundtrack.

And yes, I even got into a war of words a few years back with “Mr. Woodstock” himself, Michael Lang, who I argued was making a farce out of the positive vibe that was the original Woodstock festival, when he claimed that only he could produce something worthy of the Woodstock moniker. I had to remind the co-founder of the most famous music festival in history that all his follow-up festivals had failed, and that neither he nor anyone else could recreate the organic magic that was Woodstock by using that name on a marquee.

I’m bringing all this up because this happens to be Woodstock anniversary weekend, when folks make the pilgrimage back to the garden, to recall the music, the nostalgia and the magic that was created back in 1969, when half-a-million kids came together on what was Max Yasgur’s dairy farm in Bethel and chose peace and love over violence and despair.   

I hear that buzz every time, every single time I walk the hallowed grounds of Bethel Woods Center for the Arts, from locals who made the short journey and folks who traveled from across the globe who made it their mission to be there. Year after year, since 2006, when Alan Gerry first opened this living ode to that moment in history, they arrive to experience the spirit of Woodstock.

The beauty that is Woodstock is not in its name but in the ideals it represents. Many who attended in 1969 could hardly see or hear what took place on the stage. 

Neal Hitch, the senior curator at the Museum at Bethel Woods, says that as a historian, he knows that Woodstock was miserable.

“I know the rain was awful. The mud was nasty; people didn’t have enough to eat. You know that water was not readily available. I can’t imagine anything worse than sleeping outside in the mud after it rains at 4 in the morning. But no one remembers being hungry. No one remembers being miserable.”

In the oral histories from folks who attended Woodstock, Hitch says their memory is that everyone was sharing everything they had. That everyone cared for one another.

“That’s the memory that sticks with people. They had this experience of peace that was so powerful at the time. That’s what they talk about.”

I know, it’s over. We all need to get back on with our lives. Get back to work. Get ready for school.

I get that. But before you pack away your tie-dye shirts and bell-bottom pants, your blue sunglasses and love beads, repaint the VW van and start rubbing marijuana on your aching joints and stop aching to light up a joint, maybe we can keep a bit of the Woodstock harmony going.

Call me sentimental, but I think I’m being sensible.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could experience the feeling of peace and love and embrace what farmer Max expressed to the wet and hungry mass of humanity, deep as his eyes could see, not in a Tweet or a text, but in words of the beauty and glory that he witnessed on his 600 acres: “I think you people have proven something to the world…a half a million people can get together for fun and music and have nothing but fun and music. God bless you for it.”

Wouldn’t that be better than feeling the sense of violence and despair that seems to permeate our daily lives?

Barry Lewis is a longtime journalist and author who lives with his wife Bonnie in the Town of Neversink. He can be reached at      barrylewisscdemocrat@gmail.com.