Travels with MaryE

A Nice Surprise

2011-07-22T14:22:00.004+01:00

Earlier this week my sister and her friend took me for a drive in the lovely countryside on the east side of the Hudson River across from Kingston. They were looking for a western saddle (why would anyone want to ride Western?), so we stopped at a couple of saddleries over there. In one store I learned about some hunt kennels just up the road....well, next thing you know I had my hand stuck through a fence petting some gorgeous hounds.

The huntsman, a friendly gentleman who looked far younger than his years (well, he'd apparently hunted hounds for some 42 years or something like that so he couldn't be under 50) took a few moments out of his busy day to welcome me and tell me about the hounds and I was all ears of course.

It always amazes me how nice most folks are when approached in a friendly manner. It helps that we share a passion for hunting and foxhounds, of course. Still, meeting this professional huntsman and getting to see some of the puppies and bitches at the kennels just put me right over the moon, and my feet still haven't made contact with the ground. If you've never loved a hound, you just won't understand.

For me it was a pleasure that I rarely feel so far away from my beloved Wales and all the hounds I walked -- and chased -- over there.

I didn't take any pictures, though I would have loved to. There is an etiquette to follow, after all, and this huntsman had never met me before. Still, in our brief conversation we found some common ground and shared some connections, he was friendly, and didn't seem disturbed to have this intruder on the property. Perhaps it's the grey hair I now sport (redheads on the other hand...) -- how could I intimidate someone?

Of course I haven't forgotten his name but I am not going to write it here (not until he gives me permission, anyway). But thanks so much -- you know who you are!

Where In the World?

2010-11-30T01:53:00.002Z

After a whirlwind tour of northern and not-so-northern Virginia with my sissy at Thanksgivingtime, I'm headed back to Illinois. Intelligent folks would have taken the PA turnpike I'm sure but me? No, it's West Virginia for me, yep. There are a LOT of mountains to drive over in WV. My poor little 4 cylinder Toyota truck was really straining but we (my truck and I) finally made it to little ole Washington, PA.

That got me to thinkin'. See, my Aunt Diane used to live in Washington PA, and I think my cousin Jack may live here till this day, yet I have completely lost touch with both. But coming to this town made me think of them and wonder whatever became of them. Since my parents died my sense of family has changed a lot. Not for the better. Mom always kept me up on all the happenings in the extended family. Now it seems like the bluegrass folks are my family and my family reunion is the IBMA. I wonder if IBMA knows they're holding their event just to benefit me and my personal sense of family!

If you haven't been to northern Virginia -- places like Loudoun and Fauquier Counties, for example, you are missing out if you like dirt and gravel lanes, lush horse farms and beautiful old farmhouses. They have it all. And come to think of it I got in a little over my head at places like Horse Country in Warrenton - my favorite store in the world! (well, next to LL Bean). In Warrenton I finally got my own huntsman's horn -- maybe in ten years or so I'll be able to blow it.

If I missed any antique or junk stores in Virginia I sure don't know how. My poor old truck is burdened down with foxhunting prints, vintage fabrics, ceramic tiles of all descriptions and a variety of other cool stuff. It is SO much fun to return to one of my favorite past pastimes. It has been about 15 years since I've gone antiquing -- it is so much fun! The people you meet along the way are fascinating and it's fun to see all the old stuff and imagine what it might have once been used for, or who might have owned it before.

It's about time for some pictures on here...Sorry about that. My internet connections are fleeting and varied these days and quite frankly I haven't had time to mess with a laptop in a long while.

Virginia has become one of my very favorite states in the whole USA.....the land is so varied, the people are pretty cool, and......it surely is the #1 most amazing foxhunting capital of America. One of the cool things is that they give good chase without really trying to kill the lovely foxes. I like that about America!

Casanova Rides Again!

2010-11-06T01:23:00.004Z

So last Saturday I had my second outing with the Casanova, this time at a farm outside of Warrenton, Virginia. Though it was, in my opinion, much too warm and sunny for good hunting, that didn't seem to stop Tommy Lee and his industrious pack of Good Hounds. Have I told you lately I am absolutely crazy about fox hounds?

Yeah, well, these hounds look different from the hounds I'm used to in the border country of Wales, but never mind, them's still some great hounds!!! My second meet was kind of thrilling, since Tommy Lee saw me right off and pointed me to a couple of guys driving pickup trucks, suggesting that I might follow them as they know where to go! William and Frank did not disappoint. We had a happy three-plus hours following the hounds and a much smaller mounted field from the first covert over through and around and around the host farm. Some of the farms here in northern Virginia surely rival those found around Lexington, Kentucky. Gorgeous territory, and I can't say I recall a more perfect fall day than last Saturday.

It helps that Reynaud flew past me, maybe 30 feet away as the huntsman and hounds drew a nearby covert. As always seems to happen (and I wasn't sure what the huntsman likes in terms of acknowledgement of a "sighting") I was paralyzed at first by sight of Charlie....I soon came to my senses and quietly pointed him out to my two new buddies, one of whom is a local farmer. They soon threw up their hats and shouted the huntsman who came our way, hounds' noses to the ground and flying like the wind. This all surprised me as I felt it was much too warm and a little windy for scent, but their noses were quite true. Meanwhile, I'd recovered enough to hoist my camera with the long lens and get a few fleeting pictures of the quarry as he flew by (not in any real danger of being chopped, I might add) and led a very merry chase. It was sort of over the river and through the woods and this red fox who William claimed to "know" as a lot of old foxhunters will, ran like a grey fox, at least according to William who liked to expound on all his hunting theories. I like to do that, too, but I was trying to be quiet as bespeaks good hunting etiquette. I don't want to be reprimanded by the masters!

A couple of minutes or so after the red had passed, maybe 40 feet downhill from us, along came the lead hounds and huntsman, and then the field came by two by two. It was a wonderful sight. The leaves were at peak color and the countryside is full of undulating hills and small coverts, pretty dry stone walls and old houses and barns. A day to remember!

I decided I'd try to position myself to catch some photos of the horses I could see coming back toward us on the other side of a hedgerow. Oops. My first mistake! All at once, here came about eight hounds running for all the were worth -- right for me! I'd been standing up on the hill in the corn stubble with my new-found friends and decided that I wanted to seek the quiet of solitude near the trees and take my chances that something interesting would come past me sooner or later, as so often happens if you stay in one place long enough!

But here were the hounds charging right for me in the bright sunlight. No sign of a fox. Perhaps he'd passed just before I arrived. I'll never know. Soon the hounds ran back around the hill and so did the field and we all knew that elusive Charlie had pulled a fast one on us once again. We went around another time or two and then it looked like they were gathering up the hounds to head on back to the meet (and another fine spread of food, these folks around here don't serve sausage rolls and bits of pizza at their spreads). Tommy took the hounds up over the farm lane and over to another covert on the way back to the meet. I walked up onto a high field of stubble and lo and behold! Here comes the whip right for me. Yikes, I've done it again, I think, but no, it turns out the scent is being cast about by the wind, Mr. Red has passed below us and back through the farm. After another brief and fruitless chase, the field were back at the meet putting their horses in their boxes and preparing to head for home.

I got to chat again with folks I'd met the week before and snapped a photo of the ever-joking Tommy with a bloody knife stuck straight through his head (it was nearly Halloween you see) which terrified a couple of young children there. A pretty teenager told me all about a team chase happening the following day, and the masters again made me welcome.

So if anyone tries to tell me that all foxhunters are snobs I'll be ready to set them straight.

Tomorrow? I may try the Orange County Hunt who I'm told are a very good pack as well. And maybe one of these days I'll get back to Wales. But for now, I'm pretty happy right here. If I wanted to, I could follow a hunt every day of the week around here!

Fox Hunting in Old Virginia

2010-11-06T00:44:00.004Z

After spending decades of imagining what following a fox hunt in America might be like, I finally realized my dream here in old Virginia; the past two Saturdays found me out with the Casanova Hunt near Warrenton, Virginia.

I'd been warned that those who ride to hounds in America are insufferable snobs. Perhaps that's true in some places, but I found nothing but charm and friendliness among the followers of the Casanova.

Huntsman Tommy Lee Jones, legendary in these parts after 41 years in hunt service with the Casanova, was among the most welcoming. After putting his fine pack into covert after covert, keenly watching for the elusive quarry, and calling his hounds back to him at the end of the day, Tommy still has a plenty of energy left to pull out a favorite gag or two. He has a talent for teasing the laughter out of even the most stodgy follower, sending everyone off grinning as they head for their horse boxes and the less glamourous part of the day.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. While visiting friends in Fauquier County, I read about the Blessing of the Hounds, a hunting tradition, down in Casanova and decided to grab my cameras (rusty from missing the last two hunting seasons in Wales) and head for that charming little railroad stop. There was a real air of excitement as the Masters of Foxhounds, whippers-in, huntsman and the mounted field of about 60 came down the tiny road from the kennels toward the green where a sizeable crowd had assembled to witness the ceremony. The hounds were gathered around Tommy Lee with the mounted field off to the side and the crowd closing in the circle. The kindly pastor of the local Episcopal Church (whom I met later at the breakfast) gave the blessing.

Following the blessing, the hounds and field came back down the little road and were off into their first covert. Being a stranger, I searched for someone who looked like they might actually follow the hounds on foot or in a vehicle (a "cartopper") and found three guys who were hanging around near the huntsman and hounds. My sense was spot-on as it turned out I'd chosen a retired professional huntsman and his huntsman friend from Kansas. Not bad for a first outing. Soon I was being introduced to whips and masters and feeling like a real part of things. Sadly, my new-found friends had to leave for a wedding so I was on my own. Off to the kennels I went to wait for the hounds, as I'd been told that they were headed that way and indeed had heard them speaking vociferously in a nearby covert. The closest thing I saw was a deer being pursued by some errant puppies (the deer surely lived to graze another night).

At the kennels hospitality was taking shape for the after-hunt breakfast and I had the opportunity to meet some local historians and while waiting for the hounds to return. I had a couple of short walks in the nearby woods and even came across a pack of beagles being put through their paces by their two young owners (I'd heard them in the wood and hesitated to go there and possibly turn a fox); soon I glimpsed them and realized they were beagles after rabbits.

Before long, in came Melvin the whip, a wonderful horseman and an interesting character, followed by Tommy and the hounds and the jolly field; soon all were socializing in a friendly sort of way, and I found myself meeting just about everyone there. It was a dream come true for me. And the next hunt was even better!

IBMA 2009 (#1)

2009-10-06T03:37:00.002+01:00

I'll be posting some of my thoughts and high points from last week's IBMA 2009 World of Bluegrass celebration held in Nashville, Tennessee.....need a little more rest first. Stay tuned for lots of words and photos, too.....

Enchanted Land

2009-03-30T21:48:00.018+01:00

At last...back in Wales! For such a slow-paced, back-in-time kind of place time sure zooms on. I've been here for three weeks now but it seems like I've only just started to do what I intended. Knowing this is my last extended visit here I've taken to going back to some of my old favorite haunts and snapping a few photos so at least I can return to those great places in memory if no other way. So here are some of the places I've been visiting lately. I'll try to include some of my thoughts as I take you around these places. But somehow the photos seem to jump around alot and don't end up where they've been inserted. Anyway, I'll give it a try. This first photo is up in the hills of Radnorshire where I've been known to wander!

Of course time slips by for most of us and it has for me; now it's a week later and I haven't gotten very far with this entry - my first in over 5 months. There are a few folks who are actually interested in all these photos and things I have to say so I feel like I need to push through this and try to remember how to write again. If only those photos would stick where I paste them it would be a lot easier to write about a bunch of stuff, but bear with me! To the left (I hope) is a view of the Clywedog Reservoir which is situated up in some lovely hills near the pretty little market town of Llanidloes. Now I don't know what blogger is doing to these photos, but I assure you that the very prickly gorse in the foreground is a brilliant yellow; everything on here looks dark and dingy!

Since my most recent journey was up through mid-Wales and heading out toward northwest Wales I'll include a few photos of the trip I took on Sunday to the area around Llanidloes and the Clywedog Reservoir. It was quite a nice day with big puffy clouds in the sky, some sunshine, the gorse in bloom and ewes and lambs out there everywhere basking in the sun.

After driving all the way around the reservoir on a beautiful afternoon and kind of wishing I'd set out early in the morning and tried to WALK all the way around the reservoir I was just about to descend back into Llanidloes when up on a steep hillside above the reservoir I saw sheepdogs herding sheep. If you've never seen that, it is a real marvel. There were two men standing inside the fencing and a good place to pull over, so I did.

I thought the men were also just watching the proceedings, assuming there was some sheep farmer up there on that distant hillside with a quad bike (4 wheeler) directing those dogs to bring the sheep down for lambing or something. But no! I wasn't there a few seconds before one of those two men shouted commands and whistled (as they do at sheepdog trials) directing the dogs in steering the sheep to and fro like some amoeba slithering around on a glassy surface, they surged this way and then that. It was amazing. I stood quietly observing (and they didn't know I was there) and taking a few photos. Soon the sheep were off the hill and sort of flowed around the two men, engulfing them and then passing them at a full run, sheepdogs still guiding them at breakneck pace. The men then turned toward me and we began chatting. I learned that they compete in sheepdog trials and know two of the border farmers with whom I'm acquainted who also compete. It is a small world. This connection made them even friendlier and soon they were telling me all about it and about this breed of sheep - the ewes looked magnificent and were possessed of a very thick, rich coat of wool. This breed are Lleyns and are fairly uncommon. Not only that but they can run with the best of them.

Now keep in mind all this was taking place on a beautiful afternoon overlooking a breathtakingly beautiful view of the Clywedog Reservoir as the sun was making its way down behind the hills. It simply doesn't get any better than this and I found myself wondering why I hadn't discovered this spot long ago!

This last photo is of Meg, a wonderful sheepdog who performed like an Olympian and was totally chuffed (thrilled) by a pat on the head and a "well done" from her master, Glyn Williams.

More to follow.

Opening Day...Far Away

2008-11-01T14:27:00.013Z

Today is opening day for the horses and hounds over in Wales. I missed it. Those of you who have never been to Wales and have never heard the sound of a pack of hounds (maybe 25-50 hounds) in full cry across the moorland will not be able to relate to the wrenching feeling I have today as I sit in the American midwest and contemplate cleaning windows (haha, but that's what I have slated for today; it's supposed to rid me of this feeling of emptiness).

Now to be fair to the midwest (this coming from a "mountain girl") it really does have its own beauty particularly, for me, at harvest time. But I'm pretty fond of harvest time wherever I am...it may be those ancestral strains ringing inside me...like most of you, the folks on my family tree lived off the land. Maybe they had it right.

But back to those hounds. My friends over at the Golden Valley Hunt not far from Hay-on-Wye, met today at Cabalva, a beautiful home on the River Wye. But as I sit here in the flat midwest on a beautiful street lined with nice old houses and huge sugar maples that are turning the most spectacular colors, all I can do is think of those horses and hounds and the many friends who spent the day out in the beautiful Welsh countryside....without me!!! I feel bereaved. I need to get back to Wales! Fantastic fall colors aside, I want to be out roaming the moors once again with the horses and hounds, the huntsman's horn cutting through the fog and rain, the old boys not unlike those you can see on PBS on "Last of the Summer Wine" leaning out of beat-up Land Rovers and Daihatsus searching the hills with binoculars, a little box of sandwiches on their laps, a pair of Wellies keeping their feet warm, moleskin trousers, a wool sweater, a tie securely around their necks, the smell of Old Spice and a wool flat cap on their heads.

See, the sport called fox hunting is about so much more than just the folks on horses...it's a way of life. With recent legislation that way of life has changed somewhat, but the same folks are still following the hounds and it's still done in much the same way....we followers don't have to watch someone as he or she sets out a little before the meet to lay the now required scent trail with a bag of anise or whatever dragged behind in an old tube sock so we can hunt within the law. For us it just seems much like it was before so we just pretend it's still proper hunting as it was back through the centuries and we go merrily along as the hounds set off and pick up that trail and a jolly good day's hunting ensues.

There are folks, dozens of them following every hunt, who don't have the means or the youth to follow on horseback as part of the mounted field. But many of those folks you see out there LIVE to follow the hunt. It is the highlight of their week. Many of those people are retired and many can no longer walk very well. What they can do, though, is thrill to the sounds of the hounds as they roar across a hillside; they can visit with friends they have known for many decades, they can see neighbors and enjoy the conversation that ensues whenever a group of people come together to do something they love. They'll relive the old days, a particular day's hunting that has reached legendary (and sometimes mythical) status, ones that grow with the telling so that the listener realizes that surely this hunt could never have happened...but who knows? These folks come together and breath the wonderful, fresh Welsh air, they share a sense of spirit and community, they share memories and create new ones, they share news and the joy of companionship (many of these folks I'm speaking of live alone so these hunts dispell that loneliness, if just for awhile).

So when I say I grieve to miss opening day, I think of those faces I've been missing, weathered like limestone tombstones in old churchyards. I miss the croaky voices and the missing teeth. I miss the shouts of friends and the hounds jumping up to lick my face. I miss trudging up a hillside to find the hunt has already passed by. I miss the spirit of chance and yes, I miss the anticipation of it all.

Most of all I miss my friends with the Golden Valley, the Radnor & West and the Teme Valley and hope they're out there today on the hills and moors having a wonderful time.

Yes, this is a pity party. I am mourning those hounds and missing my friends. I think I'll call the airline and get me a ticket to Wales. I need to hear me some hounds in full cry, now that I've voted. I do. I do.

Winding Down the Summer, Pickin' in the Pasture and Thomas Point Beach

2008-08-18T04:21:00.013+01:00

MAINE IS THE PLACE TO BE ON LABOR DAY WEEKEND!!!

mmmmm....Maine...lobstah!!!

As the end of August draws near I find myself looking forward to the last days of summer with the advent of fall just around the bend. A few of my very favorite gatherings of bluegrass folks happen at this time every year and this season promises to be especially memorable. I am definitely in the mood for lobster - fresh off the boat - and plenty of it!

Though it doesn't look like I'll have a chance to go this year, one of the brightest spots on my festival season is always Pickin' in the Pasture ("PIP"), held on a working sheep farm in Lodi, NY.

The Alexanders make everyone welcome, and there's such a down-home feel, maybe because the stage is literally their back porch! Performers and staff are fed in the Alexanders' kitchen, and their living room is the "green room" where everyone tunes and works out their set list.

Walk around the relatively flat grounds, especially following the conclusion of the stage show each night, and you're bound to find some excellent, traditional bluegrass jam sessions and meet a bunch of friendly people. A couple years back some enterprising Amish folks set up a wonderful stand just spilling over with luscious vegetables and artery-clogging home-baked goods (I suppose if you eat both offerings you'll be okay). Last year the Amish were having a barn-building or school-building and had to forego the produce stand. But that was a high point of the festival the year they were there. Even if they're not set up,if you stand by the little road that brings you to the festival it won't be long till you'll see an Amish buggy or two going about their business in this rich agrarian area. Lodi is located in the Finger Lakes region of New York state, not far from Ithaca, and very close to Seneca Lake. Check it out!

The lineup at PIP is always superb, that is, if you like your bluegrass on the traditional end of the spectrum (and you know I do). It's going to be hard to give PIP a miss this year, but I have a good excuse...I'm headed to the 30th-- and final -- Thomas Point Beach bluegrass festival near Brunswick, Maine.
If you go to many festivals you probably have a favorite and I have to say that, all things considered, Thomas Point Beach is mine. So it's with a partially heavy heart that I head out there later this week to make some memories with friends, eat as much lobster as I can choke down (and that's a lot), maybe get to sail out to Cundy's Harbor for a lobster roll, pick a whole bunch with all my pals, and hear a whole lot of great music there by the white sandy beach of Thomas Point. Some of the featured performers are the Old Time Bluegrass Singers, White Mountain Bluegrass, Country Ham, the Tennessee Mafia Jugband (featuring Leroy Troy, one of my faves), Rhonda Vincent, the Gibson Brothers, Claire Lynch, Doyle Lawson, Marty Stuart, Ricky Skaggs, the Del McCoury Band, and the Grascals.

Perhaps you've heard me go on at length about how I love this festival and that festival and I mean every word I say. It's just that when I write down all the factors that make a festival GREAT, Thomas Point Beach always rises to the top. One big factor is that it is a full-service campground with all the things you'd expect at a top-notch campground. There's plenty of shade (not in the concert area, but a "Maine" tent is provided for those who want/need shade - it's located fairly far back from the stage) in the camping areas, lots of activities - and a great sandy beach for the kids (and the not-so-kids, too); lots and lots of jamming (this is the best jamming festival I've ever attended anywhere) - day and night -- and a very good lineup on stage.

One really wonderful thing Pati and her staff have got figured out is that you don't need 8 trillion bands onstage every day from 9 am until 3 am resulting in

tired festival-goers, being too tired to stay up to jam, and a grouchy sound crew. No, about 12 hours of music are offered per day - roughly from 10 or 11am until 10 or 11 pm. Plenty!

A delightful setting for a great event...this is the view from the door of my tent!

After the stage show stops some of the hired bands come out and jam with the folks - yep, bring along your instrument and play along if you like. Many folks do! Or you can just stand around, listen and grin. Suit yourself.

A bunch of my friends never even go to the stage. It's an annual friends' reunion, out there on the point not far from the beach. We start rolling in nearly a week before the festival even starts. It's fun to watch the campsite build from nothing to what feels like a big, friendly town. I don't camp in the middle of everyone, but prefer a quieter, shadier place out under the trees on the edge of the water. I'm still just a short walk from all the hubbub, but I need my quiet times.

(Not to be missed - the kids put their hearts into their main stage set every year.)

So most of the girls (women) in my gang sort of hang around and laugh and cook things and just have a good time while most of the guys scratch their um bellies and pick day and night. Pretty good stuff. Some of the young kids get interested in the music and sidle up and listen and pretty soon they're handed an instrument and given some instruction. This is where the passion begins to burn!

Well, most of you have been to bluegrass festivals before so I'm not telling you anything new. But if you've never been to a festival - or you want to attend the one that I rank #1 in the country, get yourself up to Thomas Point Beach in Brunswick, Maine for their very last hurrah this August 28-31 and tell 'em MaryE sent ya. You won't regret it - I promise.

See you at Thomas Point Beach (and hope you make it to Pickin' in the Pasture, too!)

Red Knuckles, Grey Fox

2008-08-15T03:33:00.003+01:00

Well, we all have our favorites and I just have to come out with it: there's nothing I enjoy hearing more than Red Knuckles and the Trailblazers, start to finish. So you can imagine what a great time I had in July while enjoying the many sights and sounds of the Grey Fox Bluegrass Festival in upstate New York. Saturday night is the big night at most festivals, I suppose, and folks at Grey Fox this year had a few tough choices to make, but as much as I like some of the folks appearing on the main stage I knew that the dance tent was where I had to be for the spectacular, two-hour-long star-studded performance by Red Knuckles and the Trailblazers. They did a little new stuff, but mostly stuff I've been enjoying for at least the last 20 years. While most of my favorite musicians (and myself!) have seemed to age a lot these last few years, Red and the boys stay forever young. Perhaps it's all those chocolate doughnuts from Waldo's Discount Doughnuts. Watch out, Dunkin' Doughnuts - you just wait till the outfit from Wyoming Montana starts advertising in the northeast. They got chocolate and chocolate, you know, lots of things like that, chocolate. Speaking of which it was great to note that Waldo is still dealing with his metal block and it seems that his posture remains similar to that of the treble clef to add a touch of pizazz to the already zingy show.
While Red and the boys did a great show on the main stage earlier in the evening, I think they were holding back. Cousin Elmo made an appearance, this time sporting a beret (what was with that?) and Colonel Mel Sharpie's cigar was alot smaller than it used to be oh so many years ago. There was an appearance by a very strange white-coated rabbit, too, though I don't believe anyoneever said "Harvey," at least not in my earshot. We all felt like baked sweet potatoes this year at Grey Fox, boy was it hot! but a lot of folks still found the will to dance (and enjoy it), not the least of which was the ever-smiling Dancin' Dave and his beautiful bride. The new location seems like an excellent one and, understanding that the first time at any site will cook up a few problems, things went very well indeed, I think. Plenty of jamming, dancing, great food, good vendors, fantastic activities for kids and families...if you didn't have a good time, well, you probably don't have a good time anywhere.

A real treat for me was getting to hang out with my good friend Mary and talk shop with Darwin and a few other photographers; getting to camp next to Chris and Mark and Sarah and the gang from Nashville, visiting with the Kuykendalls and so many other friends from down through the Grey Fox years.

While Slade has gone on to play his own quirky brand of music elsewhere, a guy named Swade stepped in and was nearly as weird as Slade (bass players are always the weirdest guys in the band, right?)....like I already said, you just can't beat Red! But you're gonna have to get out and hear them in person because words just can't express....don't worry; they seem to do a gig every 10 years or so. But these guys on the right always manage to pull better gigs than Red. I think it's because Wendell's usually getting most of the "fringe" benefits.

Four Months in a Nutshell

2008-08-14T03:48:00.016+01:00

Above: some of the winners at the recent New England Morgan Horse Show held in Massachusetts. It was a hot day but these horses and riders gave their all. Morgans are a wonderful, powerful, gentle breed (maybe I'll get to have one some day).

Well, I wasn't in a nutshell, exactly, but it has been almost four months since I last blogged. While it would be nice to offer a big excuse there isn't one really. Actually I've logged a few thousand miles since the big visit to the wild parts of Ireland but I just haven't sat myself down long enough to write. Maybe it's the photographer in me, but it seems like the pictures might do the talking better than I ever can, so over the next few days I'll try to catch my TWO fans up on what I've been a-doin'. Enjoy. I see this deer and a couple of others nearly every evening before dark.

At the moment I'm luxuriating in the cool environs of the Catskill Mountains with daytime temperatures in the low 70s or high 60s and nighttime temperatures in the low 50s/high 40s (for those of you who haven't been here, they're in New York state)(no, most of NY is NOT covered with tarmac - we actually have lots of trees and wild places and even a few farms are managing to survive though that gets more difficult by the day). Since I'm on the subject of the Catskills, I'll share a few photos I've made recently. Would you believe I was so chilly the other night I actually built a fire in the fireplace? Yep. Won't be doing it too often, though - I'm told the price of firewood around here has doubled to tripled since last season!

This is where I spend some of my time, some of my favorite time. Solace for the soul! Physical work. The pleasure of listening to the birds and bees (bee balm highly recommended. The discomfort of being stung twice by one who miraculously found its way into my shirt this morning as I did some much-needed pruning of all the pines that surround this place. Ouch!

Lucky me, I even got to see the snake that seems to like to hang about and make me a little, shall we say, jumpy....usually he's hanging out by the back door, but today he decided to go afield and hang out by all the big limbs I was gathering together to drag to the woods. He was right by the shuffleboard court and when I saw him I did anything but shuffle. He's really just a harmless little garter snake but that don't matter to me. I'm scared.

This house was once an inn and reputedly slept 28-30 people, though how many slept in the broom closet I don't know. The best part about it is definitely the front porch - I think it's about 60-70 feet long and about 10 feet wide; porches on both sides as well and a patio in the back. One of my favorite places in the world!

Below, a view from the front porch; this house was built in 1903 and this was once a carriage road leading right up to the front steps. This double row of stately sugar maples is a sight to see early in October. There are twinges of color already on the sugar maples in this area, not far from the Appalachian trail.

