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Big dreams for a groovy gathering

Imagine all the people communing on several acres. That's the hope of the Blueberry Patch's alpha hippie.

By CRISTINA SILVA
Published November 22, 2006

ADVERTISEMENT [Times photo: Carrie Pratt] Artists of all types come to express themselves at the Blueberry Patch, where they find acceptance and encouragement. Go to audio slideshow

In a back yard most often described as what the inside of a Christmas tree must look like, canvases splashed with acrylic paint hang from trees along with timeworn ornaments.

In a tree house high above the makeshift stage, someone is clapping. The audience sits in rows of worn leather couches and old seats pulled from abandoned vans.

There is only one rule at the Blueberry Patch, a weekly celebration of soul and creativity: Don't throw your cigarette butts on the floor.

As the Tampa Bay area becomes overrun with chain restaurants and trendy bars, this communal backyard peace- and lovefest is edging into its 30^th year and thriving against the rules of conformity.

The Patch persists behind the home of Dallas Bohrer on a 1-acre plot that officials say they rarely invade, despite occasional complaints of loud music and rumors of drug use.

Bohrer, a former high school football player and manager of a tuxedo shop, is trying to get the place recognized nationally as a nonprofit group for musicians.

If he succeeds, he hopes to buy a bigger piece of land to expand the Patch by several acres.

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Around Gulfport, Bohrer and his funky hangout are well known.

Sometimes the Patch swells to more than 100 people. Sometimes it is cozy with fewer than 30 guests.

The show goes on, rain or shine, disaster or holiday, on the same dates every month: the first, seventh, 11th and 22nd. These are the numbers of creativity and peace, Bohrer says.

For many, the Patch is a lifestyle, like yoga, or veganism.

Michael Stanley, 39, was walking his dog near the Patch one night four years ago when he heard the wailing of a guitar.

Once inside, Stanley was entranced by the lights and easygoing spirits. When the property next door went up for rent, he moved in and donated his back yard to widen the Patch.

"I call Dallas the Dallas Lama, like the Dalai Lama," said Stanley, a guidance counselor for troubled youths. "He surrounds himself with good people."

Bohrer, 73, s is a firm believer in numerology. He wears suspenders with jeans and tie-dyed shirts.

He doesn't drink beer or smoke cigarettes, but he buys green bottles of sake from a local Japanese supermarket by the caseload.

Born in Boise City, Okla., Bohrer had a father who worked as an oil driller and traveled the heartland in search of the next job, dragging his wife and six children behind him.

One night the family crammed into a small motel room in Mississippi. Across the street was a railroad track, and along it grew small blue fruit. Bohrer, who was 8, remembers that first bite of wild berries as the best thing he has ever tasted.

"I realized whenever you found blueberries, you found joy," he said.

- - -

As an adult, Bohrer struggled for years to find a place where he and his artistic friends could be themselves.

The first patch was an old farm on 31st Street S in St. Petersburg. Later it moved to Pass-a-Grille, where it stayed for a few years.

Bohrer was forced time and again to move, but his hopes of finding a home of his own never died.

In 1995, he bought a plot of land near bustling Gulfport Boulevard. Through word of mouth, the Patch slowly grew.

Since then, the police will only enter the Patch if they receive complaints. But people rarely complain, said City Council member Bob Worthington.

"Do they probably smoke a little marijuana there?" he mused aloud to himself. "I really don't know. Unless someone gets hurt or says something, they will be hanging out and playing their music there for years."

On a recent Wednesday night, several dozen people stretched out as Jacob Desimore, 19, stood on stage trying to remember a song he had promised to sing a cappella.

"You have to snap your fingers and then I will come back, back like in the movies," he called out in a sing-song voice. "Oh, good, you're snapping your fingers. Good."

At 11:11, the hour of peace, the Patch closed for the night, but a dozen hangers-on stood in a circle hugging and chanting before breaking into song: "All we are sayyyying, is give peace a chance."

Cristina Silva can be reached at 727 893-6181 or csilva@sptimes.com.

IF YOU GO 

The Blueberry Patch

The harmonic convergence of music, food and expression occurs on the first, seventh, 11th and 22nd of every month at 4923 20th Ave. S in Gulfport.

[Last modified November 21, 2006, 18:07:55]