top of page
Melanie Macpherson

Weathering the Storm with Dog Patch Music Festival

After barely surviving the heat and bugs at Ness, I had less than a week to better prepare for Dog Patch. I checked the weather reports: a mix of sun and cloud, with a high of 26°C—perfect. I researched ways to keep my cooler cold longer, found meals that required little to no refrigeration, and froze even more water bottles. The blankets had been unnecessary and took up too much space, so I only packed one small one this time. I made sure we had plenty of clothing to stay cool, as well as sweaters and jackets, just in case. We packed the screen tent, so we'd have somewhere to hide from the bugs. We even decided to bring one of our dogs, Bear (a lab-brontosaurus mix), to see how dog-friendly the festival really was. Or maybe it was just because I like my dog, and he hates being left alone.


This time, we loaded up the truck—thankfully with working air conditioning—and left just 30 minutes behind schedule. Thirty minutes later, we returned home to grab the Rubbermaid bin full of food (seemed important) only to realize one of the water jugs had tipped over and leaked all over the floor and our only blanket. We grabbed the food, hung the soaked blanket on the deck, refilled the water jug, and hit the road again, this time more carefully. Now we were over an hour behind, but it was okay. As long as we didn’t stop to set up camp first, we'd still make it in time for the first act. I’d like to say it was smooth sailing from that point on, but it wasn’t. Just past Saskatoon, the latch on the bed cover didn’t like the crazy crosswind, so we had to pull over to push it back down. A few minutes later, we had to do it again. And again. This time, we zip-tied it closed and crossed our fingers. I was starting to think the universe was trying to tell me something.

Five and a half hours into our four-hour journey, we finally pulled into the Dog Patch festival site. There were more campers than I expected, and the field was already pretty full. We found a spot next to the trees and decided to set up camp. The weather was looking sketchy, and setting up in the dark is never fun. Just as we got everything laid out, the sky unleashed cold, soaking, sideways rain. It was so windy the tents kept trying to turn themselves inside out, and we had to pull out extra rope to anchor them to the truck. The only silver lining was the music, which carried surprisingly well to our end of the field, letting us sing along to Tiegan Littlechief while we worked. By the time the tents were up and everything was inside, I was soaked, frozen to the bone, and feeling utterly defeated.


Sitting in the tent, I wondered how I could cover the festival in the rain without ruining my camera or freezing, since my only warm clothes were soaked with no way to dry them. I had no extra blankets to hide under, no raincoat, and no umbrella. I was starting to think I should have listened to the universe. Stubbornness finally won out over exhaustion, though, and we ventured out into the storm to do what we came here to do.


The saloon was overflowing with people trying to escape the weather, so we decided not to bring a dog inside. Nolan went to find food and drinks while Bear and I shivered under the grandstand roof. He returned with fries and gravy (they had gluten-free gravy—yay!), and it’s amazing what hot food can do for your mood. I was impressed by the few well-dressed, hardy souls who braved the rain to support the artists up close. From under our meager shelter, we caught acts like Western Medicine, Kory Istace vs The Time Pirates, and Josh Stumpf. The music was great, but as the wind picked up even more, it became harder to enjoy it. After Josh's set, we gave up and wandered back to our tent. We cooked supper, mostly to warm up the tent, then crawled into our sleeping bags with a shivering Bear nestled between us. Before I knew it, Saturday morning had arrived.


The rain had calmed to a misty drizzle, and the wind was almost nonexistent. I dared to hope for a better day. After some granola and hot chocolate, we reluctantly pulled on our very damp clothes from the day before and headed out into the world.


We stopped by what I spent the weekend calling Tent City. The Sorsdahls (you may know Andrew from Prehistoric Productions) and the Funky Moose boys had a series of sleeping tents and screen tents all connected by tarps. There was a kitchen tent, and most importantly, there was a fire table tent. We were welcomed in, offered breakfast, and a seat by the fire. By the time we left, spirits were high all around, and we were all ready for more music. The Janzen Boys delivered a fantastic set filled with recognizable songs, beautiful harmonies, and the warmth of an east coast kitchen party.



Raven Reid, who also performed emcee duties for the weekend, played a tweener on the side stage in a beautiful ribbon skirt. By this time, the rain had stopped completely, and I could safely take my camera out of the bag. Slowly, the crowd emerged from cover and started filling in the area in front of the stage. Eliza Mary Doyle was up next with her banjo, and the newly emerged audience was ready to dance. At one point, Eliza invited Talynn Peepeekoot from nearby Loon Lake to sing with her. Though obviously nervous, Talynn blew the crowd away with her beautifully rich voice.