No proper Catskill house should be without its very own gazebo. Besides adding charm and character to the place it's a wonderful place to hang out with your guitar and maybe even a friend.
This barn would make a fine house, I think - and I've been thinking it would be a great place for a bluegrass festival - have the stage up there on the 2nd floor balcony and the crowd below. Whaddya think?

There used to be a lot more rooms in this house. In an effort to make it more open several walls on the first floor were removed. There are actually 3 fireplaces in this one spot - the third is on the back of the triangular area - and it has a nice cozy woodstove that takes the chill off on frosty fall mornings.
This is a new addition to the back of the house (there was a saggy, rotting sort of woodshed that we tore down a couple of years ago - this room always seems to be bright and cheery even on those rainy days that we've had quite a few of recently.

Now it's time for some sleep so I can think about some other things to write about - like getting to hear Red Knuckles and the Trailblazers at Grey Fox - then getting hit by a tractor-trailer piled full of logs on the way out of the festival. Life is good!

Colours (Ireland, Part 2)

2008-04-19T17:50:00.010+01:00

Maybe it's because they have so much "soft" weather in Ireland (some folks call it rain) but one thing you'll notice almost anywhere you travel in Ireland is the colourful (or colorful for you Americans!) look of most storefronts and even many doors and windows on houses. While the favourite colour for the exterior walls of bungalows seems to be white (which may be said in America, too) travelling through Ireland put me in mind of an earlier time in my life....the colourful Bahamas. Well, the climate wasn't a match, but the colours were. Now did the Bahamians get the colour scheme from the Empire? Or did the Empire nick it from the Bahamians? I'll probably never know.

So, long story short, when in Ireland you'll be dazzled by the brilliant colours (set off by the often dreary weather). My sister and I were pretty fortunate during our seven days in the west and northwest of Ireland -- we had fairly good weather. Cool, windy, yes -- but not much wet weather, and a couple of days the sun was so warm that the cattle and sheep were lazing around with their legs thrown out as far as they could. They were plumb thrilled to be working on their tans. There's simply nothing like a happy cow.

'Course just like here in Wales there were lambs a-plenty (not as many as in Radnorshire, and though I never thought I'd be saying this -- our ground is a lot better than most of what I saw in Ireland, though admittedly I wasn't in the areas known for farming) and they were enjoying their youth (ignorance is bliss, most of them won't be around all that long) and it was nice to see some other breeds of sheep over in Ireland. They'd have to be pretty hardy and water-resistant! Most lambing in the areas we visited is done out in the wild, not in the relative comfort of a farm building, and those ewes have to be hardy! Lambs seem to have play cycles, and sis and I enjoyed the merriment of watching them spring straight up in the air and start spinning around and then running to play King of the Mountain on some little tump.

Oh yeah this was supposed to be about Ireland and colour, not lambs in springtime. Okay. While sis and I tried our darnedest to stay out of towns and cities we did spend about an hour in Galway (getting Euros and buying some food) which seemed like a nice city. We didn't stay. The other two towns we spent time in were Ennis (the last night) and Westport. Sadly we just didn't stay long enough in Westport, but it gets my vote as the nicest largish town I visited during the week -- plenty of good music at Matt Malloy's pub there on one of the main streets. Plenty of colour on all the storefronts, and a lot of people out enjoying themselves. We had a wonderful Italian meal at a little bistro just a few steps away from Matt Malloy's and the waiter did a wonderful job of chatting us up for a big tip!

While the brochures and tourist offices advertise "live traditional Irish music every night" what you'll find is that they probably mean during high tourist season (June through August); we did find a couple of small sessions, but nothing really astonishing (seems like every town we got to we heard, "you should have been here last night - we had a great session at the pub"). Our first night we spent in Doolin, County Clare, after passing a lovely sunny afternoon walking the streets of Ennistymon then visiting the Cliffs of Moher. Yep, it's a tourist trap (it costs 8 Euros to park your car!) but it's well worth it __on a nice day__ and the cliffs are spectacular. If I had it to do again I'd go there in the late afternoon when the sun is nicest...we arrived at high noon and made the best of it. Plenty of walking and beautiful seascapes to see and photograph.

One thing I've noticed in looking at my photos is how few people are in them. Usually I travel alone and tend to chat with a lot more people. In the company of my sister we tended to visit rather with each other!

Many folks warned me that it takes forever to travel in Ireland because the roads are so bad, but that really wasn't true. Apparently the EU has pumped a lot of money into Ireland's roads, at least that's what I'm told. At any rate, I found the roads better in most cases than those I travel in America (though there are a fair few maniacal drivers in Ireland, a little frightening coming around those blind bends on MY side of the road). Sis and I chose to take the back, back roads in many cases, or at least to avoid the "N" roads as much as possible (the biggest roads, at least one full lane each side plus even a shoulder sometimes). And it's true that I felt extra-safe because I was driving a brand new Toyota Rav4 (and I can't rave enough about how great a vehicle that is!)

And in case you're wondering this last photo is peat cut out and drying in the sun. I'm told it takes a couple of weeks of good weather (that may be a couple of years!!) to dry and then it is burned like wood or coal for heat. What were you thinking this was?????

Stay tuned for another epidsode...

Life Is NOT A Bed of Roses (An Irish Journey)

2008-04-18T13:31:00.005+01:00

While I need to be doing other things (earning some money) my many fans (of which there were exactly two at last count) urge me to write about my recent trip to Ireland. Here goes.

I won't bore you with all the details about the train to Birmingham (really nice, fast and clean) or my inability to figure out how to get from the train station to the Birmingham Airport, which I could see (the English can be sorely lacking in the area of signage) but couldn't seem to escape to. Finally, though, I boarded what looked like a brand new RyanAir Boeing 737 Series 800 (for you plane afficionados) and just a short hour later we touched down at Shannon Airport (near Limerick in the west of Ireland).

Now there's not a lot to do around Shannon at 11 pm on a Tuesday night and I'd wisely booked a hotel room right there at the Park Inn. Or so I thought. I mean the term "wisely" came into question a few moments after checking in. The first room I was given a key to had twin beds. Back to the desk, explaining I'd reserved a double bed. Next room was about a mile down the hallway (I am NOT exaggerating) and in trying to keep my luggage light (RyanAir only allows 15kg checked baggage and 10 kg carryon) I didn't have any wheels on anything...by now, arriving at the 2nd room of the night I was getting pretty red-faced and wheezy. I opened the door and a blast of heat slapped me right across the face...thinking I was imagining things, I walked into the room and set my bags down on the double bed. I'd been wrong. It was hotter than HELL in there, hotter than a sauna!!! Walked back down to the front desk and explained to this man from some other country where mongooses are prevalent that it must be 130 degrees in my room, no exaggeration and he tells ME to stick my hand into some dark place on the underside of the radiator and turn the knob. Well, being a cooperative sort (at least at this point) I attempted to do just that, but nothing changed. He'd told me to wait 15 minutes and then if it still wasn't cool enough in there he'd come down and adjust the heat (these were OLD radiators).

I guess it might have been five minutes and I was drenched in sweat and wanting a cold shower when I walked to the desk again and told the man that the room simply was not acceptable, did he have another that was cooler than 100 degrees since I needed a good nights' sleep.

He graciously told me that since I'd had so much trouble he'd give me a "deluxe" room at no extra charge. There was a hitch, though....it was on the next floor, but no lift went to that room so we trudged up and down several hallways to get to it. By now I was fit to be tied and wondering why the *&@! I'd chosen Ireland as a holiday destination. But the room turned out to be (well, deluxe wouldn't be what I'd call it) a lot cooler and roomier and finally I was free to actually get some sleep in a decent environment.

After all that up and down, running around do you know I spent the night TRYING to sleep but not succeeding. But never mind. The next seven nights in Ireland turned out easy by comparison!

This is going to be a long story so I'd better break it up. Suffice it to say that my eight nights in Ireland, with the exception of the first, were quite enjoyable, the air travel was superb (there are no frills at all on RyanAir, but the staff are pleasant and helpful and hey, we arrived safely!) and the price was very right. RyanAir is kind of like going back to the old days of air travel...you actually walk out onto the tarmac, sometimes for long distances, and actually climb the steps into the plane! Something nostalgic about that. Reminds me of 1960s photos of famous people stepping off planes with big grins and a wave for the crowd gathered below.

Coming back from Ireland (yes, I'll tell you about some of the things I saw in Ireland, but this post is centered around travel it seems) there was an Irish man who had definitely been in his pints for a good while. I had the distinct impression he hadn't done a lot of flying (neither have I) and every step of the way through security the man threw a fit! Why he wasn't detained or arrested I'm not sure (maybe they could tell he was pissed). I thought he was going to hit someone when they made him take off his coat, his belt and his shoes. The man took some serious offense ("do I look like a bloody criminal??") ("this is like the Gestapo") and said he wasn't some terrorist. Never mind that every person before and after him had to take off their shoes and coats, remove cell phones and laptops and the like. No, they were picking on him! Coming into Birmingham, I ended up again (gee, aren't I lucky) walking out near this same man -- a redhead, LOL, throwing a fit and saying they'd better not mess with him again on the way out. Silly me. I tried to reason with the guy (he nearly knocked me over with his alcohol breath); just be quiet, only speak when spoken to (hah! I should follow my own advice more often) and go along with them. They are not singling him out; it is for his own safety, blah, blah, and he finally quieted down a bit.

Anyway, I titled this "Life is NOT a Bed of Roses" because of something I saw at the Famine Museum on Doagh Isle, away on up on the Inishowen Peninsula in Co Donegal, the northernmost part of Ireland. I was asking around for places to go and see some of the wee thatched cottages that, in my mind, represent the "real" Ireland (and those cottages are few and far between these days!) and I was sent to this museum. My sister and I spent a great couple of hours touring through the cottages and the quite amazing folk arty collection of this and that owner Pat O'(something) has amassed and created. Pat hisownself led the tour of the museum and was chock full of some of the most incredible trivia and facts I've ever been subjected to (in a good way). I learned more about Irish Wakes than I could ever have hoped to know, and that is just one of the topics covered. I think Pat is a man who never sits idle, and his fine museum shows it. While you'll learn about the terrible famine there, it is so much more than a bunch of facts about a terrible time in Irish history. Go there; you'll be glad you spent the 7 euros to do so (initially I was thinking what could they possibly show me that was worth 7 euros, but it really is!) So here's to the Bed of Roses.....thanks, Pat!

HeeHeeHeeHeeHee-Haw!

2008-03-09T18:52:00.003Z

Yeah, some of you may remember that show "Hee Haw?" As the person who posted this link shares, "I have a love-hate relationship with HeeHaw." But this clip is PRICELESS! You gotta like good ole plain and simple country humor, now!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iqnm3A10m8I&feature=related

I watched this show as a teen and my favorite part was when they sang "Pfft! You Were Gone." Matter of fact, I found a Hee Haw songbook down at Weeks & Dickinson's across from the movie theater and I learned all 32 verses (or however many they had printed). My friends must have thought it "quaint." Anyway, though I can't recall what I did yesterday I remember several of those verses 40 years later. Go figure.

Here's one: "I miss you so much the taters need diggin'; the corn in the field it needs pickin' now; how well I remember the first time I saw you; you looked so purty a-pullin' that plow."

How can we possibly be normal when our childhoods were spent playing kickball in the street, watching Hee Haw, Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In, the Beverly Hillibillies, Ozzie and Harriet, Lost in Space, The Andy Griffith Show, The Ed Sullivan Show, The Flying Nun!, My Mother the Car, My Favorite Martian, Lassie and the Waltons? Ah, those were the days.

Now get yourself a coconut cream pie, sing Pfft! You Were Gone with someone you love...and have a big time.

Spring, Winding Down and Perspectives

2008-03-07T17:21:00.008Z

What age was I when I started noticing how everything in life seems to be connected to everything else, at least in a roundabout way? Seems like I rediscover that concept on a daily basis (is this early-stage Alzheimer's, I ask?)

I've always loved being outside, even in the wintertime, and I've always loved walking, even by myself (no, especially by myself). Anyway, you may have noticed that I like to come to Wales and follow the local fox hunts through snow and rain, hail and sleet, sun (now that's an occasional thing!) and gale-force winds. Why, you may ask? There are several things involved, and I'll admit that the last few times I've been out, days when the weather was fair and sunny and the winds were less than 25 mph, I kept wishing I had a horse to ride so I could join the mounted field and view the hunt from a most interesting - and different -- perspective to that found while following in a 4WD vehicle or on foot.

Yesterday the hunt were on foot in a very rough and secluded area way on up in the Black Mountain not far from the Brecon Beacons. Steve went out earlier and laid the trail but I think the wind was at times blowing so fiercely that the hounds just kept casting aimlessly through the bracken, heather and, for want of a better term, scree, there on the dramatic hillsides. Still, it was a glorious day and I found myself wondering after the huntsman and hounds left the meet why I didn't pick up a walking stick and follow the hardy souls who went bounding up these treacherous hillsides in pursuit of the hounds. I am too old. Too unfit, anyway. So I got in my 4WD and drove on up the single lane track (and that it certainly was) to a place where I was surrounded by these vertical kind of cliffs on 3 sides. To get there you had to drive through a stream that was, thankfully, quite shallow (but at times I bet it isn't - that's why there's a footbridge several feet up on the side of the road). I parked up and then began walking across the fields watching the hounds on the sheer side, wondering how they managed to run across that loose stuff without plunging to their deaths. Thankfully they managed. Most of the daring walkers made for the very top of the hill and spent the day looking down into the hounds. They must have had a wonderful view of the surrounding hills and valleys though I can't imagine they saw many hounds.

Okay, so I watched for about an hour and then the huntsman and hounds (he was down near the bottom of these hills, but across a gully and up a very steep muddy bank from me) started heading further up the valley so I started walking up the track with my cameras. A few others joined me. I got to the end of the track just as everyone, hounds and walkers, started on up another hill. Impulsively, I joined them, huffing and puffing, panting and moaning my way up this hill. I was rewarded with fantastic views and I'll admit that I felt quite proud of myself. My heart sounded like the bass drum in a marching band when they score the winning touchdown and start beating it furiously. Thump-thump-thump-a-thump. I spent the better part of a couple of hours trying to keep within sight of the huntsman and the hounds, maybe it was the cameras, weighing me down or maybe it was that I kept stopping to snap photos of the hills and the hounds, but I just couldn't gain an inch. In fact, I fell further back. Then I finally began to catch up, only to find that they'd all gone DOWN the hill to the foot and now I was looking down trying to catch so much as a stern or flying ear, but no! So I kept along the track (now this track was like one foot - and I don't mean 12 inches, but rather about 4 inches) wide -- one slide and you're down the mountain! Pretty scary but when I'm following the hunt the adrenalin kicks in and I ain't got no sense, even less than usual for those of you who know me).

I get to the end of this hill after seeing the sights of farmhouses and stock below me, then the ruins of an abbey, and I'm gazing down on a tiny church and chapel in the little village of Capel-y-Ffin (one I've visited often and love well) and it was so cool to be there on the end of hill seeing these beloved sights from a new perspective.

Suddenly I see the hounds just below me, following the huntsman like so many groupies after some rock star. Heheheh, what a wonderful view. Since I'd already done the hardest part of the work (hauling my big aperture all the way up the hill) I figured I'd go on for awhile around the bend onto this other hill, going in a different direction. So I did and was treated to more breathtaking perspectives on other places I'd been loving since I first visited here in 2001. Rewarding! Spring hasn't come to these places much yet, but still there was a feeling in the air.

The hounds never seemed to pick up the trail Steve had laid much yet I couldn't help but feel thrilled to be up on top of this hill gazing down at these marvellous sights. Hunting season is winding down to be sure, yet what a rich tapestry of memory remains in the form of friendships and photographs, keeping these treasured days alive. Here's a few of the photographs I snapped as I trod step by step on the treacherous path.

As I headed back toward my truck, the drizzle moved in but I couldn't help but smile...as a group of "wild" mountain ponies grazed into my view. There's nothing like a live subject to set off a lovely landscape, be it hounds, a red coat, or a trio of scraggly ponies.

Outside this morning I spied hyacinths blooming under the laurel and the daffodils are beginning to reveal their stunning color. It won't be long now.

In My View(finder)

2008-03-05T13:57:00.013Z

A few sights I've seen these last days. Enjoy!

Harbingers, Heather and Hippies

2008-03-04T18:32:00.004Z

Well, maybe I'll leave the hippies for another time. But much to my surprise (who'd a thunk there'd be hippies in Radnorshire, after all?) there ARE hippies in Radnorshire, though the way some folks say that word comes out more like Ippy; that'll do!

'Fraid I've had too much work to do and also a bit of a dry spell in terms of things I think are interesting to write about. I have been very busy with my camera, however. Those of you who fool with digital photography probably understand what I'm talking about when I say I spend every free hour fooling with photo files! That's just getting through them and tossing out the blurry ones, backing them up to a couple of external hard drives and maybe saving out the best to put in a slide show. Then again, some weeks I shoot 5,000 photos (they're all perfect of course ).

Oh yeah I was going to talk about harbingers. I'd better look up this word to make sure I'm not accidentally using the word that means a metal spear that's thrown into a whale to kill it. There may be some connection. The only dictionary in the bungalow is the New Collins Concise English Dictionary. Concise, huh? So why is it two inches thick, huh? Most of us only ever use 400 or 500 words regularly; take me, for example. Camera, hounds, horses, hills, you get the idea. Anything over two syllables is pushing it; three is downright gettin' above my raisin'.

'Course to read this "concise" dictionary you either have to be well under the age of 40 or have like +3.00 reading glasses slid way down to the tip of your nose. I'll give it my best shot. "Harbinger: a person or thing that announces or indicates the approach of something; forerunner." Oh, that's sweet. We are ALL harbingers. What of, hmmm....doom? In this case I was thinking of all the daffodils and narcissus that have blooming for weeks and weeks around here and the crocus that are popping up in lawns and verges...the lengthening of days and the quality of the light, the hedges beginning to come into leaf, a delicate light green.

Today the hills around were white, but the sun was warm and by 11:00 the snow gave way to pretty green fields. I spent the day driving around up among the heather and gorse on all these hills around here.....hunting within the law, you see. It would have been a spectacular day to be on a horse. I had to settle for 4 wheels and decent tires.

Now you see why I haven't been blogging lately; it's easy to see that I don't have a lot to talk about. Perhaps I will put up a few pictures I've taken in the last 5 weeks.

This has been an excellent winter for reading. The local library has actually gotten in some very good books, much to my surprise. Seems like for years about all they had were crappy romances (as in....who would publish that drivel?) and mysteries and things like that...lately they've been featuring books by Jodi Picoult who is a current favorite of mine; currently I'm enjoying "Small Island" by Andrea Levy, winner of the Whitbread Book of the Year and Orange Prize for Fiction. It's a good'un, assuming you enjoy reading Jamaican dialect. I spent about a year in the Caribbean oh, about 25 years ago, and it really does take me back. Support your local library! Here in England/Wales, they're pretty good about getting you books through an extensive inter-library system for a nominal fee.

This isn't the season really for appreciating heather, but I have to say I appreciate it all the same. It's a lovely thing any time of year. A day like today, especially, makes me appreciate all the good things: lovely hills, animals, daffodils, good friends, a good laugh, and a rich blue sky.

Roots, Shoots and Connection

2008-01-26T18:00:00.000Z

Lately I've been thinking about roots and how my life lacks them.

Yesterday I was invited to follow a local pheasant shoot. This I did with my 2 Nikons. I honestly didn't know what to expect. I understood there were folks (and dogs) called "beaters" who walked through the woods, say on the far side of the wood and made a bunch of racket (gee, I think I've missed my calling in life) to "scare up" the pheasants who were lurking in the undergrowth of the wood. Somehow I expected to see like hundreds of birds fly up all at once. But it was more like one bird here, one there.

Now I don't know all the ins and outs of a pheasant shoot but apparently each man (they were all men) had a number, there were about 12 shooters, and they went to several coverts (covers) or woods on local farms. At each new covert Dai would call out "who's #4" and then point to the spot where #4 should stand and on down the line. The shooters were strategically placed along the border of the covert, a certain distance out from the trees to enable them to hoist their shotguns and shoot without fear of hitting someone in the woods - or each other (a way we tend to keep the population down in New York). Meanwhile the beaters have gone around the far side of the covert and have begun making a lot of noise and beating at the bushes and grasses with a baton or stick with a feedbag on the end of it!

Now some of these shooters were dressed in boiler suits (one piece usually green affairs like what you'd see some guy in a auto repair shop dressed in - plenty of snaps and pockets and the name "Bob" embroidered on the left breast pocket, except the boiler suit farmers don't get their names embroidered on the bloody suits!) And there were guys in what I'd call "smart casual country" attire and there were a couple of older guys who were wearing just exactly what older guys around here always wear when they have anything to do with a hunt - moleskin trousers, wellies, nice shirt, tie, flat cap, and some oilcloth coat. Anyway, everyone looked nice. And everyone had a shotgun that they kept in between coverts in a small canvas form-fitting bag (like what we call a "gig bag" in the guitar world).

I should have asked more questions but it seemed to me that the talking was kept to a minimum and I considered myself lucky to be there in the first place, so didn't want to jeopardize my chances of being invited back some time. We went to 5 or 6 coverts during the day and everyone was pretty focused on where are the birds? We didn't really see all that many pheasants (at least compared to what I'd imagined) and I'd say about 30% of them were accounted for (shot dead) by these merry shooters. There were several retrievers and a couple of spaniels too and I enjoyed watching the dogs fetch the birds as much as anything. Just like following the local foxhunts, this day provided me the opportunity to walk through some woods and fields I'd never visited before and the weather was quite balmy and the company was good, too.

Though I'll always prefer to see pheasants flying wild and free, I'll have to admit I enjoy eating pheasant and these men don't leave the birds they kill to rot - they feather, dress, and eat them unlike those who attend the "professional shoots" (so many pheasant shoots the birds are killed simply for sport and the folks just pay "x" amount for each bird they shoot and leave them to rot).

This was what I guess I'd call a farmers' pheasant shoot. At least several in the group are local farmers and it was clear that they enjoyed a day in the country away from the sheep, the cattle, the muckspreader and whatever. When you get right down to it a lot of these country sports boil down to the same thing: getting out and seeing the countryside, visiting with neighbors, remembering some old times, making some new memories, and sharing news.

After the days' shooting, we all headed back to a local farm (at which they'd all met in the morning at 10:00). Typically everyone might line up with their kill and have a group photo. But last night not everyone came back (probably had animals to feed or whatever) so we just got a few of the shooters together for a photo and managed to come up with 18 pheasant and a few other game birds...not bad for a days' work. After the photo, we headed up to the clubroom, a big room with old oak beams and a huge table. We all got a healthy glass of port or cider or lager and tucked in to feast of beef stew, carrots, potatoes and peas followed by a choice of apple crumble, lemon mirangue pie, banoffee pie, or trifle. As if we weren't stuffed enough, then along came the cheese and crackers. It was a job to get up from the table!

Along the way alot of laughter and merriment ensued and then Rick, the sort of host got up and said a few words of thanks to the hosts for use of their room and for having the meet at their farm. Then he began to talk about Bob who has been a shooting man for a long time and how he'll be missed. Bob succumbed to cancer about a week ago. He was a popular local farmer and related to several of those in the room; a good friend to all others. It was clear that Rick, a young farmer and father, was feeling very emotional about what he was saying (and that's not something I see much over here in this farming community - people are generally very stoic and stiff upper lipped about things)....looking around the room you could tell that everyone was feeling as Rick did, and it was such a touching moment to be there in that community of which I was of course only a visitor.

The thing about this rural part of mid-Wales where I stay is that the sense of community and rootedness runs DEEP here and I find that SOOOO attractive. As someone else from outside the area commented to me yesterday "everyone is related to everyone here and you have to be careful what you say." I suppose we should always be careful of what we say, but I know what he meant. Where I was raised (and in most cities I'm sure) you're surrounded by strangers or at the least, certainly people you aren't related to in any way. People come and go so quickly in the city. Not so here. There is a timelessness about this place and part of it is just that the roots go so deep and the branches stretch so far...people here have a clear sense of who they are and where they came from and for someone who feels sort of like a drifter that is a beautiful thing.

If I never get to go shooting again, I will long cherish the memory of a nice day in the country in the company of nice men (and a few women, too, who were among the "beaters"). Toward the end of the day a lovely lady named Jackie came along and borrowed someone's shotgun...turns out she's a crack shot! Made me smile to see a lady in there shooting with all them hairy-legged men! And I'm sure glad I got to know Bob, even just a little, in my life here....he was a good man. We all lifted our glasses and drank a toast to Bob and to all the years he got to enjoy shooting in this lovely countryside.

At the Crossroads

2008-01-13T20:35:00.000Z

So as I said in my last post, yesterday we had what's called a "joint meet" with a hunt from oh I guess the middle of England, some three hours' drive away from here. Friday around lunchtime it started to snow around here, those big wet flakes that make great snowballs. Now I live in the valley but there are wonderful hills all around and it wasn't long till the hills were covered in snow. In the evening it got cold and I began to wonder if our guests would be able to get their horseboxes three hours up the road to join us at the crossroads.

Now some of you who have never been involved with a fox hunt think that everyone who gets on a horse and dons a red or blue (or whatever color) coat is just a toffee-nosed snob. And some people are snobs, no doubt (isn't that true in just about any group you survey?) But around here there's not a whole lot to be snobbish about so our country hunts are made up of farmers and their wives and kids, a few folks who have moved here from other parts of the country and, well, a wide variety of folks. Yep, there are a few folks among them that seem a little detached and posh, if you will, but for the most part they're just good old country folks who know how to operate a pitchfork, change a tire, drive a lorry and things like that. Okay.

While you might look in Horse & Hound (important reading if you're in the U.K. and a "horsey" person) and see all these posh hunts meeting at places that must have 50 master bedrooms and a staff of 100, a grand house on a 10,000 acre country estate, here in my neck of the woods we mostly meet in someone's farmyard, in the middle of a village...or at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. Try to give directions to a place like that! Our starting time (11:00 a.m.) was especially flexible yesterday since our visitors had to take it slow over the roads (lots of reports of vehicles in ditches due to "black ice" conditions) and then try to make our which narrow lane would get them to the place "you can't get there from here."

But eventually a bunch of them made it and I suspect that since the place they came from is a whole lot more posh than the place they met in a little old country crossroads yesterday, maybe they were just a leetle bit surprised at the amount of food and drink they were offered by a cheery group of hunt supporters. If you've ever been to a tailgate party you'll get an idea of the scene which greeted them. A long lonely stretch of road on which they had plenty of space to park their lorries and unbox their horses, get them tacked up, stand on the ramp and mount, then ride back to the gathering of dozens of horses and foot followers at the crossroads. There were big smiles on every face as they approached the gathering.

At the crossroads then were retired farmers in dented Land Rovers, rosy-cheeked kids wielding trays spilling over with sausage rolls, elderly ladies in wellies proudly offering trays of luscious Christmas cake to car followers and the mounted field alike, about a dozen or so folks walkiing around with trays of port and whiskey in plastic cups, freely given to any and all who wished to partake. This went on for about 45 minutes till we were all stuffed and not exactly sober either, and then the hunting horn was blown (a kind of call to attention). By now (guessing here) about 50 horses and riders were gathered there in the crossroads with probably another 75-100 people standing around the edges enjoying the nice sunshine (a rarity these days) and maybe now and then stopping to gaze up at the snow on the hills all around.

The huntsmen (there were two, one for the home hunt and one for the visitors) and assorted masters in red coats, the visiting hounds who were largely black and tan in colour (we favour lighter coloured hounds we can see on the heather and bracken in these parts) obediently standing just behind the huntsman on a lane from which there's no outlet (and they mean it! talk about some rough tracks and foot-deep water in the ruts).

