newport is the dearest place in my heart, and folk fest is the embodiment of all that newport stands for. musicians who play at folk get on stage and stand in front of the crowd cheering them on and tell them that playing here feels like a return to home. they stand in front of the crowd cheering them on and they talk about how the beauty of folk music is that politics are intrinsically tied to the artistry. they stand in front of the crowd cheering them on and they share their emotional and personal and beautiful and powerful perspective on why voting has never been this important, and the crowd cheers louder. the merch tent sells tote bags that say “this machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender” in all caps, a nod to the words that Pete Seeger, folk legend and old newport folk regular, inscribed on his banjo, and a testament to the activism that is centrally tied to the genre. this year, the people of folk overtook bonaroo— a festival six times the size— in the number of people who confirmed they’re registered to vote in exchange for a tony’s chocolate bar. the American flag flies high above the main stage— but here, the flag makes you smile. here, the flag symbolizes peace, and community, and the unanimous desire for empathetic leaders. the people of folk hand out free yerba and they smile all day and they wave when they see a camera pointed their way. they dance barefoot and they sing loudly and they tell you to keep the change. they laugh and they cheer and it is overwhelmingly contagious. they hold hands and they make friends with their neighbors and they take in the view of the harbour behind them. they pick up their trash and they hold their fingers in the air so that dragonflies might rest on them and they come back each summer to do it all over again.