July means a lot of things, but for the past 40 years, it means Jamboree in the Hills. Jambo is the country music concert destination, the super-bowl of country music. In Belmont County, OH, thousands upon thousands of people, some from Ohio, some from West Virginia, some from all over the country, country-music lovers gather. They raise their American flags, camp for days in tents they struggled to put together, indulge in fries dripping with vinegar, and drink cans of Bud-Light until their belly buttons pop.
But Jamboree in the Hills is more than just a country concert for many. It's also a memory, one that reoccurs every year for fans and performers alike. Many performers will share their own experiences up on the big stage, looking out to the very people who rocked back and forth to their music and cheered them on when they were barely fresh faces in the country music industry. Perhaps, this is why Jamboree is so special to so many people because it is a reminder of a memory, of summer memories. Plans change, and people change too, but this seems to be one event that does not erode like most memories tend to.
Jamboree is also an experience. An experience that is shared by many members on my mom and dad's side of the family. My mom's first jambo was at age 14, the second ever time they would have had it. My parents would bring my brother and I out to set up their camping site before they would tote us to our Grandma's house for the whole week. I never really knew what went on at Jamboree in the Hills, and I was having too much fun at my grandma's house to care.
My parents, aunts, uncles, and their friends have been going to Jamboree in the Hills since before I was born and many of them are pictured through the Jambos through this article. This year, I got to join in on the fun with them. Even though I am not the biggest fan of country music and could count the number of songs I actually knew on one hand, I still had fun. It's hard not to have fun when everyone around you is. My time at Jamboree in the Hills made me feel as American as apple pie. I will describe to you my first-time observation of the legendary Jambo:
The Jambo-goers are a happy folk. Their pleasures are simple ones: a breezy afternoon, good music, a lawn chair that's color has faded in the sun and a cold can of beer. At Jambo, a day without a buzz is a day that never was. Dad-bods stand in the vast crowd of country folk chuckling with koozies in hand and cowboy hats on top of their heads. Some of the more bold Jambo-ers dress as recognizable cartoon characters, like Fred Flinstone or the Smurfs.
College kids and 20 somethings have met a crowd that can drink them under the table. Girls wear bikinis and don't give a holler whether they have a beer gut. Tie-dye Jamboree shirts speckle the crowd. Someone starts a "Let's Go, Mountaineers!" chant and I feel immediately at home among my peers. People hug each other and shake hands, recognizing faces from Jamborees ago, still thriving as opposed to just surviving. Walking through the crowd, others reach in their coolers and pull out beverages and offer them to strangers as a token of friendship and hospitality. Plan to be spritzed and sprayed with a squirt bottle as if you were a cat that misbehaved one too many times.
When the afternoon rolls into the evening, the sting of sunburn has not hit the crowd, and probably won't until they are staring at the unfamiliar tent ceilings the next morning. The sunset in the Ohio Valley is a beautiful sight, turning from shades of bright neon to deep indigo, one that garners even more glory as it shines bright behind the stage where a pit of cheerful people are swaying back and forth with happiness singing familiar tunes in unison.
As the night proceeds, the crowd that is dressed like the 4th of July is covered with darkness. People begin handing out glowsticks and waving lighters in the air. When the final song has been sung, people stumble back to their campsites and tents, anxious to wake up and do it all again the next day. Some like me, stop by the food vendors and order fried splendors like the God-sent fried Oreos.
The next day, the campgrounds will begin to stir. They will awake before their hangovers hit, they will grab a toothbrush and use melted cooler water to brush their teeth. They will search for a phone charger, give up quickly on this impossible task, find the nearest fast food restaurant where they can pause in their efforts to refuel. Then, they will do it all over again as if the night before had not quite been left behind