The huntsman blows again and the "home" senior master, an eloquent local dairy farmer, greets our visitors and says a few words, then one of the visiting masters says a few words. Meanwhile I hoof it as far up the track I know they'll be taking as I can make it (not very, should have started earlier!) and begin snapping photos as the hounds and horses soon head toward me. Then we all jump into our vehicles or head off on foot with a sturdy walking stick and head for the hills to follow the horses and hounds!

I got to ride with my friends Mike and Charlie, and Steve, who spent much of the day on foot with his stick, got a lift up on the hill with us. We had a great day watching the hounds exercising on the hills around us and on the fields below. The horses enjoyed some good fun, too, at one point jumping a distant wooden gate during a lull in the exercise. Viewing the astonishingly beautiful local landscape in the context of the hunt with horses and hounds and local people as subjects is, well, just one of my favorite things in the world. Ten years ago I would never have imagined being here, doing this. But I'm glad I am.

Our guests yesterday aren't likely to forget their wonderful day on the hills nor the great plates of beef stew they were served before they sought their long roads home at the end of that long long day.

Here in the Welsh borders we love our countryside ways and aim to keep them alive and strong for the children who are being born now to cherish. We will continue to hunt within the law - and revere the days when we hunted freely - until such time that we can return to hunting freely without city slickers legislating the countryside ways of which they are completely ignorant.

My Life Story???

2008-01-13T19:43:00.000Z

After quite a long break from blogging due to a fairly unremarkable series of days and nights I'm returning to ponder a question that was posed to me yesterday by what I'd call a "good acquaintance." Now it happens that this friend is a member of one of the local hunts I follow and also a friend to the folks at the farm where I live, and he's also a neighbor. After yesterday's hound exercise in some of the prettiest country around here we threw a little supper for the folks who'd driven about 3 hours to ride with us over these beautiful, as it happened, snow-dusted hills. I went along to the supper not because I was part of the mounted field but just to lend a hand in the kitchen and make our nice guests feel welcome. Since I didn't really have a thing in the world to do on a Saturday night I first helped serve the dinner (delicious beef stew - I can say that because I didn't make it!, baked potatoes, peas and rolls) and then helped another girl do all the dishes, pots & pans. I like doing dishes, always have.

After that we had to clean the village hall we'd rented for the occasion and after that there was a matter of a bottle of port and bottle of wine that the four of us needed to finish off so they wouldn't "spoil." As it happened we had some good conversation about local politics, farming, famous old hunts on the hills around us, and good stuff like that. That's part of the spirit of community that these down-to-earth countryside hunts engender among mounted field and followers alike. We had a jolly time!

Anyway I took it easy on the port - which I love - since I had to drive a few winding miles back to the farm where I stay. One of the port drinkers and his wife live right up the road from where we were drinking, so he was taken care of, but the other bloke, it soon became evident, was not in any shape to drive home, so of course I offered him a lift home.

Now this man is young, newly married and has an adorable little boy. I know his wife well, and he happens to farm just about a mile from where I stay so it was no big deal to offer him a lift home. But he decided on the way back that he'd very much like to have a drink at our local pub just up the hill from me. So I said okay, but I'd need to stop home to change out of my wellies before going to the pub. Being a city girl, I feel no shame in wearing wellies anywhere at all (since they're a relatively new piece of apparel to me) but the local farmers and their wives think it is an abomination to wear wellies anywhere but around the farm - wouldn't be caught dead in town in them! Isn't that funny!

Stopping here where I'm a housekeeper, we all got talking and this young man asked me something along the lines of what's my life story? I didn't quite know how to answer that question...how do you answer it? First I have to say that I don't think my life makes a particularly interesting story, though I'm not complaining! I kind of said, "uh, you know..." but he was quite serious and adamant that I should tell him (by now I've poured him some port) and suddenly it dawned on me and I said WAIT! and ran to my room and grabbed this photo album of me as a child in goofy sunglasses sitting on the front steps in my hometown, me as a bird-legged teenager on high school graduation day posed with my parents, both of whom died way back in the 80s, me with various musical heroes through the last 25 years or so, and things like that. My idea was to use the photos to trigger my memory since that's how "me as a photographer" started in the first place. I go back to the table where this friend is sitting and I plunk the book down before him (remember, he is not at ALL sober by now, and adding to the port consumption by the moment, a nice bottle of Graham's vintage port at his disposal) and tell him to open it and he says no! no! no! I don't want to look at photos of your life, I want you to tell me about your life. Isn't that a difficult thing to do?

And it's funny but I just couldn't come up with a thing to say. Surely it's not that bad! (no it isn't.) But where do you start to tell someone about your life and help them understand that it's a lot of little things you can't really put your finger on or even remember at all maybe that make you who you are here and now, it's a collective, and a lot of it is probably largely unnoticed by yourself or by others. And when folks ask you a question like that what they really want is a two sentence summary, don't they? I ain't good at that!

Fortunately for me he got off the topic of my life as the port took its toll and we were all soon off to the pub for a drink. But before we went to the pub there was a revelation, one that has been put before me at least once before in life (by a counselor in fact): why do you always have a camera in front of your face? What are you hiding from? Why don't you just experience things directly???? He said he wished I'd leave my camera at home sometimes and just go out and follow the hound exercise and enjoy the hounds as they run across the moors among the horses and sheep, not be thinking of angles and light and the juxtaposition of things (oops, that bit was me talking, inferring what I think he meant). Now that got me thinking.

So what all this is about is to wonder how one responds to a direct question (in an island nation where it seems direct questions are few and far between as folks do elaborate dances to avoid stepping on others' toes, so to speak) regarding "what's your history?" "what's your past?" or in effect, who are you sat there before me? Now I could have started in chronological fashion from my earliest memories through yesterday which would have taken several weeks and been a total bore, but I was wondering just what he wanted to know? He wouldn't answer that! But it did get me thinking. Why is it so difficult to come up with a life story? I do like to write (duh!) so what would I write about myself that would tell who I am and some of what I've done (and failed to do) without being too dull, too rambling or put anyone to sleep? Say, what would I write in 500 words, who am I in a nutshell? It is, I think, very hard to do.

Now I'm left to ponder...what HAVE I accomplished? Have I made any positive difference? Why DO I hide behind that camera (out of the mouths of drunks...there was a lot of insight in that question!) And what's next?

Maybe it's the rain. the rain. the rain.......................

A Good Time

2007-12-23T22:27:00.000Z

I had a good time yesterday following one of the local fox hunts. They were enjoying one of their more popular "meets" where the focus is not so much on exercising the hounds (after all, the huntsman and the whippers- in are capable of doing that without the assistance of the "mounted followers" -- people on horseback) as on jumping as many fences as a person and horse could possibly jump...and then a dozen or two more. Most of the folks with this hunt really look forward to this particular meet since they like to jump and risk life and limb on the back of a horse. They're a fine and friendly and lively bunch of folks and watching them leaves never a dull moment. What some of the field lack in form they make up in enthusiasm.

At the meet I spoke with the Field Master (who directs the mounted followers in relation to the huntsman and hounds, giving direction as to which gates to enter, what fields are to be avoided, the order jumps are to be taken, and so forth) as to where I might best position myself to catch some "exciting" jumping. Unfortunately either I misunderstood or he gave me poor directions because I never did find the drop hedge on the old railway line that he was talking about though a friend later told me there was plenty of "carnage" there had I found it -- the first time around five people hit the floor (the ground)...ca-ching...chalking up 50 quid for the Huffers Club. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

At 10:45 folks on foot and horseback entered this tidy farmyard and commenced the "meet" [the place where the hounds, mounted followers and foot followers (though these days most of the foot followers are in 4wds, cars or on quad bikes) all come together, usually at someone's home or at a farmyard, share mulled wine or port or whiskey, sausage rolls and mince pies, plenty of conversation and a few jokes whilst the hounds and horses get ready to go out in the countryside and have some much-needed exercise].

Anyway, lots of people always show up for this pre-Christmas meet when kids are off school and spirits are high. It's held near a good-sized village near the banks of the River Wye, so it wasn't surprising to drive up over the hills and then down to the river after a cold night to find the whole area shrouded in a fairly dense fog on this biggest jumping (as in horses and their riders soaring over hedges and wooden fences and the like) day of this hunt's season.

While I somehow managed to miss most of the jumping, I was on hand for a couple of exhaustive rounds and it seemed to me that everyone was having a jolly good time; it shows in my photographs.

One young man, a visitor on a coloured horse, reportedly came off an astonishing five (5) times over the course of the day. I missed all five dumps, but I will say that the lad looked like he was having a wonderful time in each of the many photographs I have of him over the day...despite being encrusted in a serious cloak of MUD that he couldn't manage to shake off. He wasn't the only one.

This particuar hunt has what they call a Huffers Club that entitles (demands) whoever falls off his horse for any reason (I think this includes failing to get all the way on as well!) to pay 10 pounds toward a kitty which is used at the end of the year to throw a big all-you-can-drink bash...quite a British idea, I reckon. Anyway I was told by a reliable source that yesterday's activities alone accounted for an additional 180 pounds in the Huffers account!

As the day went on the fog seemed to get denser and at some point it began to drizzle. It was fairly cold, yet running up and down fields with my cameras and climbing over gates and hustling along the muddy railway line had me feeling pretty toasty. Late in the day I came the horses had some good canters on the headlands (verges) of crops of rape and kale and when they paused in a lane the steam rising from them was nothing short of breathtaking. Of course this was when Phil and others pulled out their ever-popular hip flasks and began passing them around. I indulged and had some tasty sloe gin from one and some sort of gin from another...yum.

One thing you can say about this bunch is that they know how to have a good time and they go about riding with a zest that is, well, infectious. They make me want to ride, too (though the Huffers Club would compound in a very grand way should I take to the saddle).

What seemed like a really foggy, impossible sort of day, the kind of day one might stay inside by the fire with a good book turned out to be really fun for a whole lot of people. That's one of the great things about following the hunt...it gets you outside in the fresh air when most other folks are huddled shivering inside. You see the changes of light in a day's time. You visit with other folks, friends and strangers alike. You get to learn the lay of the land and meet the people of a region. You see what the farmers are up to at a given time of year. You see how someone lays a hedge or spy a nest or maybe get a glimpse of a fox or a hedgehog as they go about their day.

A couple of days ago I called my friend Beryl and we met for a nice lunch at the Blue Boar, a kind of traditional pub in the village. It was delightful. There was a hot coal fire in the open fireplace (see picture) with its lovely oak mantlepiece and a big grandfather's clock just next to it. There were oak pub tables, reading material and a great cup of hot chocolate too. We both enjoyed their potato wedges with ham and stilton sauce and salad. Ah, the good life!

Chapel, Church, Carols and stuff

2007-12-23T20:54:00.001Z

Where I stay is a very rural kind of place, even for Wales. About half a mile up the narrow lane is a pretty little chapel where services are held every two weeks on Sunday afternoons. I don't generally get to those services but every year I'm asked to sing a song at the annual Christmas Carol Service at the chapel, and this year was no exception.

Now it seems to pass that invariably I come down with the flu, a cold, or some kind of vocal crud, and this year was no exception, either. So just a couple of days ago I found myself selecting a song to sing on the basis of what's easiest to sing when you're down with the crud. I came up with "Away In A Manger" which, really, has a fairly easy range for anyone who can sing at all. Now a few songs I might have chosen were eliminated because they're too complex for me to play confidently on the guitar. And some I rejected because they really need to be sung as duets. So as usual I came up with things like Away In A Manger and Silent Night (you can't go wrong with that.)

Here in Wales one of the first things an American attending a chapel carol service might learn is that 1) the "music" isn't included -- the hymnals are modest little red books with the words crammed slam into them; they must be about 9 point -- even with reading glasses on they are challenging. Next an American might figure out that the same songs aren't necessarily sung here in Wales as one might expect at an American carol service. Oh no. And perhaps the most amazing thing to discover is that most likely the tunes and very often all the words are entirely different to the American version as well. So be prepared to be surprised.

We're quite spoiled in America to have churches that are mostly fairly new and ones that have good insulation. Most of the churches and many of the chapels in Wales are quite old (like 1000 years old in the case of many of the churches). Many of the chapels in these parts are about 150 years old, certainly not old by British standards. They are constructed of materials that are readily available in a particular area, so it's no surprise that here where I live and stone is quarried, the floors are made of huge flagstones and there aren't any rugs on them. The pews are of course nice old wood and unadorned by cushions (most of the churches have cushions). The walls are invariably made of stone and often whitewashed.

You may wonder why I keep distinguishing between church and chapel. Now I'm not paid for my definitions, but here's the way I've come to understand the distinction: in this country, "church" means "Church of England" or "Church of Wales" and that's the Anglican church, not far off what's called Episcopal in America. The Queen of England is head of the Anglican church (talk about a difference: no separation of church and state here). A "church" is a church, regardless of size.

Now a "chapel" is a non-Anglican house of worship, regardless of size. These "chapels" are considered "non-conformist" which really means that it's non-Anglican. Baptists, Methodists, etc. are all non-conformists here and even if the house of worship is very large indeed it's still called a "chapel" because it simply ain't a church!

As it happens the chapel I attended this evening is a chapel even by my standards. It's a small, white stone building, quite unadorned and Calvinistic looking. Our carol service began at 6:30 pm, a good time of day for folks who make their living on the land like so many in my "neighborhood," and among the congregation were several farmers, farmers' wives and children of farmers. I'm told that services at the chapel are normally attended by only a few people, but the carol service is normally overflowing (meaning about 50 people).

Every year there's a different "preacher." I found tonight's interesting because he was from Swansea in south Wales. I talked with him after the service and learned that he has never learned any Welsh at all; as a child it was looked down upon to speak Welsh and though his mother was raised in the Welsh language, his father didn't speak a word of it and it was forbidden in their home. The preacher was a jolly very portly man with a rich voice and a singing way of talking. That's how you know you're speaking with a Welshman, even if he doesn't speak Welsh, he sings when he talks. It's a beautiful thing. So I was riveted to the preacher's every word. There were seven children there this evening and they sang three songs -- "Away In A Manger" (different words AND different tune to the American way), Jingle Bells, and We Wish You A Merry Christmas. All were sung with zest and joy and I couldn't help but grin the whole way through. The kids also did a superb job with their Scripture readings and the hour-long service was over before we knew it. Maybe that's a good thing. As I started to explain, no rugs, stone floors and walls, no insulation and precious little heat (just a small space heater) spells COLD!!!! Prepare to freeze to death in churches and chapels across the U.K.

Folks here mostly don't mail Christmas cards but rather deliver them personally, something that's very nice. Often this is done with locals at the carol service I attended this evening. This year I _made_ my Christmas cards and I really enjoyed the creativity of that.

When I arrived the Anns (there were 3 in the chapel, at least) asked me what I was going to sing. I was leaning toward "Away In A Manger" (American words and tune) but then learned that I was to sing right after the children's first number -- and THEY were singing Away In A Manger. So I switched to "Silent Night" not knowing that, too, would be sung later by the congregation -- but with different words!

Of course many of the songs sung at chapel have lyrics that the folks around here can very seriously relate to -- "While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night" is ALWAYS in the carol service, for example. Go figure. Hmmm....nearly every man in the chapel tonight is a shepherd! Albeit they use tractors, 4wds and quad bikes to herd sheep (along with the more traditional border collies!), still, they sing what they know! Plenty of mangers in these parts, too, and loads of silent nights (except during lambing time in March and April).

I look forward to the carol service every year and this year was a wonderful one. It was great to hear the kids do what they did with such gusto. It was wonderful to hear a "singing" Welsh preacher. And it was best of all to gather together as a community for an hour on one of the longest nights of the winter and sing and listen and enjoy each other's company.

I hope I can attend the carol service at this chapel for many more years to come.

The Fox, The Frost and the Winter Sun

2007-12-17T20:26:00.000Z

Today was another sub-zero (that's Celsius, not Fahrenheit, but still cold enough) day and somewhere around 2 pm I got out my cameras and jumped in the 4WD and headed out to explore some of the hills around here. A 360 degree survey told me that I should head over toward the Radnor Forest and visit some of the hills there.

While the rime wasn't as spectacular as I've seen it, it was still pretty nice. This time of year in this part of the world by 2:30 it's already heading toward darkness and by 4:00 you might as well say it IS dark ('course at the end of June it never does get totally dark). While this premature darkness can make it difficult to accomplish things here in the wintertime, as a photographer I enjoy being so far north because the sun never does get very high in the sky and the light in the late afternoons (which is like 3 pm!) is spectacular (when it isn't raining).

So I just put on a few layers of clothing, got out there on some of those hills and enjoyed the sight of the rime and frost on the evergreens, the grasses, the tree stumps, the fences and whatever else was unfortunate enough to be up there in that cold wind. On the way down the lane where I live I spied a sparrow hawk making mincemeat of some poor little bird. Ugh. In Wales birds of prey are protected but songbirds aren't. Go figure.

I didn't encounter another person in an hour and a half on the hills, but I did see something spectacular that took my breath away. As I drove up through the forestry I kept stopping every 50 yards or so and looked in all directions to see where the light was hitting, what might make an interesting photograph, and so forth. The light changes continually, especially as the sun is dropping as it was this afternoon. The rays were catching the rime and making it gleam and glow. The wind was flinging rime off the pine boughs onto the frozen dirt track. Up on Wimble sheep were grazing on what little grass they could find amidst the frost. They are determined creatures. I can imagine they had some frozen tongues!

So I'd already stopped about 20 times on my way to the top. I'd gotten out and walked a few times and strolled in the forestry a bit (it was especially frosty in there). When I was nearly to the top I paused in a lovely sunny spot (but with the wind whipping and the exposure it must have been minus ten degrees) and gazed up toward Wimble. The sun was fully hitting that high spot and I noticed a sheep fence there maybe 100 yards from where I stood on the track. Suddenly a gorgeous red fox jumped up from behind a tump and eased under the fence. It then soared over a frozen gorse bush, disappeared from sight, soared over another, all the while coming toward me. I got all excited (this time I didn't have my camera in my hands, darn, it was in the truck) and reached in the truck for my camera. I shouldn't have done that for the beautiful fox disappeared. Perhaps he had a den just there where I last saw him, but more likely he'd seen me there and slipped around out of sight somewhere.

It was just such an exhilarating sight....the way the sun caught his rich red coat, all fluffed up and fat. He was a beauty. Though I can't say I got any wonderful photos today (not for lack of trying!) it was all worthwhile just to see that fox in his element leaping through the frost and sun, doing whatever foxes do when folks ain't around.

I'm sure glad I went up that hill today.

Rime, Hoarfrost and A Place Like Beguildy

2007-12-15T18:59:00.000Z

Today was bloody cold. So what did I do? I found the highest place around here and stood there for three hours watching the hounds and horses exercise. Go figure. It was beautiful.

And I learned a new word. It's even in the Collins Concise English Dictionary, so it must be right. "Rime." Someone told me that's what they call the icy stuff that forms on branches, grass and even wire fences when it's foggy and then cold (basically freezing fog -- as opposed to freezing rain). Folks around where I stay call it hoarfrost. And I heard it's called boarfrost (is that really so, Mike?) in North Carolina. Turns out, at least from the dictionary definition, that what I saw today was definitely rime, not hoarfrost, at least the stuff I saw that was in the trees. Gorgeous. [Rime: "frost formed by the freezing of water droplets in fog onto solid objects."] [Hoarfrost: "a deposit of needle-like ice crystals formed on the ground by direct condensation at temperatures below freezing point."] See, they're different animals.

My friends back home like to see photos of some good old country pubs, or "locals" as some of the locals call them. Some of these places are HUNDREDS of years old - hard to imagine for Americans who think a building from 1892 is "old." But many of these pubs I get to visit while following the local hunts are actually old drovers' inns (that's the way they got livestock to market -- on foot -- back before the days of lorries and Land Rovers and stock boxes. Imagine that.) I could write a bunch about drovers inns, but I'll save that for another day.

The "field" (mounted hunt followers) pause to enjoy the rime (and possibly something refreshing from a hip flask).

One such pub is the Radnorshire Arms in Beguildy -- where I happened to land today. As I already said it was COLD and another local hunt I follow opted not to hound exercise at all today. But these Radnorshire folks are hardy and they decided a little cold and rime wouldn't stop them from keeping the horses and hounds fit. It was a bit tricky for the horses, though...the ground in the tracks was frozen and slippery. I think everyone got back safely -- at least I hope so.

When I finally made my way back down the treacherous track to the little village that is Beguildy (you gotta love a place by that name!), I stopped in at the Radnorshire Arms, as is my tradition, for a bowl of vegetable soup with roll and butter and it was yummy. There were a few locals hanging about there chatting at the bar and the folks from the hunt dribbled in to defrost and enjoy some soup.

If you haven't been to Beguildy, do stop and have a cold one and hot bowl of soup in one of those cushy armchairs by the woodstove and tell Peter I said howdy! It's a lovely place.

Christmas Lights, Mom and Stuff

2007-12-14T19:11:00.000Z

Today I was supposed to go to a pheasant shoot being held by some local farmers. They asked me to come along and photograph them with their spaniels. I thought I'd get some photos of pheasants when they fly up, roused by the "beaters". But this was not to be. I awoke to a valley coated with frost and filled with dense fog. The day didn't really improve so around noon I decided to go Christmas shopping instead.

Do towns in America still decorate for Christmas? I remember as a child all the decorations the towns put up on lampposts or on wires suspended above the streets - big colored light bulbs and tinselly things like candy canes and snowmen. Is that still done? Well, it is over here. Hereford today was filled with such things and many of the little border villages (border of Wales-England) also have fairly elaborate Christmas decorations.

(Welsh Mountain Ram)

Of course Christmas in Wales, at least on the border where I stay, is pretty much like it is over in America. Since I live out in the country there's not a lot of caroling going on, and most of the farm folks are pretty busy just keeping their livestock fed and keeping their water thawed; they don't have a lot of time to go out singing and carousing.

(Rush Hour on My Lane)

I remember in my hometown (Binghamton New York) there was a peanut shop downtown and I often walked the three miles downtown to save bus fare and because I just loved to walk. There were quite a lot of good stores there in those days (before malls and chain stores came along and wiped out the downtowns of America). But that peanut shop! They had all kinds of nuts and it's quite possible that they weren't as good as they smelled! But I always bought my dad a gigantic 5 pound bag of freshly roasted peanuts in the shell and he loved those things. It's not like you could disguise what they were (or hide the smell) but that's one present he no doubt loved. Right by the peanut shop was a place called Home Dairy and they sold half moon cookies. Now those cookies were about 4 or 5 inches across. You could either get vanilla ones or chocolate ones - that's a no-brainer, or course I wanted the chocolate. They were frosted half vanilla icing and half chocolate, a nice rich chocolate. Yummmmmm....you know since they went out of business I've never found anyone who makes half moon cookies like that. I did see some in Zabar's on Broadway in New York (a great deli to be sure) but they're always the vanilla dough. They need to be chocolate!

My mom used to knock herself out decorating the house for Christmas (you all know moms like that, right?) Seems like she put tinsel EVERYWHERE. Mom, like so many moms in the world, was totally other-oriented. She worked tirelessly to take care of everyone and make others happy and always seemed to forget to take the time to do things for herself. It's who she was. Sadly, my last Christmas with her was in 1983...she died at age 58 less than a year later. Luckily I got to spend a bunch of time with her throughout my life and most of the good things I know are things I learned from her. Our last Christmas we stayed up nearly all night long finishing up a spectacular wooden dollhouse she made for my two nieces. Somehow even then she knew that she wouldn't be around when the next Christmas rolled around. Funny the things you do when you step out of the ordinary and, say, stay up all night on Christmas Eve. We shared some wonderful moments together and I wouldn't trade them for anything.

No doubt the world is a better place because of all the love shared by moms and other good folks, this time of the year and always. (and sorry my photos have nothing to do with the text).

Uncle Pip and the Aga

2007-12-13T15:12:00.000Z

My friend Judie in Pennsylvania is so good about keeping in touch with me. And she asked if I'd send a photo of Uncle Pip (not my uncle, but the elder person on this farm) who lives over in the old farmhouse (not sure how old it is but parts of the house are hundreds of years old) sitting in the kitchen by the Aga.

Now some of you may not know what an Aga is. I sure didn't when I arrived on the scene. It's a big cookstove, basically, cast iron with an enamel coating. There's a big place on the left side where you put in big chunks of wood and/or big chunks of coal and there's a warming oven on the right side and either 2 or 4 burners on the top. Those burners are hot, hot, hot and it doesn't take any time to boil a huge kettle of water. Most of my friends "keep the kettle on" most of the time just in case someone stops by.

Anyway this Aga has seen much better days (like so many of those in the the old farmhouses around here) but it still pumps out the heat. Because Pip can't get around very well anymore -- he uses a walker (or a "frame" as they say here) the old Aga was converted to burn oil instead of wood and coal. But if I had an Aga it would be wood/coal...they provide the sweetest heat on a cold old day like today.

I was telling Judie about Pip spending a lot of his time in the low-ceilinged kitchen cuddled up close to the old Aga and she asked for a photo, so this morning, a day with a hard hard frost, I walked over and snapped this photo of Pip by his Aga. Enjoy!

Lots of people around here have a Rayburn instead of an Aga; that's just a different brand with slightly different features. Me? I'd have an Aga any day.

Now this makes me think of Christmas at grandma's farm in upstate New York, not too far from Oswego. We couldn't visit her farm very often in the winter but we always tried to get there for Christmas. She lived on the edge of the Tug Hill Plateau and was subject to the Lake Effect Snowstorms back in those days. You'll think I'm incorrect to capitalize Lake Effect Snowstorm, I know, but if you've ever experienced one then you, like me, would capitalize that term. Yikes! In fact just last winter folks up that way got something like 10 feet of snow in just a couple of days. It doesn't seem possible (and it ISN'T possible most places) but all the right (or wrong) things come together there now and then...

Grandma used to have a big old cast iron cookstove. It wasn't painted with pretty enamel and though it probably had a "name" on it somewhere I wasn't really at the age to notice. But what I did notice was the great heat that came out of that thing (that and the woodstove in the dining room) and the incredible food that she served up, all cooked in that tempermental cookstove. Now I wouldn't have much of a clue how to, say, bake a cake in an Aga. You can't turn the heat to 350 and wait ten minutes. Oh no. You have to be a COOK when you use one of those. That and know what a pinch and a dab mean when it comes to measurements. I'm quite sure grandma never followed a recipe, even with her baked goods -- she went by feel, kind of like the great musicians I know who serve up some of the most beautiful music I've ever heard, but can't read a note. That old cast iron stove is long long gone and sadly so is grandma, though she lived to be not far off 100. I should be so lucky.

This morning was quite frosty and this is a damp sort of place so we often have lovely frosts in the morning....here's a couple more photos I snapped on the way back from taking Pip to the "day center" (Senior Citizen center) for their annual Christmas party. I was going to get out and take quite a lot of photos, but ran into a local farmer who wouldn't HEAR of me going on down the road until I'd come into his farmhouse and had a cup of tea with he, his lovely young wife and their two adorable toddlers. You can bet this is a friendly place where I've landed, and it's the kind of place where you do take time to share a cup of tea and sit around someone's warm hearth for a few minutes just whenever you can.

Tomorrow I've been invited to photograph a local pheasant shoot...if it's a pretty day I'll just have to go and see all those spaniels and retrievers in action.

