Some of the best times I had in high school occurred when I attended the classic event known generically as the “bush party.” What could be better that to be outdoors with your friends, sitting around a campfire enjoying a drink or a smoke and feeling deliciously independent and utterly powerful? I think I only attended about 4 of these parties in all, but their impact on me continues to this day. Bush parties made me feel like I belonged in the universe. They confirmed that my generation was important. They taught me that I mattered.
Bush parties were the best. You would come home with your clothes (or someone else’s) covered in dust and smoke. There could be burn marks on your hat or your shoes from sitting too close to the fire. A confusing smell of hot dogs and marsh mellows, marijuana and alcohol would waft in with you as you walked into your house. “Where the hell have you been?” would be mom’s or dad’s greeting at the front door. “And where are your clothes?”
But none of that mattered. Your parents eventually understood your need to stay out all night with your friends. You had important business to discuss. The world required your attention.
I can’t tell you how many of the world’s deep-seated problems were solved at bush parties. Somehow, in the half light of a crackling fire, the truth was crystal clear and no problem seemed too great or impossible to overcome.
And what of the random fits of giggles and spontaneous laughter? Perhaps for some the laughter resulted from intoxicating substances, but I remember much of the laughter resulting from something more innocent and wholly uncontrived. There we were sitting in the dark, under blankets, in the cold. It was like squatting in your first tree house or crouching in the fort you built with the pillows of your parents’ sofa.
Sometimes there was someone who played guitar and would lead us in song. Again, it was a magical experience. Perhaps inebriated or perhaps just feeling good —a large group of us singing in bold unison and terribly off key.
There is the temptation to re-create the bush party and reclaim some of those early experiences but it can’t be done. The things you first celebrated when you were young are now inaccessible. The emotions that we felt for the first time have become familiar and predictable. Even on a strictly physical level, the bush party would just be too uncomfortable today. Cramps would wreck your campfire. The dust would choke your lungs. The fear of catching pneumonia would ruin the adventure that it is to brave the cold with your friends.
Because to attend a bush party would leave you exhausted and unproductive for the next day, there was a cost to being social in this way. But in my experience, what was gained at a bush party far outweighed the negatives. Bush parties made it fun to be alive.