But amid all the noise and fun, a powerful moment brought everyone together. A large American flag appeared on stage, illuminated against the night sky. The organizers announced it would be sent overseas to a military unit serving in Afghanistan, carrying with it the signatures and messages of everyone at the event.
Instantly, a line formed across the field. People waited patiently to write notes of support, love, and gratitude. Some messages were short—simple “Thank yous” and “Stay safe” wishes—while others were deeply personal. For a brief moment, the music quieted, and the entire crowd stood united in reflection and pride. Even POGO, usually the loudest voice in the place, fell silent as the flag filled with names.
When it was finally raised again, covered in messages from corner to corner, the crowd erupted in applause. It wasn’t just celebration—it was appreciation, a shared moment of connection that reminded everyone why this tradition mattered.
Then, as if on cue, the music roared back to life. Fireworks lit up the sky, laughter returned, and the night carried on until morning. Around every campfire, people shared stories about the early days—how it all began as a small get-together between friends and grew into something much bigger. They reminisced about the ones who couldn’t make it this year and the many times they swore it would be their “last one,” only to return again.
By Saturday afternoon, the grounds looked like a small, bustling town. Makeshift camps stretched as far as the eye could see, grills smoked, and the air was filled with the smell of barbecue, chili, and roasted corn. Kids ran around laughing, faces painted, while parents relaxed in folding chairs and vendors sold handcrafted goods. It was a living snapshot of community at its best.
That night, another round of bands hit the stage, and the crowd was ready. POGO returned, louder than ever, shouting, “Thirty years—you did it again!” The crowd roared in agreement, raising their drinks to celebrate the legacy they had all helped build. Whether it was your first time attending or your thirtieth, you couldn’t help but feel like you belonged.
By Sunday morning, the campgrounds had quieted. People packed up slowly, tired but content. Before leaving, many stopped by the main stage to see the signed flag one last time, now shimmering softly in the morning light. It stood as a symbol of everything this event represented—community, tradition, and the power of shared experiences.
As cars pulled away and the last of the campfires went out, there was a sense of peace in the air. The laughter and music had faded for now, but everyone knew it wouldn’t be long before plans for next year began. Because this isn’t just an event—it’s a reunion, a ritual, and a reminder that some traditions are too meaningful to ever let go.
Thirty years later, it’s still going strong—louder, prouder, and more alive than ever.