Will It Ever???

2007-12-05T17:44:00.000Z

Okay so at the moment I'm beginning to wonder...will it ever quit raining? This is beginning to dampen my spirits just a little bit. You folks in Colorado and places like that have it good -- all that snow gets you in the Christmas spirit, right? I'm over here in wet Wales saying "bah humbug!!!"

But for a little light entertainment, here's Katie doing her bucking bronco routine out on some local moor....it was quite a show, witnessed by many, but she stuck to her horse right good!

We have a lot of fun on these wild hillsides around here. Me? I'm waiting for some snow so I can get out there and make some snow angels and think about the good old days and walk down the narrow lanes in utter silence. There's nothing quite like the silence of a heavy snowfall.

A Bit of A Lull

2007-12-04T21:53:00.000Z

My friend "L" did this the other day when she was over here goofing around on my computer. Haha, if only I were that shapely once again. Nice red fox though (except for the mask!)

That's about all I can call this: a bit of a lull. Maybe that's a good thing. Suppose we all have them from time to time. Maybe it's the weather (wet and windy and wet some more). But these last days I'm just feeling kind of well, curmudgeonly and it seems like the best thing I can think about doing most days is settling down with a good book. The local library was recently refurbished and they actually got some new (old) books...the kind I like! Right now I'm revisiting Wuthering Heights if you can believe! And enjoying the writing of Jodi Picoult and Anne Tyler (and no, I don't only like women authors by any means!)

So during this lull I'm trying to do some serious thinking and see what direction I'll head next. One thing I want to do is work more on a catalogue of photographs documenting the people and places in Radnorshire. I've been doing some of that over the last six years but there's so much more to be done. As the outside world creeps in (and I'm hoping I'm not part of the problem) to this wonderful place that feels like it's about 50 years behind the times (and I mean that in a very GOOD way) the old ways and the old timers and the Radnorshire dialect and all those good things are ebbing away. It was bound to happen. So I hope a bit of my part is to capture some memories with my camera and maybe some day a few folks will care about the images I manage to record. It's a small part, but I'm going to play it.

Speaking of cameras mine has been acting up recently and it has caused me a lot of worry; so much so that I finally sat down and read all 200 pages of the operators manual last night, something I hope never to have to do again! The good news is that I think the problem has now been fixed (there are so many buttons and menu selections on this digital camera - and probably thousands of combinations as well that it's no surprise that I somehow had some of my metering and so forth on very inappropriate settings). So once in awhile it's worth it to consult the directions (but don't tell anyone I actually did that).

Outside the winds are howling across the moors and the rain is pelting against the windows and it's good to be inside with plenty of firewood and a good book (currently "The Memory Keeper's Daughter.") It won't be too many days before I'm out doing something worthwhile once again.

The Importance of Being Inconspicuous

2007-11-29T18:22:00.000Z

Kids nowadays. I know folks have been saying that kind of thing for a long time. L&K, the girls who live across the farm, came over one Sunday morning. For the past 3 years, our "tradition" was to take our hound pups walking on Sunday mornings. But this year I can't have hound puppies to walk (they're supposed to work on the stable where they stay) so we've had to look for other ways to pass our Sunday morning time.

We decided to draw and fool around on my laptop. "L" is especially adept at working a computer. So while "K" used her time to make wonderful sketches of animals and such in her black artist's notebook, L started finding interesting pictures of red foxes for me on Google Images. Ever been there? I never noticed it myself but it is pretty cool. So here's one of the things she found for me (this was sent to me years ago by someone and I'd lost it; it's kind of like having an old friend come back for a visit.) You have to admit that whoever did this was clever. Now I've got plenty of photos of foxhounds so maybe I can make some of these myself some day. Kudos to whoever created this (and my apologies for "borrowing" it). I'm sure glad I have friends like L&K to spend Sunday mornings with!

The Art of.....Falling!

2007-11-27T22:32:00.001Z

Don't worry; she probably wished I wasn't there with a camera to preserve this moment, but I guess she liked these photos since she bought a copy of them!

This story has a happy ending. The young lady was having a very good time jumping these huge bales and after this unfortunate moment she got back on (despite an injured ego) and rode on up the ridge to Yew Tree Bank above Gladestry. She was just fine. But oh, that must have hurt!

I used to avoid taking photos of folks who I could sense were about to part company with their horses, but soon learned that most of these crazy horsey people actually LIKE photos of themselves "hitting the floor" (as they say here in Radnorshire). Strange to me but maybe it's part of that British "stiff upper lip." Anyway, here's to falling off...and being able to get back on.

A Visit with Friends

2007-11-27T22:01:00.000Z

Last week my dear friends from Illinois came for their first visit and we got out in the beautiful hills around Radnorshire and west Herefordshire and had a great time seeing wonky little churches, the ruins of what must have once been a breathtaking priory (left in ruins back in, say, 1539), the beautiful views and clouds of fog from Hay Bluff, and other sights.

It went something like this. I drove the 50 minutes to Hereford, the closest "big" city to where I stay and picked Judy and Leon up at the train station. After navigating the most evil roundabout, one I've successfully avoided for 5 years now) we headed on down the A-465 toward Abergavenny. The further we got from Hereford the more lovely the countryside became (though I will say the cathedral and the River Wye in Hereford are well worth seeing, and once you reach that city and manage to park it has a nice small-town feel and quite a few good shops).

We made our way some 20 miles down toward Abergavenny and then turned for Cwmyoy, a sign easily missed! near the village of Llanfihangel Crucorney. Now these roads are not for the faint of heart and there's more than a little bit of luck involved, but since I was in my
Daihatsu with cattle bars across the front I figured we'd probably fare pretty well against most oncoming traffic with the exception of perhaps a big John Deere with a muckspreader attached! Haven't seen many of them up that road, though.

J&L thought it would be nice to visity the lovely and wonky church at Cwmyoy so we made our way up that little lane. In this country when you get way off the beaten track you often find that the road you're on passes right through someone's farmyard, so much so that if you stick your hand out the window you can touch their house or barn. In this case I easily could have touched someone's house but I suppressed the urge and we wound up around to the church on the hill. It's a lovely situation for a church and it doesn't take much imagination to see all the people threading their way there on a Sunday morning a few decades ago (back when it was expected, if not required, that EVERYONE attended church on a Sunday). The first thing we noticed when we passed through the gate was a nice walkway made of quarried stone and I wish I'd written down what was inscribed on the stones (my memory is a blank slate) because it was nice and cleverly done -- just one word for every pace or two -- a short message spread out over the space of maybe 75 feet! The next thing we noticed was how the church seemed to be going in 4 directions at once. I'm no geologist but I suppose it had to do with a building settling in different directions over a long (a few hundred years, at least) period of time! It was SOOOO noticeable from outside and perhaps even moreso inside where one could picture the congregation sitting there listening to the vicar preach his sermon and their eyes being drawn to the altar which was at a radical angle from where it should be sitting. M photograph really doesn't half show how bizarre it all looked and yet in some odd way it added real charm to the place.

We were in kind of a hurry since the days are very short indeed here and it's getting very dark by 4 p.m. this time of year, so we didn't linger as long as we would have liked at any of the spots. Next we passed a few miles up this beautiful and tranquil road toward Llanthony Priory, one of my favorite spots. On the way we passed a man out hedge-trimming (with a tractor and apparatus these days) who courteously found a passing place to let us by. Up the road to the Priory, I think Judy and Leon were gobsmacked at the ruins of the Priory and noticed right off that there's a cafe and B&B there (though they were closed). The ruins aren't as grand in scale as those of the famous Tintern Abbey (if you're a Wordsworth fan) but to me they are far more beautiful because of the setting in which they stand. It is about as remote as it gets around these parts and the arches are surrounded by lovely bracken-covered hills. For me, in some strange way, a cathedral without a roof and stained glass windows, walls and all the trappings of some of the beautiful houses of God is somehow even more uplifting - it is literally a part of nature and it is nature that inspires my spiritual side.

We had just a few minutes at Llanthony (I'd like to go pony trekking there some day) and headed on up toward Capel y FFin, a favorite spot of mine. It's a little settlement with a farm, one of those famous red phone kiosks, and church and a chapel (they both look like chapels to Americans, small and white and surrounded by weathered tombstones, nestled below looming hills). If you go into the church by the road, you'll find that as you sit in a pew and gaze up at the window above the altar, the window is etched with the scripture, "I will lift mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help." And there, in the distance behind the window are the beautiful hills.

We headed on up toward Hay Bluff where I've done some climbing in the past. I pointed out the smallholding (small farm) where my friend Maz was raised nestled under the looming peaks and a nice stand of pines and across from Lord Hereford's Knob. We made our way through the Gospel Pass and up across the narrow road that winds through Hay Bluff. Leon and Judy were reminded of Scotland here with the craggy peaks wreathed in fog. We parked where I often see my friend Viv out flying his hawks or folks flying kites and had a few pictures with the gorse (in its lovely yellow flowers) and the free-range horses who kindly posed for wide-nostriled photos in front of the hills.

Down yet another exciting single lane road and into Hay-on-Wye, a very interesting place to visit full of artisans and cute little shops and.....well, bookstores. We stopped off at the Black Lion for hot chocolate and coffee - that's a good spot and then made our way back up the hills around Clyro and Newchurch to home. We had a little trouble as the clutch went out but I managed to coast home slowly in second gear. Later in the evening we enjoyed the best steak I've had in I don't know how long, and good cider and perry, and handcut chips (french fries) and nice fresh vegetables and the company of good friends and a warm crackling fire...all this at the Harp Inn in Old Radnor. For all the pubs I've visited in this country, the Harp is still my favorite and David and Jenny are fine hosts.

Next day we started up Smatcher for a view of the valley, then cruised down into New Radnor and up Mutton Dingle, across into the forestry for an even more spectacular view of the Radnor Valley. Since L&J only had a day and a half here, we were always pressed for time and didn't linger long at any of the places that surely deserved far more than a glance, but such is the nature of whirlwind tours. We followed the A-44 through Llandegley and Penybont (they often remarked at the sheep in the road as we passed through various "commons"), Crossgates (where we found a much-needed loo) and on to Rhayader. We were lucky enough to find a parking spot on the main drag just past the war memorial that sits smack in the middle of the "square" in a sort of roundabout kind of place, a junction of two "main" roads. We decided to go to Carole's there for some lunch and soon found ourselves huddled over our Welsh cawl - bowls of soup with chicken and "root" vegetables (carrots, swede, potatoes), Welsh cheddar cheese and crusty brown bread. Absolutely delicious! And more hot chocolate. It was one of the colder days we've had this season and that lunch absolutely hit the spot.

Soon we were headed out to the Elan Valley and we took the sort of backwards way around because the sun was just too much in our eyes, following another narrow mountain road up past some farms, a "tombstone way marker - "Aberystwyth 29, Rhayader 1/2," a lake with ducks, a stream that spilled down the hillside to the lake, the sheep pens up on the hill, and then coming over a hilltop (masses of wind turbines in the distance to our right) to see the River Elan winding through the valley like some twisted silver thread, what a sight! Of course we stopped a dozen times for photos, then made our way down to the valley and started winding our way past isolated farms and century-old dams and back into Rhayader.

We stopped at the dams and made photos, of course (doesn't everyone) but it was getting near dark and there was a real bite in the air, so much so that there was ice on the road in several places, quite unusual for this time of year in Wales (it rarely dips below freezing here).

That evening we went to the Hundred House Inn, another nice old pub in the shadow of Aberedw Hill, for a nice dinner and pints of Old Peculier. I think Leon liked that. And before we knew it it was time to head home for some much-needed rest!

Country Ways, Foggy Days

2007-11-27T18:45:00.001Z

Today I headed for such well-known spots as Snodhill and Urishay; I reckon they're in the west of England, but perhaps they're in Wales. At any rate, they're not too many miles from Hereford or Hay-on-Wye. Up that way (like so many places around here) the lanes are narrow and passing places are few and far between. It wasn't so many years ago that I had nightmares of meeting someone coming the other way on one of these lanes. Going up toward Dorstone this morning I took a narrow and winding lane up from Bredwardine toward Dorstone with a 25% grade!!! Try stopping quickly on that with mud in the road and blind curves at every turn. It's quite amazing that more wrecks don't happen around here.

So I reached Snodhill after passing the Pandy Inn in Dorstone (a good place, I'm told) and it wasn't long till I found a bunch of my friends, as they so often are, leaning over a galvanized gate straining to catch a glimpse of the horses and hounds as they enjoyed their exercise. I was standing on a high field looking down at the scene in front of me. Behind me were castle ruins (Snodhill Castle) and a small wood that surrounds them. I stood there on the hill with men named Dai and Derek, regular old names in these parts. Soon a very distinguished gentleman way up in his 90s strode up to us with his horn-handled walking stick, dressed in fairly traditional garb for the gents of his generation (posh wellies, very tidy appearance and a good dose of wool and tweed), and we all started chatting about the things we'd seen in past years from this same spot. Back in those days we saw foxes running this way and that from the creek below across the fields and on up into the wood; now these things are relegated to memory.

Soon the horses and hounds appeared below, a few fields off, down by a bit of a stream. I left the gentlemen and walked down close to the road where I thought the horses would soon be coming past and got my big Nikon ready for some action shots.

My guess proved lucky and soon the hounds and huntsman rounded the bend toward me followed by the mounted field. They went on up around the castle tump (hills provide better exercise) and came down through the little wood by which I happened to be standing. Dai, a local farmer and good guy, courteously held open the old wooden gate so the huntsman, hounds and mounted field could pass through. As it happened that was the closest glimpse I was to have of horses and hounds all day.

Following the hounds has helped me to learn the countryside and meet its humble people in a way that few other activities could have. For this I am eternally grateful as it is the countryside and the ways of its down-to-earth people that keep me returning here again and again. It's the roadside chats with friendly folks and the chance glimpse of a red kite or a fox or a hare or a hedgehog that keeps me roaming and rambling the countryside with eyes peeled and heart wide open.

The door here is just one of many such doors I glimpsed today as I passed up narrow, inviting lanes. I met a nice chap on whose door I knocked after (never done this before) I chanced to skid on some wet leaves and went straight into his hedge, leaving a fencepost at 45 degrees to the ground. He was surprised I'd stopped to confess and in his country way insisted that I not worry a bit about it, he'd go down and put it right just now. That's the kind of folks I live around.

On the way home as the light (what little there was today!) was dipping lower in the sky and the hills were shrouded in fog, I saw an older lady near a quarry entrance who had a flat tire. Now I don't have a clue how to change a tire but I stopped to lend moral support - and flagged down a lorry driver who soon put it right. Good folks out here in the country, to be sure.

Rosettes for Secret

2007-11-26T17:05:00.000Z

Golden Valley "Rustic" and "Cromwell"

Up early this morning, I headed out for the Welsh Winter Fair held near Llandrindod Wells in Llanelwydd. After forking over a 10 pound note (that's about $22 folks) just to get in I got myself over to the Welsh hound show, the only reason I went to the Winter Fair. I must say the hounds did not disappoint. They moved the show this year into a kind of big shed which unfortunately we shared with the farriers. Nothing against them, but all the clanging and banging sort of distracted our gorgeous hounds.

About 15 Welsh packs were represented at the competition and the Teme Valley proudly left with the Supreme Champion cup and rosette for T.V. Secret. My pal Tasha, now about 9 months pregnant, got to lead the parade of hound champions. Due to misinformation I missed the parade which is always a Winter Fair highlight for me. The Teme Valley brought home a slew of red ribbons (in this country red is for FIRST prize, blue is second). And the Golden Valley also had a very good showing winning several classes as well as champion English foxhound. All in all it was a lovely day for hounds.

GV English Champion "Pansy"

Teme Valley Supreme Welsh Champion "Secret"

Lots of folks stopped by to cheer on their favorite hounds. Judges were John Holliday of the Ledbury and Mr. Evans. The Golden Valley's Chris Davies, MFH, did a superb job emceeing the event. Billy Thomas forgot her lipstick but still won several firsts for the Teme Valley. It's good to know the judges can't be swayed by Billy's feminine wiles!

Toward the end of the hound show I had a chance to catch up with my old buddy, hunt photographer Jim Meads. Jim stays busy traveling between the States and packs around the U.K. and is about to publish yet another fine collection of his hunting photographs so watch for it in 2008.

I wandered around the rest of the Winter Fair, through several halls full of goods for sale, but the hounds were the main event for me today. It's always nice to stop in at the Gray's exhibit to check out their latest Border Fine Arts pieces. That place was full of animal, tractor, and farming collectables. The sun was setting over Aberedw Hill in a splendid palette of blues and pinks as I headed back through Hundred House on that winding road for home.

Just Say NO to Turbines!

2007-11-25T13:02:00.000Z

This morning I joined with about 100 friends and strangers to walk up near the top of one of the local "tumps" in protest of a proposal to build 3 wind turbines on that land. Though the turbine company wants us to believe that these nearly 400 foot high turbines would merely be visible for 3 miles (never mind all of us who would see them every day) they would in fact end up providing precious little energy to anyone, let alone those who have to see them when they look out their windows. They would provide a sizeable lump of cash to the farmer on whose land they sit but any advantage to others is dubious at best (and it doesn't matter which farmer we're talking about here; if these turbines are approved dozens of other applications will soon be made and the hills will be obliterated by these things -- look at the ridges around Llanbadarn Fynydd to see the proof in what I say). There is no way that they would be visible for a "mere" 3 miles as we've been told....the thin mast on the top of the nearby Radnor Forest can be seen for at least 20 miles and it is only half the height and nowhere near the size of the proposed turbines!

These turbines haven't lowered anyone's electric bills. They haven't helped migratory birds and contrary to the propaganda freely handed out by the wind company (which seems to amount to a lot of hot air) they certainly do not improve the sense of peace and serenity of one of the most beautiful natural landscapes I've ever seen.

While it looked at times like it would rain we were fortunate enough to have reasonably good weather and we got there early so we viewed various groups of people, dogs and trekking ponies making their way up to this high point to gather in protest against these wind turbines. A representative of the company was there with his Nikon, and I with mine. Many people took the time to create some very clever banners and signs (the ponies did NOT like them) and we spent a pleasant hour or two up on that hill chatting about this and that and getting together for these group photographs before making our way down to our Sunday dinners. We were waiting for the delegation from the pony trekking group that regularly ride these Radnor hills to appear...they did, and predictably these steady steeds were spooked not only by the sheepdogs and the people talking but also by the big posters being waved around. As one of the women on horseback asked me...can you imagine how they would react to turbines with 100 foot blades making loud noises and whirring in the air? Not good.

Unlike most American protests I've seen there were no police or militia, no shouting, no fists waving, just a group of folks in wellies and raincoats, flat caps and scarves, tugging sheepdogs and spaniels and assorted dogs, out to voice their disapproval of what can only amount to a blot on the face of a gorgeous landscape.

Let them build these things out at sea - or somewhere around Merthyr Tydfil, not here in our lovely Radnorshire hills. There are some areas of natural beauty that must be preserved for our children and the generations that follow. These areas are quickly being swept away by clever businessmen out to make a buck. Let's not let these beautiful Radnorshire hills fall prey to such vultures.

Giving Thanks Again

2007-11-22T23:59:00.000Z

Just a quick post (after the last tome)...over in America it is Thanksgiving day and I'll admit to thinking of those great apple pies grandma used to make (talk about cliches!) and all the family gathered around that long oak table and the snap of the air outside...but there was plenty to be thankful for here in Wales today too. My friends Leon and Judy arrived by train safely and we had a bit of a hair-raising time on the biggest roundabout in Hereford (I've managed to avoid that particular roundabout for the past five years) on our way down nearly to Abergavenny. From there we had a lovely drive up over the mountain, stopping off at the wonky but beautiful little country church at Cwmyoy, then on up narrow lanes to Llanthony Priory, more miles of rustic beauty through the Gospel Pass (and memories of climbing that thing on a hot day), across Hay Bluff and down into Hay-on-Wye where we enjoyed a hot chocolate at the Black Lion or some such pub (good stuff!). Then on over to Clyro and up the bank toward Newchurch. Not far from Bryngwyn my clutch went out! Not good. But somehow luck was with us (talk about being thankful, I am) and I managed to get us all the way home in 2nd gear. What I didn't understand was that when I actually stopped the truck I wasn't going to be going anywhere again. Duh! I stopped in the middle of the lane which is a little awkward. Hopefully tomorrow someone can sort this out.

But I AM thankful for the clutch not busting up on Hay Bluff or when I was in some far more remote places last week. And I'm thankful for great friends and for nice perry and for an excellent rump steak at the Harp in my favorite table in front of the big hearth in a lovely green room with big flagstone floors and old welsh settles with my friends....all the good conversation, local news and so forth that gets passed around the room. There's just nothing quite like hanging out at the local pub and passing a few easy hours away.

I'm thankful too for all the good folks with whom I've crossed paths and for all the great memories I've managed to retain of some jolly good and meaningful times enjoyed in this life.

This is getting a little sicko I guess so I'll just say Happy Thanksgiving, y'all. Think some good thoughts today, say something good to someone else (and mean it) and do something sweet for yourself. You are worth it.

g'Earls Nite Out!

2007-11-21T17:15:00.000Z

Well, I don't really know where to begin. Okay, let me say that I heard one of the best nights of music in recent memory in the unlikeliest venue imaginable last night.

I don't plan ahead for much, so when my friend Tam called to see if I wanted to make a two hour drive to Bristol (that's in England) to hear Uncle Earl ( http://www.uncleearl.net/ ) I was sort of heming and hawing, you know. Seemed a long way to go just for a show (I'm spoiled by hearing so many great shows in America during the summer months). But then....well, I do love the music of Uncle Earl (the g'Earls) and I haven't seen Tam since the spring, so I said yes. After that I spent my time worrying about the weather since we had several inches of snow in the interim, then it got warmer and a very thick fog set in. Try to drive in that! HUH! Nearly wrecked on the way home last night. But that's later in the story.

So Tam and I headed off around 5 pm over the lovely and treacherous Hay Bluff (overlooking the fair town of Hay-on-Wye with its flocks of sheep and free-range Welsh mountain ponies. The fog was thick and getting thicker as we climbed up over the Gospel Pass (incomparable beauty) and inched down the one lane road for miles and miles through heavy rain now coupled with thick fog - in the utter darkness of late November in Wales. We passed the incredible spot that is Capel-y-Ffin and then Llanthony Priory and after what seemed like days we crawled to the outskirts of Abergavenny. It was somewhere there that my attention began to run off like the rain that poured down the windscreen and into the rain-slicked motorways we'd begun to traverse. Now for all the dangers inherent in crossing open moorland in total fog conditions at night it still seemed a more pleasant task than driving on these motorways with mad (as in crazy) drivers speeding by at 80 mph as we tried to avoid hydroplaning into another lane. We talked and talked about Uncle Earl, their latest recording, their amazing video I saw online yesterday through the Bluegrass Blog, and about a million other topics. Tam reckoned Rayna Gellert, her voice and her fiddle, were what she most wanted to hear. I was keen to hear them all, and especially to GET there already.

Well, we weren't quite sure where to go. As much as I love the UK and don't mind the death-defying drives I make daily down these one lane roads around blind curves with ten foot high hedges encroaching directly on either side, and perhaps a two foot deep ditch on one side, I sure do hate driving in cities. First of all, the roundabouts are a different language altogether and I find them the most unnavigable aspect of the UK. When I successfully negotiate a city roundabout I want to pull over, drop down on my knees and thank God. You may think I'm exaggerating but you come over here and try them yourself.

First of all you must have the map of the UK memorized in its most minute detail to even know which of the six exits you should take as you try to aim your vehicle off the durned roundabout. And then...which lane should you be in -- officially? Damn, I can never figure that out AT ALL. Now we finally make it, by some miracle, to Bristol. We left with plenty of time, but hadn't taken into account the doughy fog we had to fight our way through, nor the heavy rain. Still, we got off the M5 and onto the A-something or other. At the junction where we exited there was a massive city roundabout and it was CLOGGED with traffic, all 100 lanes of it. There were lights. And Tam pulled right out in front of someone. First time I've heard a horn in weeks, LOL...we were in a city for sure. Then we discovered we were going the wrong direction (we thought) and had to turn around. Not so easy to do. By now it's about 7:00 and the show is at 7:30. Traffic is bumper-to-bumper and I mean it. For miles. What's that about? Well, we got turned around, stopped for directions and learned we were several miles from our destination, and then inched along (in much the same way we had up over the Gospel Pass hours before, but this time the sheep and horses were replaced with Fish Bars and Indian takeaways. Hmmpppf.

Okay, at last we found our turn and were within blocks of St. Bonaventure's Club in Bristol. We missed another turn, but finally made it into the parking lot. It was pouring rain. In the door we found quite a crowd assembled there and fortunately we hadn't missed a thing. We got out our 12 pounds each (I think that's roughly $24) and paid our way in. Our friend Francis was there at the door; he'd come down from Bromyard or some other Godforsaken place in England. It pains me to admit it but he is one witty chap with one of those droll public school ways of talking.

As we stood waiting to gain entry to the room where the show was being held, a man walked up to the organiser and began complaining about paying 12 quid and then having to stand up all night. I'm thinking cool!!!! Standing Room Only. Well, it sure was, though not in the way I'd envisioned. We entered to find a smallish room with a bar at the far side (they do like their drinking here in the UK) which seemed quite lively. The stage took up part of another wall and otherwise there were just a few banquette-type seats along the very edges. Right in front of the stage was a small dance floor and I found myself wondering if anyone would dance....couldn't imagine the Brits losing their reserve, despite the energy and drive a g'Earls show. Well, as it turned out nobody in the audience did dance, but they might have wanted to! The Standing Room Only crowd was jammed in there so tightly that they would have had to wiggle in place at best. The dance floor ended up being covered by people who'd elected to SIT there. I stood (against my better judgment) directly in front of one of the speakers. I had a good view but it was a little painful at times (the volume, not the singing or picking).

Anyway, I said all that to say this. Turns out there was an entire delegation from the Sore Fingers Summer School ( http://www.sorefingers.co.uk/ ) there with the Cap'n and Cruella at the helm. It's funny how the bluegrass and old time communities in the UK are much the same as those in the USA - you go somewhere you think is far away and expect not to see anyone you know and end up knowing bunches of people.

In the hall as we came in the g'Earls already had their merc (mercantile) set up. They are savvy business folks it seems since they had quite a nice range of offerings for sale - glitter!!! badges (Uncle Earl pins), very cool caps, and several of the individuals as well as the band as a whole had CDs for sale. And there selling them was the sweetest, friendliest guy...gee, I didn't recognize him at first since he'd shorn his long locks for a shorter style....Chris Eldredge (sp?), formerly guitarist of the Stringdusters (and still the son of the Seldom Scene's banjoist, Ben Eldredge), who's now playing with Chris Thile! He was really nice to everyone who walked up asking about the various CDs...more on Chris later! We made our way into this small, squarish room that was already heaving with people -- and more than a little hot -- and it wasn't long before the opening act came on...to my surprise I looked up to find two lovely young women (18-year-old twins to be exact) -- the Carrivick Sisters, Charlotte and Laura. I met these girls a few years back at Sore Fingers. I was impressed then yet unprepared for the way I felt when I heard them last night.....they'd matured so much (of course) and gone from two sweet girls who sang nice duets to a couple of young women who have the vocals and the chops to go a long, long way! I was particularly impressed with their harmonies and some of their original songs. They have that exquisite British humour and aren't afraid to use it! Though they list Alison Krauss as an influence it is clear that they aren't trying to sing like her and come up with a sound uniquely their own. I found myself thinking that Charlotte reminded me of a very young Emmylou Harris. Besides their original songs I particularly liked their delivery of "Wagoner's Lad." Charlotte tends to sing the lead vocals and Laura's tenor singing is not to be overlooked! And they're really hoping some festival promoters in America will hire them to play there during their July 2008 tour.

