Not many people can tattoo their last name on their bicep and have it look classy. For Stacy Rose, however, the long-stemmed flower of passion on her exposed upper left arm is the one detail that betrays her otherwise prim appearance, hinting instead to her playful, slightly mischievous nature.

    Although she has been folk dancing for more than 20 years, Rose does not consider herself a dancer. She wears several hats in Oregon’s contra dance community, as do many of the volunteers whose hearts beat to the rhythm of this vibrant tradition and exert great effort to keep it alive. When Rose relocated to the Coos Bay area from her native Philadelphia in 1982, contra dancing was a foreign term in coastal Oregon. Rose had to rest her feet for nine years, but that didn’t curb her determination to dance.
    Rose and her friend Pat Nash stirred up interest among members of their community, and in 1999, they founded the thriving non-profit South Coast Folk Society, which hosts a barn dance on the third Saturday of each month from September to May. These days, you can see Rose dancing, playing the pennywhistle or calling out moves for the dancers at weekly gatherings across the state. On a recent Saturday night in Eugene, her voice sent amateurs and experienced dancers alike tapping and spinning across the parquet floor of César Chávez Elementary School gym to the rhythms of a live band called Rad Francine who sashayed down from Portland for the event.
    “My job tonight is to be an ambassador of fun,” Rose says over a bowl of Vietnamese pho noodles before the Eugene dance. “It’s a lot of energy and not for the weak of heart. There’s gusto. There’s flow…hopefully!” She likens the caller to a circus ringmaster and is acutely aware of the responsibility tied to her position. The caller orchestrates the program for the entire evening of dancing, which requires hours of internet research and planning to weave a colorful pattern of steps and ditties from diverse cultural backgrounds. Then she needs to rehearse.
    “It’s not unusual for me to be in my living room going, ‘With your partner, do-si-do! O-kay now! La-dies chain!’” She taps her feet and snaps her nimble fingers to the beat as she reads from printed pages that cue her calls in time to the music. Her snaps are remarkably loud, but appear effortless. It is as though they have been bubbling beneath the surface of her skin, eagerly awaiting the appropriate moment to burst forth. From her closely cropped, peppering brown curls and wire-rimmed glasses to her tea-length black pleated skirt, opaque black tights, and sensible black two-buckle shoes, Rose gives the impression of a woman who leads a quiet, measured life. And then she speaks.
    One might say illusory appearances are a theme with Rose. Contra dancing is often described as similar to square dancing, but the behavior on the gymnasium floor at César Chávez Elementary School on the second and fourth Saturday of each month is anything but square. “Flirting is common. It’s encouraged!” says one dancer. Eye contact and hand-holding are integral aspects of the dance. It’s no surprise to learn that people meet their spouses at these gatherings. The only hitch (or blessing, depending upon your perspective) is that, after 64 fleeting beats of a gleeful folk tune, you are whisked into the hands and gaze of another partner…and then another, and another, and another until the end of the song. You can forget about playing hard to get. By the end of the night, you will have held hands and locked eyes with every man, woman, and child in the room.
    Yes--children dance, too. And so do octogenarians. Although it resembles an active, musical version of speed dating, Rose explains that contra dancing is really about three things: “Community, connection, and multi-generational fun.” Her son and daughter, now in their twenties, grew up stepping to the spirited tunes of banjo and fiddles, undaunted by the notion of twirling about with strangers.
    The nature of the activity does not permit anyone to remain a stranger for long. If you show up, you will be asked to dance. And if you politely refuse, well…the first time, okay. The second time, expect to get a little grief. At least for tonight, under the fluorescent dome lights of this stuffy gymnasium, electing not to dance is equivalent to saying you hate to have fun. Rose’s son, Christopher Bair, now 20, announced at age 15 that he was through with contra dancing. As she speaks, Rose’s blue eyes alight with a mother’s knowing smile and she leans in to share a kernel of wisdom from her almost 50 years. “It’s a skill that’s really going to serve him well in his life,” she says. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”
    Rose is familiar with the concept of not knowing. A talented flutist, she entered Pennsylvania’s Mansfield State College as a music education major. After one year in the music department, she danced her way through three other concentrations before graduating with a Bachelor of Science in Liberal Arts. She currently works as a return-to-work consultant for the SAIF Corporation, which specializes in workers’ compensation insurance, but her music has carried its tune through the years. Rose picked up the pennywhistle and, eight years ago, she taught herself to play the hammered dulcimer. She performs regularly for dedicated fans as a member of both Grace Notes and The Bumbling Buskers. In fact, she played the final notes at an afternoon gig in Coos Bay mere minutes before skipping out to Eugene to call Saturday evening’s contra dance.
    Rose picked up the reins and learned to call seven years ago so the South Coast Folk Society members could kick up their heels once a month without relying upon callers from other communities to make the long promenade to the south coast. Although callers are compensated for their dedicated leadership, the $75 stipend rarely covers more than gas money. For Rose, the hours of preparation, traveling, and enthusiastic vocalization are donated in exchange for the gratification she experiences when looking out across a bobbing sea of smiling faces who share her love for the tradition.
    As a musician, calling comes naturally to Rose. The trick, she says, is to anticipate. The caller needs to belt out each new step while the dancers are still whirling through eight beats of the previous one. At the dance, Rose’s clear, sing-song voice delivers the dancers seamlessly into each new downbeat, conducting a grand ensemble of bright, twirling skirts and glistening brows. If you are new to contra dancing and you plumb forget what you are supposed to do when Rose calls out, “With your neigh-bor, allamande left!” do not despair. Chances are, your neighbors know. And if they don’t, their partners do. One way or another, you are quite literally pulled through the dance.
    While you fumble in and out of the arms and hands of smiling strangers, attempting to finesse what seems like simple footwork, the experienced dancers, who could sleepwalk through these steps, find inventive ways to spice them up. They add extra spins and double-steps. Grey-haired men thumb wrestle like schoolboys when holding hands with their neighbors. There are no specifications for dress, and many among the hundred or so dancers spill creativity into their adornment. Bright colors abound. A few young people don period costumes. One small child scampers gaily about in an impressive green dinosaur suit.
    The lively music and elementary school gymnasium have a youthful effect on everyone. But a youthful attitude isn’t everything. “One of my desires is to engage younger people,” Rose says. “You are the callers, dancers, and musicians or this tradition will die.” Her daughter, Sonya Rose Bair, 21, continues to dance. She, like Rose, bears the symbol of the name they share embedded in her skin. Mother and daughter selected their tattoos together in Yachats on Sonya’s 20th birthday in 2006, a true nod to the personal connection and multi-generational fun that Rose so deeply treasures.