All the Way Around

Dave and I learned Saturday night one of the ways in which contra dance was revived in Virginia. After I told one of my partners where I was from, he asked me if I had ever heard of Ralph Page and proudly stated, “He taught me how to dance!” “So you’ve danced up north?” I asked. “Nope. He came all the way down here to teach us,” he explained. I rushed to tell Dave this story only to find that he had just had an identical conversation with his previous partner. One woman said to me, “Wow, a real New Englander! Contra dance was invented there, but you never see them at dances!” I felt like a rare species, a temperate forest plant in the jungles of the south.

Blue and red lights, hung from the high ceiling, adorned the dimly lit hall. Industrial fans waited at the windows for summer’s heat, and along with the wooden rafters, they gave the room the feel of a well-kept barn. Virginians young and old filled the small space with snug sets. This was my first dance of the trip with no familiar faces.

Another first for the trip was the southern accent in Richmond. We noticed Herschel Nelson’s as he called to Toad Mamas’ old timey jigs and reels. The cluttered stage looked like a bedroom set, with doors and windows and a giant sheet billowing above the musicians’ heads. The caller did a fantastic job of teaching and often called through the entire dance; by the end of the night the beginners had turned experienced. His favorite preface during the walk through was, “Now, you have to know your right from your left.”

During the first dance, each of my embellishments brought a chorus of: “Oh! You’ve done this before!” or, “Wow! You’re a professional!” The style in Richmond was straight-forward. I found that many of the men were unused to being offered twirls, and Dave later told me that several of the female dancers tensed their arms during swings, keeping them lowered, to discourage their partner from spinning them. Folks there did the traditional balance–one leg lifted and bent, then the other. The only other time I’ve witnessed this style of balancing was at a dance called by Dudley Laufman in Northern New Hampshire. Watching from the side, I was amazed by the abrupt stop of each couples’ swing, perfectly timed. This dance had a rustic feel–inviting, and somehow wholesome. I loved being a part of it.

During the break, a small group of people did high energy international folk dancing to recorded music. Dave mentioned that this group had probably been exposed to this type of dancing early in life. I was jealous. We marveled at the thought that these may have been the exact recordings that they had danced to then.

The next song on the record was unfamiliar to me, but Dave grabbed me, excited. He twirled me around the room, clapping and kicking to “The Salty Dog Rag,” a dance he learned in college. We followed that with a hambo, then the band began a Bob McQuillen waltz. “We have to waltz to this one,” I pleaded to a tired Dave, who shook his head sleepily. I refused to listen, grabbed him, and took the lead myself.

At the end of the night, it was announced that there would be a carpool for folks who wanted to attend the Sunday night Greenwood dance. We were excited, as this was our next stop, and we’d be seeing this great group at another Virginia dance.

-Mechanicsville, VA

This entry was posted on Sunday, February 25th, 2007 at 10:21 pm and is filed under 05 Virginia. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.