After a short break, the five g'Earls took the stage. While it seemed like there was a greater number of men in the audience (gee, wonder why?) the women were well-represented. I spied Kate Lissauer leaned up against the wall. And Nick Pilley and Claire were right there next to me. Claire actually managed to get a foot onto the dance floor (she's an excellent clogger) but alas! During the regular show she never got to deliver her goods. They opened with "I Wish I Had My Time Again," a song John Hartford often sang. I was impressed that the audience seemed quite knowledgeable about the g'Earls repertoire and certainly responsive to their selection of songs and tunes!

One of the things I noticed first is how wonderful K.C. Groves is looking. I first met her many years ago in Louisville at one of the IBMA conventions. She was over in a corner singing her heart out with my old Portsmouth New Hampshire buddy Harvey Reid, guitarist and wrestler extraordinaire. He was once a neighbor of mine and a fixture on the NH music scene. And I knew she was a good friend of my Nashville pal Matt Combs (superb fiddler and good guy). So I knew a good bit about KC when I first met her. Then I heard Uncle Earl when they debuted at IBMA maybe 3 years ago? I think it was in Nashville and I remember hearing KC and Abigail in that aggregation though some of the other faces have changed. Anyway last night KC was up on stage just GLOWING (and I got thinking, I reckon this girl is in love, LOL)...gee, she looked great wearing a nice pleated wool miniskirt and sparkly tights...but especially wearing that beguiling grin of hers. She couldn't seem to stop smiling and I might have a guess at what all that was about! (but I ain't tellin'); anyway KC seems to look much younger than she did years ago! How do you do that, g'Earlfriend?

Abigail was there of course with her banjo, looking all fluffed up (you gotta love that hair) and she had a kind of babydoll bedroom outfit on with tights; I guess that must be what folks are wearing nowadays (what do I know? I stay on a farm!) Anyway, all five girls exuded warmth and happiness all night and it was hard not to just grin from ear to ear watching them enjoy playing for us and listening to their nice, relaxed harmonies. Rayna caught my ear with her fiddling; that g'Earl ain't afraid to play it like a man, like she means it....I like an aggressive fiddler and she flat cut it on those A tunes! (sorry but I am horrible with names of tunes).

Now one of the g'Earls had confided to me that they found some of the crowds in the UK a bit, uh, disappointing in that they were sort of well, reserved....the g'Earls are used to pulsating crowds wherever they play in the USA.....the crowd picks up the g'Earls pulse and flows with it, dances, shouts and claps and carries on - lets their hair down. While I was sort of appalled at the fact that the SRO crowd was actually a SO (standing only) crowd for the most part (and we stood for 3.5 hours!!!) I think that actually worked in the g'Earls favor (and ultimately the crowd's too) because what happened is the room was so small (or the crowd that big - I'm just guessing here but I reckon there were 200 folks in there) that we were ALL just right up there close enough that we could nearly touch the girls. I was inches away from the speakers and maybe 8 feet from the mic stands. So rather than playing to a crowd that's out there in the darkness where you can't really see faces or make a personal connection the girls had the luxury of seeing about 200 Brits up close and personal. And those folks were lapping up the music like a bunch of cats around a saucer of milk.

This venue was the social hall of a Catholic church and I can't say there was a lot of ambiance, but the crowd being in such close proximity to the band and the band all jazzed up from a great tour and the prospect of heading home with a lot fewer CDs than they'd arrived with all added up to a magical evening of music and a lot of love flowing from the g'Earls to the responsive audience and back again. The g'Earls are nothing if they're not warm and down-to-earth and though I know some of them a little in real life I stood there swaying and listening and wishing that we were all just best buddies and lived real close to each other and got together to jam on a regular basis. I expect I wasn't the only one in the crowd wishing along those lines.

Now this room packed with all these warm bodies and a band that was giving it all to the music added up to a large sum that caused Rayna to say, "We'd like to thank you all for our first moment of being WARM since we've been over here...it's like a sauna." She then went on to introduce a song about drinking along the lines of "the only thing I did wrong was take that first sip of corn," a smile washing over her face as she steps to the mic and launches into a powerful fiddle break. It isn't long before Abigail holds the room in her hand as she delivers her "Warfare..." that has to earn the prize for the most powerful song of the evening, despite some stiff competition! Her voice coupled with just the drone of Rayna's fiddle as the song unfolded revealed an ethereal, ancient sound that had the audience spellbound and silent. I don't think anyone breathed for several minutes...that a capela with drone....shivers, slicing through the palpable heat of the room like a cold knife. I look around and folks are swaying, eyes closed and blissful.

As "Warfare" rolls on the folks are bobbing, weaving, the groove picks up and KC tenors her. KC is looking in an intense yet dreamy way toward the back of the room with those huge blue eyes wide and smiling some special kind of smile and I feel happy for whatever is giving her that joy. "My warfare will soon be ended and I am goin home." Without hardly a beat they spiral into a snappy fiddle tune and I find myself enjoying the spectacle of KC and Rayna playing off each other. Kristin steps up and dances one and Rayna, paying tribute to the oven-like temperature of the room says, "How's it goin' shall we start passing around the oxygen tanks?" Somehow KC notices a couple of seats in a corner and then laughs at herself saying, "that's what you get when you have a band full of women - we all want to take care of everybody."

Now I've got to tell you about this bunch of women. I've heard them a few times but never this close up and well, personal-like. There's no two ways about it. They just live and breathe the music they are playing and singing and it is CONTAGIOUS! I've been here in the UK for about six years now and I know how reserved these folks over here can be. They had these folks swingin' and swayin' and grinning like I've hardly ever seen anywhere. I am totally serious. I think the g'Earls probably changed some lives last night in a good way! And one of the things that really impressed me about them besides the great attitude, presence, singing and picking was the versatility displayed by these remarkable young women. Because I don't really know her, I'd never paid a lot of attention to Kristin, for example, but how could that be? She sings like I can only dream about, she picks several instruments well, and she's just cool - great stage patter and so forth. The only g'Earl I didn't get a lot of a sense of was the bass player who is quite new to the band and stands in the back a good bit of the time -- but don't get me wrong, she is a lovely lady and holds down the job well and does her bit, too....

It was cool to hear Kristin take a break on the harmonica. Gee, I can't think when I've even heard a woman play harp onstage but it certainly has been a good long while! They do "High Up in the Mountains," and Rayna confides, "A lot of people call us a bluegrass band but we actually play Appalachain old time string band music." While Kristin mostly plays guitar in the band (and does a good share of the lead singing) she picks up a fiddle to twin with Rayna on "Sugar Babe" and sings lead as Abigail tenors her and at some point KC jumps in on high baritone. The audience is captivated and enthusiastic and if you could package the way they're all looking you'd make a fortune. It's that good.

Along comes another A tune and Kristin, quick change artist has flown over to get the banjo uke. Somewhere along the way it's break time (there's a big joke about calling the break an "interval" and interval seems to be the vocabulary word for the evening). The g'Earls tell the audience that we're in for a treat as some of their friends will now take the stage and play some more tunes. Keeping with the Interval Theme they introduce this aggregation (not a proper band) as "The Interval Band". Thankfully a few folks in the room who have not yet completely succumbed to the heat have the wits to open a few windows and there is, literally, a wave of fresh air that washes over the room. Now Chris Eldredge and his guitar step onstage and Mark Richards (from western North Carolina and also the excellent soundman for the evening) comes along with his banjo and then the MC introduces the bloke with the mandolin who's popped up for the show....none other than the producer of the g'Earls latest CD, John Paul Jones (JPJ)! Lots of the folks who were undoubtedly planning to step outside and catch some fresh air remain glued to their spots as these men ease into Cumberland Gap...you can't help but love it. Chris, after paying tribute to Jimmy Martin, sings, "Don't fall in love with me darlin', I'm a rambler," gosh he's a cutie! How could you NOT fall in love with him whatever the consequences? Oops, it's along about this time that JPJ is introduced and a buzz spreads across the crowd like brushfire. Now all this time the g'Earls have been acting like some starstruck groupies all huddled around various corners of the stage listening to The Interval Band with zeal and glee but it must have been on the first song that the big omnidirectional silver mic that Mark was singing Cumberland Gap into decides to flop down, comical really. Well, young Abigail flies onstage (it isn't a very high platform, mind!) like some graceful ballerina in her little tights and crouches there at Mark's feet holdin the boom stand with the mic on the end up like the Statue of Liberty. Comical, really. At some point KC I think it is hops onstage with a magic piece of duct tape and deftly places it so it easily holds the mic in place.

KC comes up to sing Rocky Island with Mark and it is a powerful thing. Just watching the expressions of those four onstage singing and picking together...well worth that arduous drive!

Soon the Interval Band has finished and the g'Earls step back up to give us another unforgettable set of beautiful songs and hard-driving tunes. Chris and JPJ join them as they do that song about Bonaparte that's on the Waterloo Tennessee CD (sorry I don't have it and the name escapes me) -- very cool song. The g'Earls start off with this shape note sort of intro to the song and it has moss growing on it, I swear. I like songs like this. Kristin steps forward and sings with just Chris backing her up on guitar then gradually she is joined by the others - we hold our collective breath as the song and the story unfold. The audience sit firmly in the palm of the g'Earls hands.

"It sure is fun to have those boys around. They sure make some pretty noises," the g'Earls share. They do the DMP Blues and get the audience to join in and sing along. This is always a good way to connect with an audience, though of course that has been accomplished many many songs before. KC was kind enough to dedicate this song to me (thanks KC!) saying we'd met at Grey Fox a couple of years back (well, that was one of the times) and even mentioned this blog!

Somewhere along there they did "John Brown's Dream," one of my very favorite tunes, and they did a proper job of it too. If there HAD been a dance floor free I feel certain I would have been on it for that tune, camera or no! This song was gifted with twin fiddles (Rayna and Kristin again) and a funky banjo rockin' kind of rhythm. If you don't know what I'm talkin' about, then 1) go to one of the g'Earls shows in a place near you or 2) get yourself down into the woods at Clifftop WV (Appalachian Stringband Music Festival in August) next summer. They'll be there.

They do a Charlie Poole song which KC introduces and Rayna picks up a guitar to sing, "Goodbye Booze," these guys have been on tour for two months. Only the young. It's a slow and mournful song to be sure and four of them sing on the chorus. I love KC's tasteful and melodious guitar break. Kristin steps in with the harmonica and afterward she says, "I like to see an audience sway together," (this was a dreamy kind of song). Next comes "Crayola" which is really neat and different I think - a sort of patty-cake patty-cake slip slap song with Rayna and Kristin slapping hands and Kristin doing this raptalky thing. JPJ is invited back to join on "Canary in a Coal Mine." After all this time they finally introduce this new bass player; she's Laura Cortesi and every bit as lovely as the other g'Earls. Because this club is in a residential area it's a hard and fast rule that it must be quiet by 11:00 pm, so the g'Earls regretfully announce their last song "Doctor Doctor" (I glance down at the foot of the mic and see their set list...they'd planned to do another 5 songs but are obliged to cut it short). It is clear that they are very sorry they have to cut things short. They dedicated the song to Darren Crisp their road manager (there were quite a lot of funny road stories shared during the course of the evening). As the song draws to a close, they leave the stage but the audience will have none of that and there's no stopping the calls and applause until they are all back onstage and in place to do another song.

Rayna endears herself to one and all as she impishly tells the crowd, "You could've been really quiet and polite all evening but instead you weren't! You're you and we love you. We're so glad you're our last tour stop." KC goes on to say, "I'm so sorry you had to stand and it's hot but the energy in this room is contagious and it's such a great way to end a tour....so thanks!!" KC then sings a song "Now is the hour for you and I to part..." so sweet and delicate, airy, lilting...it's a slow waltz and JPJ is up there picking mandolin with them, Kristin playing the harp softly. Again they bow and grin and make for the exit and actually go out and as they say later "had the van half packed with our stuff" and it seems like though some of us are shouting and calling and clapping louder than ever that they really won't come back; there are too few keeping up the love now, maybe it's the late hour. But somehow we gain momentum and begin to join into a very loud and rhythmic clapping and they all come back once more! There's a huddle onstage as nobody is quite sure which song or tune to do but Rayna dictates that it must be a "D" tune and so they decide on Ida Red and bring the night to a close with that great old tune. Now Claire has been standing near me all night wiggling around sort of dancing quietly in place and the g'Earls actually invite anyone who wants to dance to come onstage (did I say that Kristin danced one earlier and she's a mighty fine dancer too?) so up goes Claire -- at last -- and I don't know if she had any idea what she was in for because they played that tune a LONG time! But she held on and represented the British people very well indeed and at some point Kristin put aside her instrument and joined her for twin dancing. Great stuff.

It seemed like it took forever for the room to empty out. All around me the folks were radiating (glowing!) joy, quite different from the vibe I was getting on the way in! There's no doubt in my mind that if the g'Earls return to the UK they aren't going to fit in a room that size again! The merc table was doing a brisk trade and after awhile the band drifted back in and began to sign autographs. I had the chance to say hello to them from their buddy Jim Nelson and they all grinned when they heard his name. Tam and I headed out into the night. We were starving but all those Fish n' Chips and takeaways were closed tight so we shared a clementine and talked all the way home. Back up over the Gospel Pass, still shrouded in fog, maybe worse than earlier (if possible!)...at one point I was certain we would drift off the road and crash over the bluff. Suddenly the figures of two horses loomed large in the murky light and we stopped just inches short of them. They weren't in any hurry to cross the road and seemed right at home with automobiles. We slid down the hill to home (Tam's) then I drove another hour to get to my place (going through fog so thick I was sure I'd never make it home....) All I can say is what seemed at first to be ridiculous (an entire roomful of folks obliged to stand up all night to hear the show) most likely made the night especially memorable, intimate, connected, and well, just wonderful. The heat and close proximity brought us all closer together for a night that we're all sure to cherish.

Let it Snow! Let it Snow!

2007-11-18T14:50:00.000Z

I am SO happy today. What started out as a typically wet Welsh wintery kind of day has taken a marked turn for the better....a couple of hours ago it started snowing...and snowing. Don't think I've seen snow make an appearance here this early in the year before (mind I've only been coming here since 2001). Most of you have seen snow before so I don't guess I need to wax on about it too much, but the first snow always seems so special to me. And over here in Wales snow isn't a very common occurrence anyway. We must have an inch of snow already covering the quad bike, the laurels, the big fieldstone wall, the hedges...and it seems to be sticking. It's that lovely wet snow that can disappear in the blink of an eye. But since it's nearly dark already I'm hoping it'll stick around until the morning anyway.

Maybe I'll get out and take some photos just now. I'm smiling so much it hurts.

So of course I did go and snap just a few. It was only 3 pm but already getting pretty dark. Actually it never got very light at all today! Here's the old farmhouse where Uncle Pip lives. I went in to visit with him and he was watching the football -- as usual -- and we caught up on local news. He doesn't miss much!

Xmas Dinner, Fox and Stuff

2007-11-17T16:36:00.001Z

One thing I love to see in the countryside are foxes and today I saw a few. This one was trotting by about a field away. He heard us talking about him and stopped for a couple of split seconds and stared at us. Then he trotted over to that fence in the background and leapt through it -- somehow...those holes don't hardly seem big enough for a nice healthy fox like that. He's still out there running around somewhere.

Up on the other side of the hill were about 50 horses. After a nice meet this morning with maybe 100 foot followers, plenty of food and delicious beverages, the huntsman and masters had the horses and hounds out for some much-needed exercise. Though I missed it (always in the wrong place) I heard that the mounted field had a good time going over a bunch of jumps over on the Jones's farm. Me? I got to see this fox and another and got to ride and walk around some beautiful countryside in the most incredible light (it looked like the sky was going to bust open just any second). At one point a horse and rider parted company and we saw the big chestnut kick up his heels and run free for a few moments while the rider, tail between his legs, sheepishly tried to catch his naughty horse. But horses like to be around other horses and they never run off far. Soon horse and rider were reunited and other than maybe a wounded ego no harm done!
Later I was driving by another Jones farm. They're known around here for serving up some mighty fine birds for Christmas dinner...they're looking mighty tasty, no? Several neighbors were gathered there on the roadside gazing up at the hill watching the horses and hounds as they leisurely made their way across having had about enough exercise for one late fall day. These are good times; this is how you keep up with local news, enjoy some fresh air and spend time in the company of pleasant people!

Later I attended the 40th birthday party for a nice woman named Mary in a nearby village. There was a fabulous band from Cardiff playing at the party - a mixture of Celtic and klezmer music, very rhythmic indeed - they were called The Bucket Band. Check 'em out. And still later I stopped up at my favorite local pub where predictably a few folks were passing the evening away chatting about this and that, downing pints of bitter and laughing about old times. There was a lovely fire in the hearth and a rosy glow in more than a few cheeks; if those old oak pub tables could talk!

On Friday I traveled maybe 20 miles from "home" to follow a different hunt as they enjoyed a day of exercise on the hills. This was a special day for the huntsman, his 60th birthday. He's been with that hunt for many many seasons and is clearly loved and respected by his peers and hunt followers alike. Several other huntsmen honored him by riding or foot following all day on some of the loveliest country around! And the hospitality at that particular meet was unparalleled. After a day out in the fresh air on some of the highest points around, I stopped home for a bit then headed out to the huntsman's 60th birthday party in a nearby town. There must have been 150 people or more at the "do" and we had a night of "disco" (any kind of music really, played by a DJ and too LOUD), pig baps (big soft rolls full of roast pork), dressing, roast potatoes, and in these parts people put their applesauce right ON their sandwich...just because most folks speak English in these parts doesn't mean they're just the same! I remember how shocked I was to see someone put applesauce on a pork sandwich but try it sometime, it's actually good!

When I left the party sometime around 2 am, the huntsman was still leaning up against the bar but it didn't seem like his eyes were focusing too well! More than a few of his cohorts seemed in much the same condition. But in this country folks are generally pretty careful to either hire a taxi or have a friend along as the designated driver. In this country the drink driving laws are very strict indeed. And when you're out in the country losing your license pretty much puts you out of business...there's precious little public transport available.

But I digress...anyway, it was a fine weekend of horses and hounds, friends, parties, music...and snow!

Cowfrontation!

2007-11-15T14:33:00.000Z

This morning was a beauty. Woke early to see the world outside all clothed in white; not snow, but a heavy frost. It didn't linger too long, but I did manage to grit my teeth and step outside with my Nikon and catch a few shots before the bright sun washed away the lacy frost.

It was so lovely and crunchy outside that I couldn't resist a stroll down the fields and then the lanes with my camera. I was kind of lazy so only took along my 17-55mm; I don't like that lens as well as the 70-200, but it's a lot lighter!

On the way back to the bungalow to cook some lunch, I had a cowfrontation with a redhead...heifer that is. I was going up a nice lane on the farm between a couple of tall hedges and I could hear about 20 cattle on the other side of the hedge charging along in step with me...they are curious creatures. When I got to a gate, I went over to have a look, and this is what I found! She actually licked my hand though it took a couple of minutes' patience to win her trust. Like most redheads she was bolder than the rest of the herd!

Hounds!

2007-11-13T18:24:00.000Z

Another day with the hounds...it was a bit of a dull day, really, but I couldn't resist sharing this shot of a magnificent hound. Hope if I ever come back as a hound I look as fit as this one. Love the way their ears flop up when they run, and of course the tongue hangs out...what superb creatures these fox hounds are. They are always out exercising...I should learn from them.

Seriously, after seeing this hound I was inspired to get some exercise myself so I drove on up the road, parked near the entrance to a lovely public footpath (they are EVERYWHERE here in Wales) and made my way up the track. In fact as I parked I saw two riders fumbling with the broken gate just ahead so I went and acted neighborly and opened it for them, then shut it behind me so none of the sheep and cattle would escape down the lane.

I seemed to be in the wrong place most of the morning, but that isn't necessarily a bad thing. In fact, I got to chat with a whole bunch of (mostly) retired folks who were also in the wrong place and we had a big time. And I got to visit with a couple of lovely young ladies who seemed to enjoy having their pictures made whilst sitting on a nice old gate (won't share those pics because they say there are strange people out there and I didn't ask permission to put these photos on the internet, though they are sweet)...

Later I decided to head down the hills into a nearby town and visited my dear friend who has an antiquarian book bindery there...we ducked into the pub next door and sat in a couple of great old armchairs in the window looking out over the old town and enjoying a two hour natter over hot chocolate and coffee. Yum! Life is good.

In case you're wondering, I didn't take the photo of the sheep today; it's from a couple of years back; no snow on the ground yet! The sheep are marked so that if they get out (or if they're kept on a "common" mixed in with other farmers' sheep) they can be returned to their rightful owners. Local farmers know each others' marks. There are other things the various colors on their backs may indicate, but I can't tell you that since some of you may be underage!

More Horses, Hounds...and a Double Rainbow

2007-11-11T16:23:00.000Z

This time of year is a busy one for me. Besides keeping up with things around the house and trying to undo the damage done by six months of neglect in my flower beds I'm out following the local hunts as they exercise their hounds and snapping photos of just about anything I like, which is a lot.

Sunday mornings I usually take a walk with the girls who live across the farm (ages 10 and 12) and in past years we had hound puppies to take along with us, but this year it seems I won't be able to keep any pups because of construction on the farm. Darn it! It's my favorite thing about being here, I think, though I probably have about a million favorite things here come to think of it.

This afternoon my friend Kmo and I went out driving around some of the little lanes within 20 miles of the farm and we visited several of the beautiful old churches that are located out in the countryside. On the way back we happened to be driving from Llandrindod Wells up over a big hill called Rogo (probably not spelled that way!!) and over to Hundred House, then along that road that leads back to the A-44. Well, just as we started up onto the Rogo we spied the most vibrant rainbow (well, to me -- the folks over here don't seem to think much at all about rainbows!) and I asked to pull over. I got my camera out and began snapping away at the rainbow, the stone walls, the beautiful trees and oh yeah, the sheep. It began to rain, of course, and my lens got really wet so don't know how the photos will turn out, but it wasn't long before there were TWO rainbows fairly close to each other. I tried to get both ends of the rainbow into the picture, but my wide angle wasn't wide enough, sadly, so I had to just try to be creative with one end at a time. Guess I got soaked, too, but I never pay much attention to that!

My little 10-year-old friend K. and I had a nice walk this morning through the two small woods on the farm. The walks are fun not only for what we see and hear and smell but maybe especially for all the things we talk about and share. You may remember that I wrote about these woods a few months back...the girls and I always took the hounds there for walks. Each girl has a "fort"; L's fort is "Leaping Hound Lodge" and it was once a pheasant pen. K's fort is called "Hound Haven" and it is a lovely place with lots of laurels and other trees - such as K's "Koala Tree." We will probably always take walks to these forts but it sure is sad and lonesome without some hounds along to keep things interesting.

The Thrill of the Countryside, The Company of Friends

2007-11-09T11:27:00.000Z

Here are just a few more photos I wanted to share from the last three days I followed local hunts as they exercised their hounds.

This is Cabalva, a home on the River Wye not far from Hay-on-Wye (another wonderful place to visit) and site of one the opening meet for a local hunt. The view across the Wye is spectacular.

Later in the day I spied some friends enjoying the stone walls and the splendid views of this border (as in Welsh-English border) country.

My buddy Phil enjoys a day out on his new steed Louis. And (for Americans) the young gentleman who looks like a lord surveying his manor may be to the manor born, but not to this manor; he sports a top hat which is a fairly unusual sight in these parts; very "old school."

Some folks still like to to follow the hunt on foot and that is the best way of all. I love it, too, but I admit my cameras get a bit cumbersome and I usually choose the easy way -- following in a 4WD vehicle at least part of the day. It provides a nice respite from the wind. Here Ted makes his way up yet another hillside among the reeds.

The Lovely Elan Valley

2007-11-09T11:06:00.000Z

Last Sunday a friend and I went over to the Elan Valley, one of the "local" tourist traps I suppose, but really a lovely place, especially this time of year when the fall colors add interest to the eye and when there aren't so many cars driving around those narrow roads. It's a lovely spot and one where I enjoy doing some hiking as well. There wasn't time for a hike, but ample time for photos. So here are a few of mine and visit http://www.kmo.smugmug.com/ for others (see the Mid Wales section) taken by my friend kmo.

Folks used to get around a lot more slowly than we do these days, so these kinds of roadside markers can be found here and there. Yep, they look like tombstones, and they've stood the test of time. This one informs the traveler that it's 29 miles to Aberystwyth, a coastal Welsh city which is also well worth a visit. God only knows how long it would have taken a traveler 100 years ago to reach Aberystwyth, but it would have been an arduous road over mountains to be sure. What a welcome sight that must have been to see the city glittering by the seaside. There are still many Victorian buildings lining the beach there.

A little further up the road we came to the dams. There are four dams in the Elan Valley, including the relatively recent Claerwen Dam (which we didn't get to visit on Sunday). The two I've photographed were built around 1900, I think. There were so many workers involved (many of whom died for the cause) that Elan Village was created and can still be visited today (sorry, didn't get any photos of that either). Like with so many reservoirs, farms and churches and settlements were flooded in the name of progress (namely, a water supply for distant Birmingham). So here's a few of my photos from the nice afternoon.

Nearby is the charming village of Rhayader, complete with several pubs and inns, B&Bs, village shops and a nice war memorial clock tower in the middle of it all.

Next time you're out this way be sure to pay a visit to the Elan Valley. And if you have some extra time you can take the road out of Elan Valley toward Abergwesyn, another lovely drive.

My Secret Garden

2007-11-09T10:35:00.000Z

Three or four years ago I managed to spend the summer here in Wales. It was a beautiful summer; folks said the nicest they'd had in years. Lucky me. A year or so before in 2002 I'd managed to clear the area in front of the old farmhouse here -- by hard work and tenacity...nobody had used that space for some 30 years. The briars and brambles and scrub trees had devoured the area (maybe about an acre) until it was nearly impenetrable. Then along comes MaryE. At the time I didn't know many folks around here and I wasn't into following the hunts so I had some time on my hands. So I took up the pruners and the secateurs (?? little hand pruners) and went at that jungle-ish mass of vegetation with a vengeance. This was about in February. I thought of it as my secret garden (still a favorite book) and with that end in mind I worked hard to fulfill a dream. Spring came and with it all the surprises that pop up in a secret garden....snowdrops by the thousands, hyacinths, and my appetite was whetted. They came in after I'd done the dirty work with a JCB (a digger) and took down some unwanted trees that had grown in there over the years of utter neglect...these trees were far beyond the scope of my pruners! I had used a hand saw to take down some things, but this was aggressive gardening at its finest.

When I came back that fall there was still plenty to be done. I got one of those stiff-teethed rakes and began raking what still was really a woods (in front of the house) A big yew tree, probably at least hundreds of years old, stood in front of the house and obscured a lot of what could be a beautiful view. Some of the lower branches were cut off to open the view. Next the hedges were uncovered and trimmed and encouraged to grow (nettles seem to grow best of all in these parts!) Besides wanting a secret garden and having loads of time on my hands and needing a project (other than the book I was supposed to be writing!) was my desire to make the outside world a little closer for an 80-year-old man who lives alone in that big farmhouse. He can't get around much and it just seemed like it would be nice for him to look out the window from his chair and actually see the beautiful hills not so far away.

