[This post was written by ChatGPT - "written in the style of The Prairie Home Companion - because I wasn't actually at Magnaball but wanted to make sure that we honored the diennial anniversary and no one has stepped up yet. It does not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of any of the many volunteers who help with site content or help manage Phish.net, but it's far from terrible - and I invite you to comment with your own memories and reminiscences, and to contact me if you're like to write about any upcoming anniversaries.]

Ten years ago today, out in the quiet fields of Watkins Glen, there was a gathering, and like most gatherings worth remembering, it began with long drives, coolers of sandwiches, and the low murmur of anticipation in the August heat. Folks set up their tents in sprawling neighborhoods of nylon and shade tarps, as though an entire town had risen up overnight. And in a way, it had—complete with makeshift cafés, impromptu parades of glowsticks, and an unspoken promise that, for three days, time would slow down and life would feel different, a little lighter, and a lot more musical.

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