Mercy and Autumn Harrison followed on the side stage. Singing a variety of songs throughout the weekend, both individually and in duets, the local sisters showcased beautiful voices and stunning harmonies. Folky Strum Strum, as their name might imply, put on a set of acoustic folk that didn’t take itself too seriously, yet was seriously good. The Backyard Blues Band followed on the side stage.



The next few acts turned up the heat with a series of country performances infused with a rock edge. Drew Derksen brought party energy with that electric guitar swagger. JJ Voss, while more laid-back, had a gravelly voice that added a bluesy edge to his performance. Brayden King knows how to entertain a crowd with his larger-than-life stage presence and repertoire of catchy, sing-along-friendly songs.



The audience danced and sang along, and by the time he was done, the party was in full swing. The best Johnny Cash tribute I’ve seen yet, David James & Big River, kept the party going. We had all dried out and warmed up, and the lawn was filled with dancing couples and groups, all singing along to the well-known songs.


At one point the settings on my camera got turned to black and white by accident. I took some pretty cool pics before I noticed and changed it back, so I kept them.


After sharing our supper with Bear (who may have become an incorrigible mooch over the weekend), we settled in for the rest of the evening, knowing it was only going to get better. The next four acts were a big part of the reason we made the trip, and I had seen them all before.



Kit Langfield did double duty at Dog Patch, playing two sets in a row. First up was Kit Langfield and The Key Rings, with his hard-edged, punk-infused country rock whirlwind. “Stitches” is probably my favorite song from his album, and the rocked-up live version is even better.



Barely pausing for breath, Kit hit the stage again as part of The Brothers G. The audience went crazy for songs like “White Lightning,” “Bitch Got a Gun,” and “Autumn Conversations” as the night continued to heat up.



Sister Grace took the stage next, like a refreshing palate cleanser—a lower-key set filled with fantastic harmonies before the big finale.



The night grew colder, and my frozen hands struggled to hold the camera, but the music was reaching the boiling point. Regina’s favorite classic rockers, The Hourhand, took the stage like an inferno of swirling hair and squealing guitars. Blistering songs like “Setting Sun” and “Hellbent” melted audience faces until we couldn’t even feel our frozen toes. And just when you thought it was all over, The Brothers G returned to the stage to join The Hourhand for an epic finale of “Free Bird,” showcasing their skills in a thrilling onslaught of guitars, keyboard, and drums.



When the lights went down, the hardier of the crowd retired to the saloon for the after-hours shows, while I headed back to Tent City to warm my hands by the fire. Filled with friends from the audience and the stage, as well as hot food and drinks, the party there continued long after I headed to bed.


Sunday mornings at music festivals are always a favorite of mine. The music is usually a little gentler, in respect to the slower-moving audience. The vibe is just more relaxed, a little more ‘come as you are.’ People are packing up, saying their goodbyes. We meant to leave—we really did—but the morning was sunny and beautiful, the nicest it had been all weekend. We ended up back at Tent City, helped clean up, and then had breakfast (lunch?) before heading to the main stage for more music. The sun felt glorious, the drinks were perfectly cold, and the music was fantastic.



One reason we stayed was to check out Black Suit Devil, also known as Andy Du Rego from Toronto, Ontario. We missed his show on Friday night, but he offered to play again on Sunday. He had driven across the country in a motorhome, playing shows along the way, but lost his roof during those same crazy winds that tried to tear our truck apart. His plan was to patch it together and limp back to Ontario, playing a few more shows, but for now, he was on the Dog Patch stage. His rough voice was beautifully suited to his blend of blues, rock, folk, and Americana. It was the perfect soundtrack to our final day at Dog Patch.



As the weekend wound down, I found myself reflecting on the origins of Dog Patch. Back in the Dirty Thirties, the area was settled as a government make-work initiative. Life was rough, and conditions were primitive, but the people who lived there were grateful for the opportunity. They persevered through the hardships. Around that same time, a comic strip called Li’l Abner made fun of a community named Dogpatch, portraying it as full of shiftless, lazy, stereotypical hillbillies. Locals started calling the settlement “Dog Patch” as a slur. But rather than be offended, the people wore the name as a badge of honor, proud of their ability to overcome adversity.


It’s from that resilient spirit that the Dog Patch festival gets its name—and this year, it couldn’t have been more appropriate.  Despite the hardships—weather, travel, porta potties, leaky roofs, bed-hogging dogs, and the inevitable bugs after the rain—we came together, like a family, with a common purpose. The memories of laughter, music, and good people are what I'll carry with me. And on the bright side, I still had most of a Rubbermaid bin full of food and plenty of water packed for the next adventure - Moosefest. 



0 comments

Comments


bottom of page