Now this former "garden" hadn't been tended for about 30 years, as I said, but there were treasures. There were several sturdy rhubarb plants and a couple of nice old hedges that just needed a little help and encouragement. There were some nice bushes, too, and some other plants to be saved. So I hacked and cut away and dragged off the rubbish and burned it. This is about a 300 acre farm, and there always had to be a place to throw trash. In the not-so-distant past there was no such thing as rubbish collection, so people just had a trash heap and eventually some of it broke down, leaving behind the metal bits and glass. Well, this farm's trash heap was in my garden and over the years the glass had spread far and wide. I'm still picking up bits of glass and broken bottles and shards of pottery, rusty nails, bits of barbed wire and hobnailed shoe soles.

So I picked up by hand several 55 gallon drums full of broken glass! The more I picked up the more I found. I burned more rubbish and branches. I picked up more glass. I found a few things that hadn't been broken and they now stand on a shelf in the kitchen, nice old green and blue bottles, some with glass stoppers. I took that metal rake and raked and raked, got up so much trash and branches. And still when it rained (which is does a bit most days here) more glass rose to the surface. Whenever I walked across the garden I always carried something to place the glass in, and felt like walking there was a good workout as I stooped and bent so many times each trip across. It always took me one step closer to the garden of my dreams!

As Pip was able to see out of his window I thought how nice it would be to put a couple of bird feeders there. He's a bit of a curmudgeon and wouldn't admit any interest at all in birds, but nevertheless, I got some feeders and a suet ball and hung there where he could see them if he changed his mind. He also isn't quick to part with money, so I was surprised when he started asking me to pick up some sunflower seeds and suet balls for his birds when I next went to the village! Soon he began telling me of woodpeckers and blue tits and a variety of birds he'd spied there near his windowsill. And there was even a little smile on that old face.

Things progressed in the garden and it began to take shape. I wish I'd kept a log of what I did when, but I began to dig flower beds there, one in front os his window, and one just on the other side of the low hedge, still in his sight from the chair in front of the television. Just behind the new bed is an old apple tree, then a couple of other apple trees, a taller hedge, a field filled (at that time) with sheep (now cattle) and still within easy view a lovely big hill and behind that a ridge of hills.

So I got to spend a summer here in 2003, I think. I decided that over to the left of his view I'd plant a real garden. When I lived in Nashville I'd had a huge garden and with all this space I decided to do it here, too. 'Course the type of things that will grow here are pretty different from the climate in Tennessee, so I had to ask around and see what would be best to grow. A friend came over and helped me lay out the rows and plant the seeds. I put in lots of lettuce and onions, carrots, beets, green beans, and other sort of green leafy vegetables and lots of potatoes. There was still a huge space to fill so in went all kinds of flower seeds. Maybe a quarter of the garden I planted in wildflowers, really my favorite and the results were pretty incredible. Mind, the land hadn't been used in 30 years so it was pretty fertile. So I said all that to say this: here's a photo of what my first garden turned out like. Pretty nice, huh?

Sadly I only spent one summer here, so the garden has gone into some decline, but now the part in front of his window is mostly covered with grass (though still there are many apple trees, bushes, roses, and some perennial beds) which is kept mowed. The hedge is growing well and is kept neatly trimmed. And the cattle graze the field beyond in the shadow of the hills. The birds still feed at the window and it's a lot nicer for a little bit of work.

This photo is just the view out my kitchen window. It inspires me to cook! The weeds have just about taken over the place once again, but I've got the gloves and the pruners ready for some serious work these next days!

The Lord IS My Shepherd

2007-11-08T22:09:00.000Z

Now when you're in a place like Wales you get to thinking a lot about sheep and shepherds. These days most shepherds don't live the kind of treacherous and tedious lives they once did (not so many years ago!) but it can still be a lonely kind of occupation, and certainly a cold and wet kind of job much of the year. I'm not sure if the sheep care, really....but for an outsider like me I still think a herd of sheep can be a lovely sight.

I made this photo several years ago when I awoke to find the land under the enchantment of a serious hoarfrost. I pulled on my boots and all the warm clothes I could find and walked up and up and up the lane until I got about as high as I could get around here. Stopped for a breather and spied these sheep huddled up together feeding. It was a lovely sight on a perfect, crispy morning.

The photo on the right is that of a fantastic stained glass window that can be seen in the Elan Valley at the church there by the dam, Nantgwyllt. It's well worth a visit.

Hopefully this winter will bring another hoarfrost; we haven't had one in three years or so. All the branches and grasses and hedges and fences and, well, everything, are painted in a layer of white ice crystals.

When I'm out following the hunt, you might think that sights like this could become dull but in six years I've never found anything but delight in the sight of sheep grazing a hillside with a patchwork of hills and fields, hedges and fern, trees and gorse, as a backdrop.

A Fox on the Run

2007-11-08T22:05:00.000Z

I took this picture many years ago when I first started coming to Wales. I was standing by the roadside talking with a group of friends and just happened to have my little point-and-shoot Nikon in my hands. As we looked over at this green field, up popped a fox and wasn't he running. It was a truly beautiful sight and I reckon he may be out there running yet.

Who says a fox on the run ain't a beauteous thing? He was a dandy to be sure.

Hound Exercise

2007-11-08T21:51:00.000Z

Even hounds need exercise, so about three times a week I join a bunch of friends to ensure that the hounds around here stay fit. Some of us go on horseback, some on foot, and some in 4wd vehicles. Never mind, we have a good time, see some of the prettiest countryside imaginable, see the local flora and fauna, swap tales with the oldtimers over tea and sandwiches, get some fresh air and get to listen to hounds be hounds. You can't beat it, really.

Here's some photos I've snapped this week while out with the English and Welsh fox hounds and their various guardians.

At the end of the day the boys and girls were too tired to walk anymore, so we rounded them up and put them in the back of the Land Rover. Before long they were back in the kennels, fed and watered and bedded down for the night.

Meanwhile, we stood around for awhile at some crossroads of two desolate country lanes and enjoyed talking about the hounds, the weather, and the local news.

The Green Fields of Wales

2007-11-08T10:42:00.000Z

Sorry for the long break in blogging; been pretty busy moving about from Illinois to upstate New York (nearly 1000 mile drive), then down to New York City where I packed my bags and had a fun visit to B&H Photo (adult version of a toy store - full of all kinds of photography and video equipment). A week ago I boarded at plane at JFK and several hours later found myself walking through London Heathrow. A few more hours and I was snuggled into my bed here in rural Wales twitching as I dreamed of following the hounds on exercise across the beautiful wild moors of Wales.

Now this is my second try at writing this post since I'd written a long post just moments ago which disappeared thanks to an internet glitch (might have something to do with the high winds outside). I can't hope to recreate it since I'm not blessed with a memory these days. But as I look at the big kitchen windows I see lovely oak trees wiggling in the wind and hear songbirds calling to each other. The hedges all around the lanes and fields are tidily trimmed and there are still loads of roses on the bushes in the garden. Everything is blown just about flat to the ground but I still find myself wanting to be outside rather than here in the kitchen where I'm tending to roast pork with homemade gravy, roast potatoes, carrots (caramelized with butter and brown sugar), green beans with lemon and other such things. Lunch is the big meal here on the farm and while I love it I don't get out there and set fence posts and lug around bales of hay or throw around sheep. Seems like I get fat just looking at this food (and I'll admit I don't have the willpower to keep from eating it!)

Since I've been back I've already been out following the hound exercise/drag hunting three times (I go at least three times a week!), meeting old friends and new up on some of the most remote and beautiful hilltops in these parts. I've been walking across lovely moorland toting my two large and heavy cameras (each weighs about 7 pounds, I'll soon be a hunchback), attempting to climb over sheepfencing topped with barbed wire (and always catching my trousers...one day I nearly ripped them off) and panting as if my lungs would explode. I love it all.

Now that I'm back where I have a pretty good internet connection (with the exception of windy days like today when it's apt to cut out at any moment) I'll start adding photos to these very long and dense blobs of text I tend to ramble on about....(sorry about that) and perhaps it'll be a bit more interesting for you to view.

Looks like this year I won't be able to walk (raise) any hound pups. It's not that I can't get any. It's just that the big old barn where I always keep them (with an inside stable for those cold, wet nights and a cobblestoned outside fenced area for them to enjoy the outdoors with free access to the big garden) badly needs work on the roof. The roof is all slates and I'm afraid all the beams will need replacing as well, so this isn't a small job. To top it off, it has to be done between all the other jobs one does on a farm every day. So looks like the thing I love most about being in Wales is going to be something I can't do this year. Of course I am very sad about it (and you all won't get to see all the cute pup photos this year) but there's nothing to be done about it. Keep your toes crossed that I'm wrong and they get the roof fixed soon so I can have those pups.

The Wall That Heals

2007-10-15T04:22:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I went to Chillicothe, Illinois with my friend Judy to check on her cottage on the Illinois River and to help her with some gardening. We arrived mid-afternoon, a beautiful fall day, and as we pulled up we were wondering what all the cars were doing in the nearby park. Soon we learned that a very special thing indeed was going on right there in that sleepy little town...the traveling Vietnam Veterans Memorial was set up there for four days and folks were coming from far and wide to see "The Wall that Heals" and pay their respects to the memories of all those men and women who died in Vietnam.

I never knew anyone who died in Vietnam. But probably we all know someone who lost a loved one there. When we learned that the wall was illuminated at night so we could go there anytime during the evening, we elected to go on with our gardening, enjoy a Mexican dinner at Tequila's, and then stroll over in the darkness to give the memorial the time and attention it merited.

There were several illuminated displays to see, and a helicopter that was used in Vietnam, and lots of human interest stories about specific folks who died in Vietnam. We took our time reading every word, all in utter silence. Now those of you who know me are thinking, "wow, I can't imagine MaryE being still for an hour"...but our silence lasted throughout our visit and even on the walk back to the cottage. The deep silence felt like some sombre, heavy cloak that engulfed us in the night as we made our way around the exhibits and finally to the wall.

Earlier Judy told me about visiting the "original" wall in Washington DC, what a powerful and unforgettable expereience it was to follow that wall, looking at all the names, as it made its descent down into the very ground, and how strange that all felt. In Chillicothe, though, the replica wall was above ground and about spanned 123 feet on each of two matching sides, each side starting low and rising to a height of about 5 feet in the middle. A row of American flags stood guard, illuminated by spotlights, at the low end of each side. It was maybe 10 pm when we walked over to the wall and just a few folks, mostly over 50 years old, folks who would at least recall the Vietnam Years, were quietly making their way through the cool night air. Everyone seemed to be in a sort of prayerful mood and I'll say that I can't really describe how all this felt inside me but if I had to choose a couple of words they might be "powerful" and "haunting." I felt a tremendous sense of personal loss. I can't even imagine how someone who lost a loved one in Vietnam might feel at meeting this wall in the cool of an autumn night in a sweet little town in Illinois. There were memorials placed along the 246 foot span of the wall, caring letters written by children, single roses, carnations, little momentos. I found myself thinking on all the tears that had been shed in the shadow of this wall and all the prayers that had gone up for family, friends and strangers alike.

I remember thinking how it would be a Good Thing if everyone in America could step out of their own little lives for a few minutes and be quiet and come to this wall and read and listen and weep for the lives that were lost in this war and in all wars. I felt like my life was enriched by taking a little time to see and experience this memorial wall and by reflecting on its impact and meaning. And I thought how it could have been my brother or my father or my cousin's name up on that wall -- and how all those names - some 58,000 in all - were indeed someone's loved ones, lost forever. How 58 thousand names were neatly inscribed on this long wall yet imagining the even greater impact of seeing 58,000 caskets with American flags on them all lined up in a row stretching out for miles, each with its own honor guard, each representing a life lost to war. And in the tent presided over by a veteran of I presume WWII, a book showing thousands of folks who were also victims of the Vietnam War, those who suffered through Agent Orange-induced cancer and horrible depression or alcoholism...the unseen victims whose names never made that shiny wall...soldiers who succumbed to the fallout of war. And still they die.

Years ago when I lived in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, I had a really cool neighbor named Bertha who was way up in her 90s (95 last I knew) and she'd had one child, a son named Joe Jr. and he'd been killed in Vietnam and whenever she told about that she'd still tear up, even though it was nearly 40 years after he'd died....and it was only a couple of years after Joe Jr. was killed that her husband Joe had died, leaving her alone in a nice little house on a nice little street. And there she'd lived on her own some 35 years, still going to her beloved Baptist church every Sunday and sometimes during the week. On the walls of her living room among beautifully cared for antiques were newspaper articles about the day Joe died and photographs of her husband and Joe Jr., memorial walls of her own making standing guard over her own lost loves.

So when I walked into the tent there at the Memorial and saw an alphabetical listing of all those men and women who died in Vietnam, I went ahead and looked up Joe Jr. and found which line and section he was listed on and I went there in the darkness and read his name among so many others, illuminated by the spotlight, and I bowed my head and I said a prayer for Joe and all those other folks I'll never have a chance to know.

I'm dead against this war we're fighting and the reasons it's being fought but I join so many other folks around the world in hoping our troops will come home soon and safely because it's never the foot soldiers who think up these horrible wars and so many of them, like the folks who fought in Vietnam, did not go there by choice, and they have left behind loved ones who worry about them every moment of every day.

My own brother enlisted in the Marine Corps during the Vietnam war. Though he's nine years older than me I looked up to him like nobody else in the world and it broke my heart while he was away serving his country. He was one of the lucky ones; he got stationed in Hawaii, not Vietnam, but still I worried like some newlywed for his safety and I wrote him long letters two or three times a week and he was constantly in my thoughts though most young teens were dreaming about boys and being kissed...how good it was when he returned alive and whole, unlike so many of the folks who went to Vietnam whose names stand on the wall and those going to the middle east who may never have a Memorial Wall built in their honor.

If you have a chance to go to Washington DC or to see this traveling "Wall that Heals" take the time to go honor these fallen soldiers and the ones who live with the painful memories of what happened across the world so many years ago. You'll be glad you did. It's a powerful thing that, though I used plenty of them, I just can't seem to put into the right words. Sad and disturbing. Salute.

Hectic..IBMA, Wales and stuff

2007-10-15T04:16:00.000+01:00

Things have been so hectic in recent weeks it's hard to get two words together to write on the blog. I suppose that's a good thing. Also, my internet connection is poor at the moment so no photographs (but I'll try to add them later on when my connection is better).

Some folks over there on the bluegrass bulletin board, BGRASS-L, are saying that attendance was down this year at the International Bluegrass Music Association's annual trade show and fan fest. I dunno. All I know is it all ran smoothly, I heard a lot of great music, had a wonderful time, saw friends from several countries around the world (including Japan, Australia, Switzerland, the UK, and others) and....well, I just couldn't have enjoyed it more than I did.

Some crazy things happened and I'll try to write about them later on this week. But for now suffice it to say that if you were at IBMA and didn't hear a lot of great music or meet some good folks then it was simply your own fault.

At the moment I'm in Illinois enjoying the fine fall weather, doing some gardening, getting together ideas for my bluegrass photography book for the University of Illinois Press, and keeping my fingers crossed that I'll soon be back over in Wales among my friends there, raising fox hound pups, riding in an English saddle, having a pint at the local pub, and enjoying the nice wet weather that is always to be expected during winter in Wales.

An IBMA Moment - October 2007

2007-10-10T05:47:00.000+01:00

So don't give up hope, folks, I've heard a bunch of the True Bluegrass and a good bit of good old time music here at IBMA this year. I reckon folks are still seeking to hear something "real" with some melody to it.

Last night around 3 am I saw a bit of a crowd gathering outside the main door to the Renaissance and stepped out there to find Dave Evans holding court there on a park bench seated next to Booey Beach (now just a shadow of his former self) and singing some of his fans' favorite songs. This was after walking down on 5th Avenue to say goodbye to my Paisley-Lundy-Eldreth buddies. Adam Poindexter plunked himself right down there, too, and we all enjoyed a bunch of songs from the powerful Evans.

It was a beautiful early fall evening in Nashville and a crowd soon gathered to drink in the beautiful soulful songs of Evans. Around about 4 am he decided it was time to go home so I slid off to catch a few hours' sleep.

Now my pals up in the California Bluegrass Association's suite are gearing up for a big post-awards show crowd somewhere around about 1 am, and I think I'll go up there and see if we can pick a few while it's still quiet. I'll try to keep you posted if I can, but a few folks have already come along to this free computer in the 3rd floor lounge sort of getting a little testy because i'm standing here writing so much, so I may have to let them have a go.

Really, though, don't knock IBMA in Nashville...I think this is the best place for it to be.

IBMA - the Place to Be! -- October 4, 2007

2007-10-10T05:44:00.000+01:00

Whether you like Nashville or not (how can you dislike Nashville, anyway?) this is the place to be this week of the year and I'm sure glad I'm here. Though I'm playing a couple of songs here on Saturday during FanFest, I'm proud to be an IBMA volunteer. I can't say how many thousands of bluegrass folks are here at the Renaissance Center this week but let me tell you it's just about everyone you can think of in bluegrass music today.

Right now 90% of them seem to be off at the Awards Show at Opryland but I'm one of the few who elected to stay behind at the hotel and man the fort. Several semi-quiet jams have sprung up on various floors and lounges around the hotel, but around 1 am tonight things are going to be chaotic around here as the winners (and losers) return to the fold.

But let me tell you a few things about what's been happening here in Nashville from my perspective. Of course Danny Paisley and his great band took this place by storm doing several showcases before pulling out of here late last night. If Paisley 'n'em don't win the Horizon Award at IBMA in 2008 then I reckon I'll eat my hat and just quit this outfit altogether. Those boys are that good and for my money they are playing the best brand of "old timey bluegrass" that anyone could possibly deliver. So mark my words: Horizon Award next year after their first Rounder album is released. In their showcases I'm proud to say that you just didn't hear Danny and them repeat the same old tired set from here to there -- no, they repertoire is such that they can pretty much create a new and fresh set list for every show. They did not fail to delight folks like me who followed them from place to place - from the big "official" evening showcase on Tuesday night where they brought the house down to the late night showcases over in the convention center where there were SRO crowds and a whole lot of hooting and hollering. They did such tunes as "Sail Away Ladies" and you just can't beat TJ Lundy's fiddling; and "Please Don't Throw Mama's Flowers Away" penned by our own Chris Stuart (what a great writer he is)...the crowd were way into the Paisley music (and I wore my "politcally correct" Paisley shirt in honor of Danny 'n'em) and were cheering the singing and picking even during the songs! Danny sang "The Room Over Mine," one of my current favorites.

Another real delight for me and people of the same ilk - those who are believers of the True Old Time Country Bluegrass sound -- were the showcases presented by Rebel recording artist Dave Evans. My favorite was the set he did on Tuesday night for Tom T and Dixie Hall - just he and his guitar and banjo slaying the crowd with his heartfelt song stories and cathartic delivery of the music that I love so well. I got to sit next to my old pal Mark Freeman and we were both reveling in the pure emotional impact of Evans' singing...the man next to me was overwhelmed by Evans' approach. And so it was the following evening when Evans appeared with a full band including son Tracy on guitar and Brian Wicklund on fiddle and Chris Davis on mandolin and (sorry I forgot his name) on Bass....great stuff....later he did a set featuring Michael Cleveland on fiddle and even later (I finally left this impromptu session around 4 am!) Dave was sitting outside the main entrance to the hotel on a park bench singing and picking Booey Beach's guitar and tantalizing a big crowd of folks as he delivered some of his most-loved songs, just he and his guitar. It simply does not get any better. I, wanting to be up close to this great singer had to settle for sitting in a potted plant; I think it was a ficus tree, and ended up with Adam Poindexter picking bugs out of my hair!

Had nice conversations with so many folks like Pete Wernick who told me of a Hot Rize/Red Knuckles retrospective book he's working on...watch out for that...and Roni Stoneman who was drawing folks to the University of Illinois book booth on Wednesday afternoon like ants to sugar....wow, what a funny woman she is. She said some amazing things that I just had to write down! Got to visit with so many friends from the L - Mike Ramsey had a look at my foxhunting photos from Wales, and i had a nice visit with RAndy and Judy Gehman and lots of folks from the California Bluegrass Association (who are responsible for my current wine buzz!) Had a nice visit with buddy Jon Weisberger who said he saw my previous message about IBMA to the L - he was reading it on a blackberry or some other small device -- poor guy - wouldn't wish that on anyone.

While thousands are now headed out to Opryland for the big Awards Show I'm comfortably ensconced in the 3rd floor lounge at the Renaissance Hotel on Commerce Street in Nashville. This is just such a great time I can't rave about it enough.

There's too much to say and I really need a nap (and several glasses of water right about now) but I'll try to tell you about a few things I've been enjoying. One really great thing about the IBMA is the "I" -- the international aspect. This is a great place to meet folks who are so keen about bluegrass music that they've come thousands of miles and spent their entire vacations to be here. Some of them are VERY good musicians -- and ALL of them are very enthusiastic. It is infectious (in a good way). I'm also pleased to say that while I am known to be a bit disillusioned with the general direction of the music that is referred to bluegrass these days there are, in fact, many people who are keeping with the "true faith" and carrying on the GOOD music, even today. Too, there is a fairly sizeable old time music presence here this year - so much so that Bob Carlin and friends organized an entire night of old time showcases last evening. Sadly I only heard parts of a couple of them, but Rebekah Weiler and John and Robert Montgomery led off the evening with some wonderful old time tunes. Then Carlin took the stage accompanied by Matt Combs, Mike Compton and Mark Simos, worth the price of admission. But I had a lot of bands to hear so I didn't get to stay for the whole evening. The evening was capped off by an old time jam which, unfortunately, I missed since I was firmly ensconced in a chair down on the 1st floor of the convention center listening to Dave Evans delivering classic, heartbreaking performances of such songs as "Barbry Allen" and "Short Life of Trouble." Yikes, it doesn't get any better!

Yesterday afternoon I did a photo mentoring session with my friend Becky Johnson. Sadly, only two people came to talk with us, but we had a good time visiting with each other. I was a bit tired since I'd stayed up until 7:30 am singing good old country twang songs with my old pals Mark Lilly and Rad Lewis (from Lilly's Mountaineers)...up in the lobby on the 20th floor of the hotel. That was a time to remember and I'll cherish the memory for a long time.

Roni Stoneman came to the University of Illinois booth to sign copies of her newly-released biography written by L member Ellen Wright....apparently a whole lot of folks came by to buy the book and laugh themselves to death at Roni's funny stories (she sure put a kink in my side).

The Paisley bunch concluded their set with "Take Your Shoes Off Moses" and more than a few folks were jumping up and down with the excitement of it all. These boys are reminding folks what bluegrass is supposed to sound like.

I met L-er Dave Blood and we were talking about Dave Burley who is largely misunderstood. I hope you all are keeping him in your thoughts and prayers as he faces the complications of a serious illness. He's a good man (even if he doesn't love Ralph as much as I do).

Now when Dave Evans did "99 Years" I thought he was going to kill the man who was sitting next to me on the first row in the Rebel Records showcase. He's a good-sized man, well over 6 feet tall and he commenced to crying, tearing pouring down his cheeks, and slinging snot all over (just kidding, sort of) and then wiping his eyes over and over and then Dave ended his set and he was kind of quivering. Though Mark Newton seemed to want to get the next act on (and keep the show on schedule) the crowd of folks who are fans of the True Bluegrass (such as that emoted by Dave Evans) wouldn't have none of that and stood and yelled so loud that Dave came back to do "One Loaf of Bread," perhaps his signature song. The man beside me, Fred from California was already in an emotional tizz, but when Dave launched into that number he leaned over to me and said, "I first heard him 18 years ago as I was driving down the road. I HAD to pull over right then and there. This is the FIRST time I've ever gotten to see him live." I looked down at Fred's arms which he was rubbing vigorously and saw that he had the "chicken skin" (or chill bumps) as bad as ever I've seen them....here I was burning up and he was freezing to death. By the time Dave brought the Loaf of Bread to a close I, too, had the shivers. He's that good, folks.

So Tuesday night after seeing the Lilly Mountaineers only showcase I stayed up singing all these old country songs (my true love) with Mark and Rad and then I was tired all day but it's kind of fun to be on autopilot at these events. I could try to list everyone I've talked to and heard sing and play but it would probably be easier to say who I haven't seen! Anyone who says IBMA in Nashville isn't a good thing is clearly out of touch because it is GREAT here.

Take today, for example. After the Awards Luncheon, Pati Crooker, Shari and I decided to walk up to the Tennessee Museum to visit the great Marty Stuart exhibition there -- called "Sparkle and Twang" it's an exhibit featuring his wonderful photographs and memorabilia, a great collection of Nudie and Jaime and Manuel clothing from all sorts of country music stars...and well, it's just great -- and free! I spent a couple of happy hours there this afternoon and may go back again before I leave Music City. One of my friends said when she visited the exhibit earlier in the week Marty was actually there. He's so cool.

Live from IBMA - October 2, 2007

2007-10-10T05:36:00.000+01:00

Hello from beautiful downtown Nashville Tennessee where the weather is perfect and the streets are alive with bluegrass fans! IBMA here in Nashville is a wonderful thing, I think, and I'm enjoying every single moment.

As I've been sitting here in the lounge on the first floor by the Starbuck's counter and just in front of the five elevators that take folks up to about 25 floors of beautiful hotel accommodations, I've had visits with Roland White, Casey Henry, Larry Perkins, Sally Jones, Kathy Chiavola and probably a bunch more I can't think of right now. Folks are on their way down to the Exhibition Hall.

If you've never been to IBMA you're really missing out on a wonderful event. There are great jam sessions all around the halls and rooms and there are seminars on all sorts of topics relevant to bluegrass. On Wednesday I am doing mentoring sessions on Bluegrass Photography and there are loads of other mentoring sessions going on in the same room. Of course Thursday is all about the Award Show out at the big Opry House (I wish it were still at the Ryman Auditorium...the Opry House just doesn't have any charm at all and yes I have been to both)....seems like bluegrass BELONGS at the Ryman. But I can't argue with the fact that the facilities are much larger and better at the Opry House - or the fact that they can seat a whole lot more folks in the audience (which translates to lots of $$$).

Worked yesterday at the registration desk and I just love being a volunteer. It's not really like work at all....seems like just about everyone who walks up to the counter to get their badge and Bluegrass Unlimited backpack happens to be someone I know from a band or a festival or somewhere just down the road. It's fantastic. The hours flew by (with a break for dinner and a fine keynote address by Tony Trischka following by several "official" showcase bands) and soon it was time to go to the After Hours Showcases which run from about 11 pm until 2 am. You have to have some endurance to survive all the amazing activities at IBMA. I'm worn out already I confess but I'm going to keep on keepin' on.

From my seat here in the lounge I can hear several jams around the lobby - I think jamming is allowed on the 1st, 2nd and 3rd floors plus a few other floors, but I'll confess that I don't know the ins and outs of that situation.

Heard a great set by Danny Paisley and the Southern Grass who never seem to deliver anything short of a power-packed set of great old time bluegrass music. Heard the lovely sisters "Gold Heart" doing sets at two or three different locations last night, and the Steel Drivers were winning fans (and promoters) with their wonderful brand of acoustic music (great to hear Tammy Rogers playing that fiddle "like a man" and to hear her WONDERFUl vocals). There was so much more but really my brain is just about scrambled at this point.

