Singing in the rain at the Baltimore Book Festival

I must confess that I am new to the blogging arena, but I always say that the city of Baltimore, and particularly the neighborhood of Mount Vernon, should pay me a stipend for all of the compliments I give about it to skeptical listeners. I’ve never received a stipend, of course, but if I did, I’d want a raise because of this blog. This is not to say that there won’t ever be a negative word about Charm City or my fabulous neighborhood. I am a realist, people! But this will be my record of life as a city-dweller, an urbanite, an East-coaster, a transplanted Washingtonian, an adopted Baltimoron, and a rabid Mount Vermin. I suspect that it will be overwhelmingly positive. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it became a chronicle of my love affair with Baltimore.

A great example of why I love this city occurred this past weekend in Mount Vernon. For those of you for whom the weekend is quickly receding into the murky, all too distant past, it rained. Copious amounts. Saturday and Sunday. For those of us whose work is more plentiful on weekends, this might not be that troublesome. For those of you who work for five days, planning your freedom for two precious days, a rainy weekend is not ideal. Especially in September, when the weather in our area is typically glorious. It doesn’t have the humidity of August, or the nip of October. It’s pristine, going-and-playing-outside weather. Great weather to go to the Baltimore Book Festival. Right?

This was the 13th annual Baltimore Book Festival, which is held every September in Mount Vernon. Last year, according to their website, www.baltimorebookfestival.com , they had over 60,000 people in attendance. Speaking as a resident of the neighborhood, it always feels like far more! Despite the lack of parking due to the festival, in a neighborhood that is always challenged by parking issues, I love this three day literary party. The main attraction is the books. Thousands of books, crammed into big tents and little tents and tents defying description. Cheap books: classics and pulp, revered and unknown, so new the binding is yet uncracked and so old that you can see the number of previous owners by the script on the flyleaf. If you are dragged to the Festival by a bibliophile whose obsession you do not share, you will not appreciate those wares or the many poetry and prose readings. However, there are exhibitor tents, live music, activities for the kids, walking tours, cooking demonstrations, and a veritable cornucopia of food and drink. (I think I shall devote another blog entirely to Baltimore food at events like the Festival – stay tuned.)

When it started raining on Saturday, I felt badly for the participants of the Festival: organizers, exhibitors, and patrons. But, “At least Friday was ok,” I thought, “and Sunday is sure to be better.” That was not the case. This was a rainy weekend. And while I am sure that attendance was down at the Festival because of the weather, it wasn’t a wash out. Pun intended. I must state for the record that I was unable to participate fully in the Book Festival this year. As a Realtor in a period of extreme economic uncertainty, I was delighted to be showing properties to clients on Saturday, (being drenched several times, of course) and have an Open House on Sunday. (Drenched again, whilst putting out “Open House – this way!” signs.) But as I live across from the park, I was a spectator as I came in and went out from my home. Despite the sodden conditions, I watched the Festival-goers arrive, ready for their yearly haul. And I watched them depart, heavy laden with their treasures, stashed in reusable bags, or plastic bags to protect them from the rain, or in carts with wheels in order to the get the books home without causing irrevocable harm to their backs and shoulders. I saw families with strollers, kids with ice-cream, adults with umbrellas. My fellow Baltimoreans braved the rain, with smiles (mostly) for a book fair. I know that we have some serious literacy issues in our city, and that the slogan “The City that Reads” was mocked off of the bus station benches, but in this past weekend, I believed that slogan was true.