I think we’re going about arriving at the Harvest Music Festival on Mulberry Mountain in Ozark, Arkansas in an ideal way.

Originally we had planned to spread the 24-hour drive across three days, stopping off in cities where friend’s company and open ended offers to crash on their couches greeted us.

A few days before we left Tyler said “Why don’t we just shoot straight through and camp off the grid in MissourI for a few days?”

I agreed and here we are; our trio enlivened from two nights playing music around a campfire, ready to rendezvous with 5,000+ people as enthused as we are to be a part of a three day fest featuring bluegrass’s biggest names. Yonder Mountain String Band, the host band, will cap off each night with a set. “Wait till the third night,” my little brother, who’s attended before, tells me ominously.

Ironically, for me this week “off the grid” has coincided with more connectivity than I’ve ever had.

Let the purists judge; I currently can’t get away from the fact that I love being able to text or FaceTime friends and family from a campfire. Or from US hi-way 67, where I just Facetime teleported to drop in in my dad and little-in siblings at a Washington National playoff game.

Most of the op-ed pieces I stumble upon commenting on connectivity warn against the zombie-spawning dangers of unchecked time spent with it.

I can’t speak outside my only 5-day experience on a 3G network, which draws a distinct then-and-now line, but for me, I don’t worry about my forfeiting the “real world” or diminishing the frequency of ” meaningful human interactions.” I think it adds a relieving dimension to my immediate life. The more places you visit, the more spread* (*divided on a difficult day) your heart is. Facetiming with the family may not be the same as being there, buts it feels closer than a postcard or phone call. Like when movie studios feared that VCRs would kill the cinema industry, the fear that better ways to stay connected will sacrifice closeness may be a sheep in wolves clothing.