Later on, after the last late night showcase had concluded I came across my old friend Akira Otsuka teaching some mandolin to a young man up on the 2nd floor. And Dave Evans was holding court around the corner with folks like Paul Kovac playing banjo and Larry Perkins sitting on a tall barstool taking it all in. Down in the convention center I'd been amused by the antics of Arnold from the Netherlands (Hillbilly Boogiemen) and the Davidson Brothers from Australia and a crazy guy named Sean from northern Ireland and James Faris, too....they were being as fun and silly as people who have gathered together to drink a few beers and share a lot of laughs with friends around the world can be.

Anyway, I need to go and get together some photographs and head down to the trade show now so I'm going to pass this computer on to someone else who might want to use it. If I have a chance again I'll write more but allow me to say that I think the IBMA in Nashville is a WONDERFUL thing - don't knock it till you've tried it.

A Great Time on Jerusalem Ridge!

2007-10-01T21:17:00.000+01:00

The Jerusalem Ridge Bluegrass Celebration ("JR"), just concluded, may be in its infancy (as compared to festivals such as Bean Blossom which have been going for decades) but let me tell you folks that a GREAT time was had by all who made the trip up the road that winds up the hill from Route 62 to Monroe's boyhood home (and these days there IS a light in the window). Even the New York Times saw fit to send both a writer and a photographer out to check out the action at JR.

Over the course of the 3 happy days I spent there in the dappled light cast by trees standing in groves throughout the concert area I heard a WHOLE lot of good music - good traditional bluegrass, traditional country (a bit), and even some old time music. Make no mistake about it, nobody fooled around playing jazz chords or taking breaks that went too far out on the limb.

There were two stages going during the daytime, the smaller one up across from the Monroe homestead where folks like Merlene Austin and other volunteers gave detailed and interesting tours of The House Where Bill Lived.

I met a nice older gentleman (somewhere up in his 70s) named John from 970 miles away, somewhere in Wisconsin, and he told me he'd driven all the way to Jerusalem Ridge just to volunteer to park cars! He's a big RFD-TV fan and he just wanted to help out.

All around the grounds I engaged folks in conversation and almost without exception I learned one thing: these folks came to this spot on this weekend because they heard about it on RFD-TV...and they wanted to come and hear the Cumberland Highlanders and some of the other folks they'd seen on TV - to meet Doc Mercer and see his living room where the shows are taped. I heard this story again and again. There were THOUSANDS of folks at Jerusalem Ridge; seems like it was one of the biggest crowds I saw all summer.

I last attended the JR festival two years ago. At that time I thought they had a very respectable crowd but this year's crowd was HUGE...must have been four times as many people as I saw just two years ago! For the most part they were older folks (retirement age and older) but they weren't afraid to bring their lawn chairs and sit all day listening to the likes of Ralph Stanley, Larry Sparks, David Davis, Melvin Goins, and about 40 other bands. I met folks from several foreign countries there as well, some of whom were on their way down to IBMA. There was even some very good jamming, especially in front of Monroe's homeplace where the jams seemed to go day and night. Most of the people jamming were young people (well, under 50!) but there were plenty of older folks who were keen to sit and stand around listening for hours.

I heard a 12-year-old named Julie from NC, a fiddler with a powerful voice....when first I heard her singing I had to go over close and see if maybe she wasn't a dwarf....a whole lot of sound and a deep, far more mature voice was bellowing from those childish lips! She could hold her own in a jam that's for sure as she sang old time country songs like the Great Speckled Bird.

As with several other festivals I've been to this summer, the kids who could pick and sing were encouraged to come out on the stage and sing or play for the huge audience that cascaded all down the ample hillside toward the stage. Wish I could post a photo on here of what the crowd looked like....it was a glorious sight! It was a good, responsive, patriotic, God-fearing crowd, too, and they didn't mind at all when Larry Sparks began telling of his personal relationship with the Lord and how he loved singing gospel music. That love came right through his voice and touched my heart I'll tell you. Isn't "The Last Suit You Wear" a great song? I talked a little with Larry after the show and he's sure looking forward to being in Nashville for the IBMA.

The bands said they did quite well selling CDs; I didn't hear much grumbling from anyone, just a few observations that if the festival crowd grew much next year they'd have a job finding enough parking places and chair spots on the hillside in the concert area (there are quite a few places short of bringing a spade and "digging in" where you simply can't keep a chair upright!).

So there was a lot of fine traditional music and I heard folks saying that "this is just like the old days of bluegrass..." made me smile (you'd like it there, RaymondE). Some folks I spoke with said they used to be fans of bluegrass music long ago but had lost touch with it and didn't know where to hear it -- until they started finding it on RFD-TV. Through that they'd come to this festival and were so happy and planning to return next year. So there's a new market for bluegrass, folks.

Ms. Lizzie Lewis, president of the Florida delegation of the Bill Monroe Fan Club, and about 90 years old, sat onstage the entire weekend listening to all the music, not letting the evening chill faze her, and giving several of her prized Monroe photos to the homeplace for display. Gloria Belle and Mike Long were there doing several guest spots. I had the great pleasure of meeting Jim Smoak and hearing him get up and pick and sing.

Tom Ewing was there selling his "Bill Monroe Reader" and Danny Jones was there playing mandolin with Melvin Goins; Wayne Lewis was around all weekend playing with the Cumberland Highlanders; there were several Blue Grass Boys there keeping up the tradition. I had to miss the Sunday morning graveside service in Rosine since I was due to work as a volunteer for IBMA in the afternoon, but it was a gorgeous early fall morning when I headed down the hill past Charlie Monroe's place and on out into the modern bluegrass world. I was more than a little sad to leave the cocoon of "real" bluegrass and good folks I found there at Bill's childhood home.

If you haven't been to the festival at Rosine and you love traditional music you really need to get there next year. Ralph Stanley will be appearing there again for two days and it looks like they'll have another wonderful lineup. Campbell and Julie Mercer and their volunteer staff do a marvelous job making folks welcome and putting on a class act show.

Live from Jerusalem Ridge

2007-10-01T21:14:00.000+01:00

I am here at Bill Monroe's old home place in Rosine, Kentucky, and let me tell you this place is hopping! Though I arrived several hours later than I'd planned to, I got here just in time to hear the evening sets by Ralph Stanley and David Davis. Life is good!

If you've never been to Jerusalem Ridge you honestly owe it to yourself to visit this place. Driving up the drive that winds off Highway 62 a whole bunch of memories started to drift into my mind. On the left coming up the road is the old house where Charlie Monroe once lived. I first visited it a bunch of years ago when friends of my former partner were living there. Their names were Rusty and Mary Margaret. I think it was the first time I came up here many years ago when Mary Margaret and Mike and I walked up here to Monroe's old homestead and looked around just about every nook and cranny here. How this place has changed and I can't help but shout how very proud Mr. Monroe would be to see this place with the old house fixed up so beautiful and a gigantic crowd assembled on every kind of lawn chair, stump, and even down in the dirt on the hillside that leaves up from the natural amphitheater where the big old wooden stage sits down there behind the House Where Bill Lived. Makes me smile just to think of it.

I was last here in 2005 and what a change! Back then there were plenty of folks here but let me tell you this time that the grounds are absolutely full of folks. I'm told there are 300 or 400 campers out there in the field and the entire amphitheater has been full of folks all day.

Dr. Ralph and the Clinch Mountain Boys with Danny Davis sitting in on rhythm guitar and vocals wowed a huge crowd this evening for over an hour. Ralph even picked up the banjo to clawhammer his usual medley and sang some favorites such as "Pretty Polly," "Little Maggie," and a bunch of others. Nathan got up and sang a gospel song he'd written as well as playing "Sandy Ridge," a mandolin tune he wrote a few years ago. Ralph gave everyone in the band a chance to shine and even told a joke or two. He seemed to be in good spirits. As I told you the other day, it's a rare occasion to be at a festival where Ralph is appearing two consecutive days. He doesn't even do that at Bean Blossom anymore....so here's an opportunity to "Got Ralph?".....so where are you? If you're reading this you probably aren't here.

After Ralph's wonderful set, David Davis and the Warrior River Boys did a fine set. Owen was in even deeper voice than ever (and that's deep) and David sang several new favorites from his latest album. A real class act! David did "In the Pines," always a favorite, and it seemed so right to here on a beautiful September night under a full harvest moon up here on Jerusalem Ridge listen to one of my favorite Monroe-style mandolin players up there singing "In the Pines" and playing his wonderful mandolin. It was powerful. A few songs later, David gave a big intro to one of my favorites, the "Evening Prayer Blues," that DeFord Bailey used to play on the Opry.....I've heard that tune played a bunch by a lot of different folks but have never heard it played any better than it was tonight by Mr. David Davis, right here on the ground where Monroe used to play as a boy. What a fitting way to close out his set!

Tonight after dark I was driving east through Kentucky on Route 62 from Beaver Dam toward Rosine under a big orangey round moon searching for the little road that winds up the hill to Monroe's place. Ah, there it is....moments later I was walking down the hill grinning from ear to ear as I saw Ralph take the stage. It's a beautiful big stage here, down at the bottom of the hill with folks ranging all across the hill above looking down onto the stage that's adorned with a full-scale harvest theme....I'll try to describe it better tomorrow, after I can see it in the daylight! There are good bright stage lights and the crew from RFD TV are hard at work documenting this fine festival.

"There is something about this experience here that is noticeably different here than at any festival I go to. It's different and it's cool; positive; it's working! I see that as I walk around here" so says David Davis as he sits here to my right talking with Campbell Mercer who started this festival. David is talking about RFD TV and how it has drawn a whole lot of new fans to bluegrass. There are folks here at this festival that have never been to a bluegrass festival before. They have come here because they heard about it on RFD TV. "It just thrills me to see a crowd this big here on Thursday" says Davis.

If you're anywhere within driving distance (hey, I drove 300 miles to get here) get yourselves down here tomorrow. The must starts at 9 am and runs till 11 pm tomorrow night. The weather forecast is great- so come on down and join us

Jerusalem Ridge Bluegrass Celebration -- this week!

2007-09-25T19:59:00.000+01:00

Hey folks, I'm headed down to Rosine Kentucky early on Thursday morning for the Jerusalem Ridge Bluegrass Celebration -- it's a dandy! Talk about bringing back some memories....I remember walking through Monroe's old home place years ago before Doc Mercer and crew came along and made it all pretty. Over the years the ravages of time and zealous fans had carried away most of the bits that must have once made it quite a pretty house out in the hills. It was wide open to the elements and I remember all the bullet holes up over the fireplace. You can see a bit of what it looked like in the video "High Lonesome" when the crew return with Monroe to the homeplace up there above the house Charlie Monroe used to live in and he's standing there by the fireplace reminiscing.

Anyway, I've been to Jerusalem Ridge two or three times since the house has been restored; maybe it's nicer now than it ever was, but outside it's lovely and inside you'll find some Monroebilia and well, just a great vibe. I remember a few years back when they had the ribbon-cutting and dedication of that beautiful house and several thousand folks came for the great and tearful event....lots of fine entertainment and happy reunions there! That was the beginning of this great festival.

That first year the stage was out in the middle of a field, matter of fact the other night when I was talking with Ralph Stanley we talked about that first Jerusalem Ridge gathering and how rough the stage area was then. I don't think it bothered anyone too much but Ralph was remembering all the weeds and rough ground there. Not so now, folks! Campbell and his crew made a wonderful, rustic stage down in a grove of trees (kind of reminds me of Ralph's old stage down in the holler up on Smith Ridge - Ralph nodded his agreement when I mentioned that to him) behind the home place so there isn't a bad seat in the house -- the stage is at the bottom of a hillside with plenty of shade and well, it's just a really special place to be.

Last time I was there - two years ago - there was a good bit of jamming in the field, a great crowd and a wonderful lineup. For you traditional bluegrass fans this is the place to be! For example, Ralph Stanley hardly ever plays anywhere for two days, but he'll be singing at Jerusalem Ridge both this Thursday and Friday. Now if that's not enough to persuade you to make the drive to Ohio County, how about getting to hear Melvin Goins and Windy Mountain for two days? I'd make the drive just to listen to Jon Rigsby play that 5-string ram's head fiddle of his. Add to that the wonderful Monroe-influenced music of David Davis and the Warrior River Boys; the bluesy lonesome sound of Larry Sparks (and those great "moves" he does with his shoulder and the way his hair matches his pickguard); the Uncle Dave Macon-styled music of Philip Steinmetz (how DOES he stand those wool clothes in the heat???); former Clinch Mountain Boy Sammy Adkins, the great Travis-style picking wizard, Eddie Pennington; the Cumberland Highlanders; Tommy Brown; Uncle Doc Wilhite; the Sullivan Family and many, many more; about 40 bands will play over the 4 days of the festival.

I'm looking forward to revisiting a favorite place of mine on Thursday and getting a chance to pick some old time music with Rigsby, Rebekah Weiler and some other friends. Proceeds from this festival go toward the restoration and maintenance of the Old Home Place. It's a beautiful place for a festival and though it's fairly primitive camping, the important things are there: plenty of fresh air, good bluegrass folks, great traditional music -- and the spirit of Bill Monroe.

Hope to see some of you there!
For more information and a lineup go to: www.jerusalemridgefestival.org\

Bean Blossom and Great Folks in Bluegrass (Part 1)

2007-09-25T15:54:00.000+01:00

Not sure if anyone's still out there reading posts about bluegrass festivals and such, but just in case I'll write a few (ha!) words here about the great time I had at Bean Blossom the last few days. After arriving late Tuesday night I wandered around and found a few jams in the woods, pretty impressive for the night before the festival officially started. On Wednesday things got right into full swing with a whole bunch of good bands and a very respectable crowd. The week was HOT, folks, and the chill that sometimes fell late of an evening sure did feel good after boiling in the sun all day. Like so much of the country, Indiana is suffering from a fairly severe lack of rainfall as all those farmers cruise the fields at warp speed on their big John Deere and MF combines with 96 foot headers (well it seemed like it anyway, I followed one up the road for a few miles...)

Uncle Phil did himself proud as I heard Grasstowne for the first time; Unc was tantalizing folks with that reso guitar - or was it the sun? Dunno, but I sure liked what I heard. I think he's heading back toward a little more traditional approach and you know that wins points with me; love Steve Gulley's voice.

Now I don't know if I've bragged on them much yet but one of my current favorite bands (in the under-70-year-old-and-still-living category) is the Steep Canyon Rangers. Those guys seem to have it all - and they use most of it, too! They're that good that they charmed this ole lady right to death. Great original songs (that sound like they were written a long time ago), good harmonies, great chops (as in those boys can pick) and I am really impressed with their energy, choreography, and generally professional (yet warm somehow) approach to music. If I were a promoter I would hire them on every show!

IIIrd Tyme Out...like so many of you I've been listening to these guys for what seems like decades. Maybe it is? Anyway, I think they've got a real winner with the current configuration; good to see Wayne Benson back (maybe he has been for a while?) and Edgar Loudermilk is a real asset on the upright bass and tenor vocals. Surely he was a big loss to Marty Raybon, but Marty's loss is definitely 3TO's gain. Great to have a chance to say a few words and get a hug from the ever-friendly and charming Steve Dilling (doesn't fit my banjo player profile, LOL) and the lovely Russell Moore (what a voice). I'll confess that maybe some of their material doesn't fit into my Stanley sound criteria but it's hard not to love and admire a band that is just so good over such a long period of time despite personnel changes and all that. As long as there's a 3TO I reckon I'll be making my way to the stage area to hear them.

Now a real surprise to me was the appearance of Chris Hillman and Herb Petersen. I'll confess that while I've heard their voices on a bunch of projects I've been in the audience for a live appearance by either of them precious few times. But the first song they played grabbed my attention and they sure held it for the hour and a half or so that they mesmerized me and a large crowd of fairly traditional-oriented music fans. They were superb, warm and lively, performing as just a duo, making a nice break in the otherwise pretty 4-or-5-or more-piece bluegrass band lineup that was Bean Blossom.

Seems like I'm getting older all of a sudden and the heat really whips me so by the time the shows ended around 1 a.m. or whatever each night I was pretty well ready to head back to the cabin and lay down! I didn't get into any jams at all and heard precious few though I'm told there were some dandies back in the main woods there especially during the day.

It's always a pleasure to see - and hear - Melvin Goins and his fine band and this time they didn't disappoint. I'm a big fan of the fiddling of Jonathan Rigsby and he even treated me to a slew of old time tunes as he warmed up in the air-conditioned room just backstage. Fine, fine. All the bands on Thursday put in fine shows, Marty Raybon appearing with an abbreviated but fine band that included the great Charlie Cushman on the 5, Scott Napier and John Wade. That voice sounds great no matter who is up there pickin' with Marty and I hope sometime to hear him just do a solo gig. The voice says it all.

James King put on two power-packed shows; he always puts it all on the line and I don't think any of his fans were disappointed with his performances on Thursday. The Isaacs had the crowd in the palm of their hand and it was great to have a word with my old pal Ben. Ain't he a hoss cat bass man?

Colonel Peva, his lovely wife Ailene and sweet little (jealous huzzy) Pearl were all there presiding over their campsite that serves as a beacon to folks from countries all over the world. This year Jim opened his door again to Mr. and Mrs. Niida from Japan. They are the loveliest people and it happened that I sat right next to them down in the front row. I had the pleasure of hearing Mr. Niida exclaim again and again with his huge grin, "GREAT!" He especially enjoyed the more traditional bands (and there were plenty of them on this Uncle Pen show).

It's too hard to see all the people I want to and run around taking photographs to manage hearing all the bands so I'll admit it...I missed quite a few of the bands on this year's schedule. Many sounded good and professional, but there were only a handful that actually got me down to my front row seat during the heat of the day. Mostly I stayed up under the pavilion at the University of Illinois book table and hung out with my dear friends Judy and Leon McCulloh as they sold great music books to fans. All the bands set up their merchandise up there, too, so it provided a chance to catch up with a few old pals, see photos of their babies and such.

Bean Blossom and Great Folks in Bluegrass (Part 2)

2007-09-25T15:49:00.000+01:00

Friday I got to hear a bunch of new songs from Larry Cordle and don't those boys put on a great show? I don't get to hear the Mighty Chord enough. Booey Beach is about half the man he used to be...didn't get to find out his secret, but he asked me to take some pictures of his new svelte self and I was happy to oblige. Plenty of fine music on Friday but the Cordle show followed by the GREAT J.D. Crowe (ain't he just the coolest guy out there?) and his wonderful band (I just love his trios with Ricky Wasson and Dwight McCall, don't get no better than that, folks) left me and the crowd shouting for more! more! I'm not a big fan of the one long set approach that seems to be implemented these days at a lot of bluegrass festivals but I gotta say that BOTH extended J.D. Crowe & the New South (Fri and Sat nights) sets fit me just fine. It just thrills me to hear "Lefty's Old Guitar" and "In My Next Life," gee, I could go home thinking I got my money's worth just hearing those two, let alone the dozens of other songs they played. That Crowe bunch have got it ALL and a bunch to spare....I'll go hear them anywhere, anytime. On Friday Paul Williams came out and sang a few songs with the New South...top shelf, buddy.

Ralph II closed out the Friday night set and by the time he and his big band took the stage it was late, late, I think the latest night of the festival. Folks were shattered by the heat and humidity but a whole lot of them were stuck to their chairs to hear Two and Junior Blankenship and Dewey Brown and Danny Davis and Stanley ?? (18 year old on mandolin) and Steve Sparkman run through their paces - and then some. Man, I love Danny's singing...if ever anyone sounded like Ralph! Two always seems to do his best on his own shows and Friday night was no exception. Junior was up there laying down those Clinch Mountain gui-tar licks -- it looked as easy as blinking your eyes- laced with some Tony Rice-isms and Dewey, well, he's got to be the smilingest fiddler I've ever seen and the quintessential young southern gentleman who don't have to take a back seat to nobody on that little fiddle. Can I brag on him some more? He's one of those folks that is ALWAYS just as nice as the last time you got to see him. Two is one of the most charming guys in the business today, I think...he always takes the time to talk with his fans and is a super-genuine kind of guy.

On Saturday morning I was dragging a bit and didn't get down to the stage in time to hear Heather Berry. I'll admit I wasn't all that excited to hear yet another band fronted by some girl who was slapping her thighs and singing way high and screechy and not playing an instrument anyway. So wasn't I just floored when I heard her from the front porch of my cabin way up on the hill (the sound was LOUD up there all weekend) and found myself thinking I needed to be sure NOT to miss hearing her evening set....I really loved THAT voice; course from there I couldn't tell if she was picking or not! While I didn't actually make it up to the front row for her evening set, I sure heard her loud and clear from the top of the hill at the book table and I loved it -- not to mention the fact that the woman DOES pick - and she sings as close to an angel as you're gonna get on this earth. I'm thinking that one of these big labels needs to sign that girl. Now you listen to me, folks - if you're at IBMA, make sure you get out and check out her showcases. She loves the traditional music and she has such a lovely voice that is easy on the ears. And she is only a young'un. Weren't you braggin' on her, Bo? Check out Heather Berry folks!

Karl Shiflett always manages to put on a great show and this year was no exception. Karl and his band were at the park all week driving elongated golf carts and shuttling folks to their cars and campsites, doing workshops, sitting in on jam sessions back in the woods and generally just being a big part of the festivities. You know you've been smiled at when Karl turns that big ole grin on you. Chris Hill added a little extra entertainment to the already jam-packed barrel of laughs along with his "GQ Wardrobe" (how long does it take that man to primp for a show?) and Karl took up old Jake Jenkins tradition of the Mrs. Pott's Pit story and had us all in stitches (if you haven't heard it, ask him to do it the next set you hear).

Now I had a big time backstage listening to the antics of the Cherryholmes kids. Gee they have grown, don't know why that always comes as a shock to me, but it does! BJ went and got a tattoo since he turned 18 and the tattoos in that family seem to be reproducing at an alarming rate (even Sandy has at least a couple) but they consistently put on a good, entertaining show. For me the star of it all is young Molly Kate who has discovered LIPstick with a capital L and is growing into quite the fetching young lady (not to mention KILLER fiddler).

I didn't get to hear much of Ralph's show later in the evening but I got a chance to visit with him for awhile and catch up on all his news; he even offered me some of his lemonade and some dinner. Ralph was one of my first friends in bluegrass music and I cherish that friendship - along with his incomparable singing - very much. He was remembering how I came to bluegrass back in 1982 and urged me to tell his grandson the story of how I heard Ralph sing at a festival and went home and quit my day job and took to the bluegrass road for several months just to learn more about this great music - all because I loved the Stanley Sound so much! The music of Ralph Stanley changes lives! Ralph was in good spirits and seemed to be feeling well and even clawhammered a bit before concluding his show to the great delight of his many fans.

Now one of these posts I need to get to the part about why I'm so proud of bluegrass folks -- they are good, good people.

Bean Blossom and Great Folks in Bluegrass - Part 3

2007-09-25T15:48:00.000+01:00

Sometime in the hottest part of the day on Saturday along comes big tall mandolin-playing Danny Jones with a giant hunk of an icecold watermelon and big ole white-handled knife sticking up out of it. Like some fancy chef he grabs that melon and carves off a big hunk of the juiciest melon you can imagine and proffers it to me by knifepoint. (I'm thinking well, this sure is country! and I love it) Mmmmm, mmmm...bet y'all can taste it, right? It wasn't a minute before Melvin Goins hops up from his nearby record table and ambles over to us and gets his hand right out there for a hunk of melon. Now you know this all leads to a discussion about the finer points of watermelons and the best watermelons each of us have ever had and all kinds of things like that (I once stopped over at Leroy Troy's house and his daddy Wallace asked me if I wanted some nice cold watermelon so I said "sure" thinking he'd bring out a piece of it for me -- and he brought out about a 12 quart metal bowl full of it and said, "here, eat all that" and I did my best....and peed for about 2 weeks straight. But anyway at that moment in time I can say that Danny's watermelon, despite the hazardous knife, was the best I ever had.

Well now I'll get to the part about what wonderful folks I seem to find at every single bluegrass festival I've ever been to...

This Japanese couple, Mr. and Mrs. Niida, were the nicest folks to sit next to. They were sitting in webbed chairs that Jim Peva had lent them. I'd met him a couple years ago (or more) at Bean Blossom when Jim Peva introduced us. His enthusiasm for the music and the musicians themselves was so....well, cute! I've known quite a lot of Japanese folks in my life and the ones I'd known were not apt to wear their hearts on their sleeves or give much indication of intense emotion. Not so Mr. Niida! He especially impressed me after a Gillis Brothers set when he came literally RUNNING backstage, stopping at the foot of the long set of stairs to the backstage literally trembling with anticipation as he eagerly awaited the descent of the Gillis Brothers after their show, seeking a word and an autograph. I was up at the top of the steps waiting to shoot some photos of the Brothers and I motioned Mr. Niida up the stairs. He looked so surprised and pointed at himself with a question in his eyes so I shook my head yes, yes, and beckoned him to hurry. Well, he's in his 70s and small and very nimble and it seemed like he was up all those steps in half a wink of an eye and went sort of running toward the Gillis' (some of you will remember the Gillis Factor from past years) boys as they put a dip or whatever in their cheeks and sort of stood there. I'll admit I wouldn't consider even _thinking_ of running toward the Gillis' - those are some _country_ boys and no tellin' what they might do in self-defense, you know, 'specially Larry. So I kind of stepped in and introduced Mr. Niida to Larry and John and Niida took me by surprise when he rushed toward one of them (I disremember which) and like threw his arms around him and (language barrier here) shouted "I love you!" Pretty funny, but such was the intensity he felt from their soulful mountain sound. Luckily the Gillis seemed to take it all in stride and sort of chuckle (maybe they are in touch with their feminine side after all) and let it slide, and Niida was thrilled to meet these guys and express his appreciation for their wonderful music.

Well I will always remember that Gillis moment and Mr. Niida's huge part in it, so despite a horrible inability to remember anything at all, I always remember him very fondly. So I was thrilled to find my seat right next to the Niidas on the front row and we shared many happy comments over the four days of the festival. Niida busied himself with hearing all the bands and running up to get autographs and chat with the performers after their shows, buying books and CDs and so forth.

Throughout the days of the festival I again thought about what a wonderful bunch of people had gathered there to celebrate Monroe's memory and walk the paths of Bean Blossom as Monroe so often did. How so many folks paid homage to his music in tune and song, and remembered favorite encounters with the man himself in those years way back when. 'Course there was the usual recollection of Birch Monroe's frugal ways and the mules that Monroe was so proud to drive around and all sorts of things like that. One night as darkness fell (can't remember who was onstage) during a pause in the stage patter about 20 or 30 Canadian geese honked their way across the brilliant sky and that was a moment I shall remember, too. Just all around acts of kindness and consideration were commonplace and new folks walked up and introduced themselves (nice to meet you, Lowell!) and old friends came up to share a memory or pass on some good news. Backstage members of different bands mingled and laughed quietly, or stepped in to add a fiddle part to an impromptu jam. One of the best of those was backstage on Saturday when Cia, Skip and BJ Cherryholmes were having a ball picking with Glenn Harrell (fiddler) and Cia started singing a rousing Sally Ann which morphed into "Oh My Darlin' Clementine" then "Oh Susanna" and so on...they were totally cracking up and having a big time messing around with all those old songs. Then it kind of slid into some progressive jazzy stuff and then Daddy comes strutting in with his muscle shirt, big beard and tattoos and mock yells at Harrell, "Didn't you see the sign on the door?? Says "entertainers only." Harrell quickly quips, "I'm entertainin' myself," looking up with that big smile and those gorgeous blue eyes that I remember a whole bunch of redneck older women at Poppy Mountain a few years back were flat flippin' out over.

Sometime in the late afternoon I got to chat a bit with Ralph and hear about how his family were doing and things like that and Mr. D (that's Dwight Dillman's daddy) and I went over with Ralph to the bus and Ralph was really hospitable and we all just sat around and talked quietly. Some of the band members entered the bus and joined in with us and it was just such a pleasant way to spend a few minutes. I went on up to the book table to check on Judy and Leon and Bobby Osborne was up onstage when I heard him saying something about a "medical emergency." I said a quick prayer for whoever was in trouble and maybe about 15 minutes later went on down to the stage because Ralph was due to come on just any minute. Passing backstage on the deck that looks out over the bands' tour busses, I happened to see a whole bunch of folks crouching down around someone on the ground, and Mrs. Niida among them and I thought, "oh God..." Yes, my friend Mr. Niida had succumbed to the heat and had an attack but don't worry folks, it all turned out all right. Just for a minute there I thought the worst. The ambulance came quickly and this is where the great folks come into my story...seems like help came from everywhere when that medical emergency alert was announced by Bobby Osborne and various medical people and friends rushed forward to assist Mr. Niida in getting taken care of. It wasn't long before he was taken to a hospital about half an hour away and treated and later on that same night he was picked up and taken back to the festival.

Bean Blossom and Great Folks in Bluegrass - Part 4

2007-09-25T15:46:00.000+01:00

Sadly, in all this, he missed Dr. Ralph Stanley's show - and those of J.D. Crowe and the Cherryholmes and I'd been told by someone that as he came to backstage besides being so apologetic for all the fuss he was upset to be missing the shows. You see, the Niidas came way over here from Japan JUST to come to the festival at Bean Blossom!!! And here he had to miss Saturday night.

So I got this idea to videotape what was left of Ralph's show and took up a note to get Ralph to send well wishes to Mr. Niida. Earlier in the afternoon they'd been talking up at Ralph's record table and Mr. Niida said he'd been at a show Ralph did in Japan way back in 1970; they had a nice little chat about that. So Ralph sent out a very nice message to Niida. I caught J.D. Crowe and then Molly Cherryholmes who each graciously sent along their own nice wishes to Mr. Niida. Then I went and got each Clinch Mountain Boy to send along some nice words. It was fun to gather all that personal good will to take to a friend who was SOOOO very far from home. Niida does a pretty good job of speaking English but still! Imagine being jetlagged, dehydrated, worn out and excited all at the same time and being many thousands of miles away from home and taken to a strange hospital in some little country town! He had great care there and as we rode back to the festival he got to see some of Ralph's and JD's shows on the videocamera -- and most importantly hear how all those bluegrass stars and idols of his were taking time to wish him well!!!!! He was, well, very touched by all those caring messages and I think that despite missing the shows he came so far to hear that he'll carry back some very good memories of how his many American friends indeed care about him.

So now Mr. Niida is all better and has been cautioned to drink bunches of water and he and his wife head back over to Japan tomorrow - so wish them well! It was so nice to get to spend some time with them and watch how all the good folks at a bluegrass festival lend a hand or a bottle of water or a hug or whatever is needed to help even a "rank" (only a Stanley reference here!) stranger from another country in his time of need. It was beautiful to witness the caring and compassion that spread like a perfect sunrise over our Japanese friend and seemed to revive his incredible, joyous vitality and restore him. That's what the bluegrass world is all about folks. And maybe none of this would ever have happened but for a cross-eyed, backward Kentucky child who grew up to be one of the greatest musicians of our time. I'm sure glad I lived in the days of Bill Monroe, Bean Blossom, and the good folks I've met through bluegrass music.

Adirondack Life

2007-09-15T04:26:00.000+01:00

I've just returned from another great time at my friends' camp at Raquette Lake in the Adirondacks. They've created a kind of community there, a sort of ever-changing group of people, kind of like that Love Boat, well, not really, but each day new folks arrive and some you've been enjoying visiting with have to leave for some other place. So there are always exciting people to meet and others you already know who you have occasion to become closer to. Though there is a staff it seems to evolve or revolve as well, so the chief cook one week goes off and a different cook steps in to keep things running seamlessly. Many of the guests step in, too, whipping up favorite dishes -- or helping to wash a few here and there.

The weather has shifted in the mountains as the evenings (and sometimes the days as well) have grown cool, even cold, and the leaves long ago began to turn to red and gold and orange. There's still plenty of green left, but woodland walks around Raquette Lake were full of splashes of color to my great delight.

I no sooner arrived at this friendly paradise than I came down with a ferocious cold but thanks to nursing by Lisa and others I am well on the mend (thanks Lisa). Maybe the chicken soup she made helped - or even the onion soup I made. Times in the camp kitchen are times well spent! I enjoyed long visits with Lisa and Jocelyn and whoever else happened to pass by. Jocelyn is on her way to Antarctica next!

We had an evening in the game room that kicked off with a meal of hotdogs, hamburgers and a few other items; dessert was s'mores made by Chip and Braidy - they were PERFECT and yummy too. Nearby Jocelyn was involved in a cutthroat game of pingpong and Chip and Pete were filling the air with music.

Would you believe that this place is so together that they even have a collection of square dance dresses in a back room, among other costumes. Pretty incredible, no?

While I never got around to taking that canoe ride with Jocelyn I sure did have fun accompanying her on a walk to the 24 or was it 28 numbered points on the nature trail there at camp. We made some cool discoveries.

The mice have just about overrun the place, so much so that last night as I lay in my cozy bed with about 5 blankets piled on top of me and the sweetest pillows ever under my head, I opened my eyes one last time....and saw a mouse race past about an inch from my eyes. Forgive me but I made a less than charitable exclamation. Hope my hosts didn't hear me.

Anyway I'll write more when I've had some rest. Adirondack Life, just what it sounds like (and a great magazine).....saw only 3 deer on my 180 mile drive home today -- and they were all together safely off the road.

Thomas Point Beach Bluegrass Festival (part 4)

2007-09-05T20:36:00.001+01:00

You're already thinking I'm going to go on for days about this great festival at TPB and I could (but I won't). It's just that TPB combines a whole lot of the things I love - sand and sun, sea and woods, incredibly fresh air, great music, wonderful folks, memories and new experiences and it's all to the tune of high tide and low tide. We all probably have a favorite festival. I have a LOT of favorite festivals and I talk about about most of them on here. But for me the best of the best is found at TPB, maybe just because it's such comfortable camping in such a gorgeous place. Surely lots of other festivals I attend have lineups (for my taste) that are as good or probably even better. And the staff at TPB are just wonderful folks. I love the Maine humor that pervades the very air and stuff like Security head George "Whistlin'" Whitney - I swear he's taught most of the birds up there how to sing.

I love to watch the bands backstage as they prepare set lists, tune, and exchange greetings with their friends who have just finished a good set. I love the chance to photograph folks when they're a bit more relaxed and the sun isn't beating down on them. Love to catch up on news of their families and the things that are important to them. Love to hear a new song someone's just written or see the latest photo of their youngest child. It's a privilege, too, to be backstage with a camera and able to step up and take photos of the great field of faces, especially when they're laughing or clapping, from above and behind the band....a nice way to show both the band and the reason they're there. Don't know why I first picked up a camera 25 years ago but it has put me in a lot of (good) places I'd never have been without it.

So the four days of the festival proper drew to a close on Sunday night with the Gibson Brothers closing out delivering a great double set of music and, despite pretty chilly temperatures (remember that's the night I had gloves and four layers on!) there was a LARGE and appreciative audience there listening to every last word. Pati and Shari and her staff took the stage then and went through the usual thanks and goodbyes...there was a band jam onstage after that and folks all stood for the final number, "Will the Circle Be Unbroken," joining hands with friends and strangers alike and forming a big link, dancing all around the concert area hand-in-hand. I haven't seen such a thing at any other festival and that is really special. I'll confess I didn't join the circle because....you guessed it...I was videotaping the moment instead of living in it.

The music died down and folks drifted off to their campsites. Ours had a big fire and a bunch of folks already around it, talking and laughing gently, huddled in toward the warmth. I look forward to this festival each year because it brings together the largest concentration of my friends and we all camp near each other and visit a lot, eat together, laugh over old times, play and sing together and just, well, live together for a few days. One friend brought his granddaughter and she was the big hit of the campsite - what a grin - what a happy child - and she's learning to mash on the ukelele. I expect she'll be a hoss of a musician just like her granddaddy (who happens to be one of the MCs). Since I don't have kids I always love being around other people's kids and this weekend I especially enjoyed the company of Daniel, Gracie and Dixon. I've watched these kids grow. A really fun thing we did was go on a couple of photo shoots. They're naturals in front of the camera and we had a good time using the sea as a backdrop. Chloe and Clementine camped next to me and we had a lot of fun taking pictures by the sea as well. Two of the MCs were camped in our gang and they both livened things up considerably. Country Man Dan cooked up a mess of haddock he'd caught up in Newfoundland; he brings along a truckload of food and beverage and makes sure everyone has the best time. He and some of our gang led the final - very late Sunday night - official jam session down under the big yellow and white tent.

So a bunch of us chose to huddle around the fire and talk quietly amongst ourselves and laugh at the antics of some of the others. We had a darned good time. Like I said the last night of a festival after some folks have already packed up and left tends to be one of the memorable times...people are tired and sometimes emotional and just tend to loosen up more than, say, earlier in the week when folks are full-throttle bluegrass and keen to do all they possibly can. It's a nice gentle way to share some more and gear down to return to "normal" life, leave behind the bluegrass-old time utopia that is a festival such as TPB. In this case it's a time to kiss summer goodbye and notice the leaves that are already turning red and gold and yellow on the sugar maples here in the northeast. It's a time to start planning to learn all those songs for next summer's jams and to reflect on all the good times enjoyed this summer and other summers. I tried to go around the circle of friendly faces and get folks to share what their favorite thing about this year's festival was but we didn't get very far....too hard to keep people focused and maybe too hard to choose a favorite, too. Soon Pati Crooker, festival put to rest, and her right arm Shari, rode up in a golf cart and joined our merry circle. We all expressed our gratitude for the great 29th TPB festival and the way we were already planning to be there for the 30th anniversary next year. I had such a good time I plan to go earlier and stay later next year...it's that good, and after a week of solid fun, food, friends and great music it is just TOO hard to drive 365 miles home in heavy Labor Day traffic! Like the sign said so many times, "Heavy Traffic Ahead."

A while later Pati and Shari and some of us walked down to the Greenwoods where they and the Gibsons were holding forth on some great old Stanley material, and Jimmy Martin songs and music of that ilk. Boy was it good! But next year we need to be sure the Greenwoods have a campfire, too, because it was flat out COLD over there where they played till 4:30 Monday morning. And dark, too.

Next morning my sister and I rose early and did all those things you gotta do to pack up camp and get on the homeward trail. We hugged all our friends and made plans for a big pickin' party in October then pointed our vehicles down all those interstates toward the Catskill Mountains. Usually I enjoy long drives by myself but not this time. After two accidents in the last couple of weeks and being so tired and sometimes bumper-to-bumper traffic for the eight hours it took me to get back here I just wanted to get home already. Only Hunter Berry (WOW, Baby!) and Nat King Cole's velvety voice and some of that French Way of Red Knuckles and a little bit of Eva Cassidy's Songbird helped me ease through the miles to home.

Reflecting on the wonderful times among friends and meeting so many folks from the L like my buddy Randy Getz, hearing all that great music, having a nice boat ride and eating two lobsters, singing a few tunes with Eddie Greenwood one early morning, surviving three Hi T's and all those other things I find myself, once again, feeling so blessed to have discovered bluegrass music and the wonderful people that, like me, love it, over 25 years ago. The music and its people have enriched my life in so many ways that I'll never be able to write about them all. Maybe one day my photos and videos will speak for me. I hope. Thanks to all of you for making life just a little bit brighter!

And hope to see you all next year at Thomas Point Beach - as Pati and Shari said from the stage on Sunday night - they're going to be there again hosting the Thomas Point Beach Bluegrass Festival next Labor Day weekend for the 30th anniversary - "just one more time." And what a great time it is sure to be.

Thomas Point Beach Bluegrass Festival (Part 3)

2007-09-05T20:30:00.000+01:00

My sister and I walked all around the grounds one afternoon and made some pictures of the various areas....what a lovely place! Besides the beach area where our friends camped and the little grove of trees where we set up our own camp there were wooded areas where hundreds of campers set up (with water and electrical hookups I think). There are several nice bathrooms with plenty of sinks and the nicest showers I've ever seen at a campground. I guess the area at TPB is a kind of bay or cove or inlet off the "main" ocean and there are little kind of "backwater" tidal areas where waterfowl abound along the edge of the "main" woods there....great blue herons, cormorants and any number of birds started up as we approached the waters' edge....every now and then we'd see someone in a kayak or other small watercraft pass by. All around us folks were picking traditional country music, brother duets, old-time music, traditional bluegrass songs (none of that slick Sportcoat Mtn. Boys junk I heard ad nauseum at Galax)....other folks were cooking food that always tastes better when cooked outside (isn't that an amazing thing about camping?) and kids were busy at play among the trees. Groups of two and three and more sat around picking or in quiet conversation. Here and there someone lazed in a hammock reading a book. Some folks knocked themselves out decorating their campsites with multi-colored parachutes, mailboxes, pink flamingoes, strings of lights, flying pigs and any number of eye-catching things. People were camped in everything from Prevost tour buses to shiny silver Airstreams to maxiumum-size motor home to tiny retro tear-shaped campers to pop-up Colemans to three-roomed dome tents to pup tents...to backseats of cars. Some folks did the old wagon-circle approach to camping together while others formed massive tent cities. Near to us a bunch of (apparent) hippies camped under tarps in tents with sun barriers made of batik and tie dye. Incense wafted through the air day and night and they were having just as much fun as anyone cooking and hanging out with their friends.

One of my favorite things about TPB is that it's tidal so there was always the contrast between low and high tides and the joy of watching the transformation, the sunset over the water. We even had a full moon to light our way the first couple of nights there. Sunsets and moonrises over the water add another touch that you don't find at many festivals. In the old days I saw a few sunrises too but I'll confess I never got up - or stayed up - early enough to see one this year. I was told there were massive amounts of monarch butterflies over behind the bathroom on the point.

Like so many festivals there were a variety of offerings at TPB - plenty of workshops covering vocal and instrumental interests, the great bands on stage, a "Children of Bluegrass"program for kids where they get up and pick and sing on the main stage on Sunday afternoon (always a heartwarming moment), and this full-service campground has a really nice play area for kids; there were also many kids fun activities such as movies, sand castle building, singalongs, crafts and bingo. As far as I know it's the only festival that has things like totem poles and 3 miniature lighthouses (decorated with replicas of old tourism postcards from Maine locations), and to top it all is a collection of chainsaw art - figures maybe 12 feet tall cut from logs - "Maine Woods Band" - various animals each playing bluegrass instruments! Pretty spectacular. Folks who have been going to TPB for years will remember watching Tim Picket at his craft as he created these from natural products...quite a sight. There's even a moose amongst them.

On the way back to our campsite we passed a cute little wagon loaded down with produce and baked goods from the fine folks at Want Not Farm. I was trying to figure out what they were - not Amish, not Mennonite, but sort of old fashioned. The girls and woman had tidy white kind of scarves holding their hair back; the man had an Amish-like hat on and they were all dressed sort of "plain" - someone said they were old order Brethren (?) like a real traditional German Baptist. Don't know but their produce was lovely and fresh and very welcome - they sold us the best corn I've had all season for just 50 cents an ear! I watched them pull off - the man towing the goody wagon with a riding lawnmower!!!! all the women walking alongside. As I left the festival grounds on Monday morning they were there at the exit selling their goods and waving with a friendly smile to all who passed by.

As I said I missed many of the bands who played onstage but some of the highlights for me were the Tennessee Mafia Jug Band featuring Leroy Troy, always a crowd-pleaser. They really got the folks going with their vintage music and good humor. Since they're all friends of ours we enjoyed many good laughs around our campsite as they prepared for their show, shared jokes and stories with our big gang. The Abrams Brothers and cousin Eli continue to impress me with their sweet good manners, talent and showmanship. I expect those guys to go far. And a big thrill for me was getting to hear James sing "Can I Get An Amen?" as the encore number on their evening show. They got an amen all right - and not just from me, either. Michael Cleveland and Flamekeeper minus Audie Blaylock sure took the folks to another level with their rocketfire approach to music. I think music just comes out Michael's pores. Once again I was back at the campsite hanging with my friends and missed Michael's show but I got out to the Field Pickin' jam near the Caboose (an all night hot dog stand in the concert area) and climbed onto a picnic table to film Michael and his fine band holding court in the middle of a huge and appreciative crowd. I love those after-hours jams Pati schedules....folks like the spontaneity of it all and enjoy rubbing elbows with the stars, even if they can see their breath . Friday also featured Rhonda Vincent and her great band - that woman has talent and energy to spare. How she pulls it off in those stilletto heels I do not know but she manages to greet her adoring fans with warmth and enthusiasm and put on one heckuva show. 'Course her band sure boost her up...is there a finer fiddler than young Hunter Berry? I think not! I enjoyed his new CD, "WOW BABY" in its entirety about five times on the 365 mile drive back to the Catskill Mountains. Wow baby!!! is right. As John Rice Irwin said in his liner notes, "Now, there's a fiddler."

My sister who isn't new to bluegrass but hasn't been to many festivals and hasn't seen many bands LIVE said her overall favorite bands were Rhonda Vincent and Marty Raybon; not surprising. I've been a huge fan of Marty's voice since I first heard it a few weeks ago. Even though he forgot to play my request for "Beulah Land" he delivered one of the best performances I've heard him do despite losing his long-time tenor singer, Edgar Loudermilk, to IIIrd Tyme Out. My sister was just gob-smacked by his singing. As I mentioned before The Peter Rowan Trio, despite the absence of Tony Rice's fabulous guitar playing, delivered two incredible sets of music and I don't believe anyone left disappointed....Peter pulled a lot of traditional music out of the hat and a lot of his most-requested numbers, too...and even from the distance of the beach area the sound came through the night air full and clear and rich. Sunday's show featured one of my favorite regional bands, White Mountain Bluegrass and though Mac and Hazel have had more than their share of health problems recently, they delivered several fine performances at the weekend; I always love best their Sunday morning gospel set which I'll admit I enjoyed while lying in my tent after a late Saturday night! Dan Paisley and the Southern Grass continue to gain new fans and no wonder! They delivered power-packed sets and hearing Donny play Dusty Miller (my favorite) and those Lundy boys tearing up the banjo and fiddle playing their "old-timey bluegrass" as Paisley calls it just made the weekend complete. The Lewis Family have been a favorite of mine for 25 years and it always fills my heart to see and hear them onstage. And finally the Gibson Brothers...I already talked about this but those guys were a great band to close out the festival. They come across as humble and sincere, honest...and gifted. Their singing and songwriting are right up there with the best and their late night jamming over at the Greenwood's just put another feather in their caps for me!

Thomas Point Beach Bluegrass Festival (Part 2)

2007-09-05T20:27:00.000+01:00

Sometimes I think being a photographer and documentarian is a curse. I keep making all these pictures and videos and doing all this writing and it keeps me sort of "once removed" from what is actually going on - there's a big lens or a big pad of paper between me and reality so I never quite see things directly. Maybe some day some of this stuff will get somewhere to show folks who aren't as lucky as we are what these days were like, how special festivals are, how folks step out of their "ordinary" lives and come together in a community of kindred spirits, how we let down those stony faces and iron curtains and let someone peek inside our hearts every now and then at a festival. I've said this before -- my favorite times at festivals are not when all those great bands are onstage pickin' and singin'. They're not when an audience rises as one to shout and applaud a great performance by (you fill in the blank). My favorite times are always before the proper festival starts and, maybe most especially, after the official closing of the festival; this is when you really get to know folks somehow, when people are not in overdrive, when they're content to have a quiet walk and talk or sit around a fire and share. So this year wasn't any different, despite the efforts of many, many fine bands. I'll make a confession: I didn't even get to the stage for very many sets.

The place where my gang camp is not all that far from the stage - straight out from it, in fact, behind the audience area, behind the gigantic yellow-and-white-striped tent, behind the handicapped parking area....almost to the beach. You can hear the show very well there, almost like you're in the middle of the audience. So while the "visual" is absent, the sound rings! This is the way my friends and I sat around a big ole blazing campfire on Saturday night talking quietly amongst ourselves, laughing at some little joke, and listening to our pal Ole Bubby as he played bass with Peter Rowan and one of the Simpkins boys on the big stage. Tony Rice was scheduled to be there but at the last minute he had some health issue that caused him to miss the trip....never mind. No doubt some folks were disappointed and that sort of thing causes a promoter a ton of anguish (Pati Crooker was telling earlier -before Tony cancelled - how she'd had loads of calls from folks who wanted to confirm that Tony would indeed be appearing because they were coming all the way to the festival just to hear him on Saturday) -- but I think (hope!) it all worked out. I can tell you that my friends and I all agreed that Rowan's show from where we sat around the old campfire was one of the best we've ever heard him do. Rowan is nothing if he is not a 100% professional showman; he's got the pipes and the chops to carry off not just a wonderful trio show -- but even a solo spot. While Tony Rice would have been icing on the cake, this Rowan show was surely a 5 star gourmet concoction nonetheless.

Now Thomas Point Beach has to be one of the very finest bluegrass campgrounds in the country; I haven't been to them all, but I've been to a lot of them. It is pretty well flat (being on the seaside) and well laid out. There are groves of trees nearly everywhere providing that much needed shade and shelter to those of us who don't have sense enough to do the "early to bed, early to rise" thing. Most of us stay up well on into the night and try to catch some sleep on the other end when the sun comes up. That can be hard to do in a tent or the back of your truck like you're obliged to do at so many festivals held in pastures and city parks where there is NOOOOOO shade. So let me call TPB luxurious. Now I've been to bunches of festivals but TPB is the only one that offers a clean, sandy beach on the ocean, inlets for your kayaking pleasure, flush toilets that are kept meticulously clean, soap and paper towel dispensers that never seem to run out, clean and roomy CEDAR shower houses with ample hot water where you have hooks to actually keep your clothing dry and a bench to sit on while you dress....a gigantic campground store where you can buy food, clothing, any number of souvenirs of both the festival and Maine, good real ice cream and thousands of other items. There's a clock that resembles Big Ben in the concert area. You can be sure that anyone in a "STAFF" t-shirt is going to be friendly, professional, and helpful and whatever they say will no doubt come with a smile, and if you're lucky, a bit of that droll down-east humor (hum-ah). Can you tell I love this place? Well, I can't help myself! With easy-to-navigate grounds, a beach, great food vendors (this year I really liked the Mexican food stand where I enjoyed a great chicken burrito made to order) a very polite and enthusiastic audience in their multi-colored lawn chairs, and loads of wonderful music how could anyone help but have a great time? I saw NO instances of anyone being rude or out of line.

Maybe the worst thing I personally witnessed was some folks in these massively large motor homes (kind of tour bus size) with all those bits that crank out to form even larger motor homes....these people were already taking up massive space but then they had to park about 20 feet from the next one, had 2 or 3 cars with them, and an awning on one side which I honestly NEVER saw them use AT ALL....and then they threw a fit when a friend of ours parked a small car a few feet from the edge of all their real estate - they deemed the car too close. Some of those folks I never even saw come out of their motor home...they just stayed inside with the generator running all kinds of hours...so why did they even bother to come to a bluegrass festival and get so territorial? We don't blame TPB beach for this because I suspect these folks are the same kind of jerks wherever they go. But what's up with that? My friends just moved their vehicle because what they wanted to do was have a good time and get along with everyone.
At a festival as big as the one at TPB, even though they have many flush toilets, you need portable toilets as well. The program claimed there were 38 of those stationed around the grounds. I don't know; seems to me there might have been more than that but at any rate without exception they were kept clean and I never found one that had run out of paper. Hand sanitizers were available in each one as well. Now maybe that stuff doesn't matter to some folks but I sure appreciate when someone pays that extra to be sure folks can keep their hands clean.

These are just a few of the things that make Thomas Point Beach my #1 overall favorite bluegrass festival.

Thomas Point Beach Bluegrass Festival (part 1)

2007-09-05T20:21:00.000+01:00

My friends and I had an incomparably wonderful time last week at the 29th Thomas Point Beach (TPB) Bluegrass Festival in Brunswick, Maine. That festival just keeps getting better and better. Don't know what the 30th TPB holds in store, but it'll be a dandy! Okay, if I'm going to talk about a pet peeve it would simply be that it's a darned shame that such a great time has to come to an end! Visit http://www.thomaspointbeach.com/

It was a week of picture-perfect days with very fresh and pleasant daytime temperatures and plenty of sunshine. One day was overcast and a little cooler and we had a teensy bit of rain but no problem. The nights were mostly kind of cool (in the 50s I think) but I only had to wear gloves one night, and that's because I'm a weeny. You can be sure no proper DownEaster donned anything resembling gloves. Matter of fact they were probably down at their beach in bikinis when I was wearing 4 layers of clothing and gloves on Sunday night!

My buddy Darwin Davidson was there and graciously invited my sister and I to accompany him and some friends (among them Myron of Myron's Yakitori - remember him? He's now selling his great sauces in Hannafords and other supermarkets) on a little cruise on the "Beagle" a few miles over to Cundy's Harbor where we partook of an excellent lobster dinner for a mere $13.95....this fresh off the boat! YUMMMMY. The eatery there (I think it's called Moore's) is picturesque and they've taken the time to make it Maine-y while adding lots of pretty flowers...but most of all the lobster!!! I ate there twice, though the first time I "merely" went by car with some pals. The dining area is right up there on a deck overlooking the harbor and you get to see the lobster boats come in; one even had a mascot golden retriever aboard (or did that dog pull the pots for them?) We had a leisurely cruise while passing through the "no wake" zone (I think I live there sometimes) but went directly to warp speed when we were safely out on the more open channel....I think I'm about 2 years younger now. Anyway we passed a very happy 2 or 3 hours motoring to Cundy's Harbor, eating a big fresh lobster then motoring back in time to hear some great bluegrass music.

All my gang from (mostly) New England were there camping out in the center of the grassy area out on the point near the sandy beach, not far from the osprey nest. They always camp there in a series of tents, tarps, pop-ups and so forth. This gang included the Bowdens, the Mavians, the Elegants, the Cartouns, the Hendersons, Casey Henry, Dave Gandin and probably a few others I've forgotten to mention (the Frakers were camped just across an inlet from me). Each night the fire ring was ablaze and kids of all ages were making s'mores with marshmallows alight on the end of sticks and big ole crunchy graham crackers and bits of Hershey bars. Brings back all them Girl Scout memories....These days the gang includes not only us "first generation" folk but kids, grandkids...pretty soon it will be great-grandkids, though Casey and I are hanging tough in that regard . 'Course I'm old enough to be her momma.

Just down the road a few vehicles was the Greenwood compound where Eddie and Jackie, Poppy, June and Buzzy and various other family and friends held court all week long under their 30 year old striped canvas...the picking there was mighty MIGHTY fine, day and night, and the "Hi T" as they call it was held three consecutive afternoons to great amusement....I learned (again) that drinking in the daytime does NOT pay... The first afternoon I learned with a headache that I need to pace myself and I was wanting to go to bed around 6 pm; luckily I got my second wind at midnight and put in a respectably late night after all. Those blender drinks full of fruit and rum were....well, irresistable, and it is flat uplifting to sing the chorus to the Sunny Side of Life every time someone new joins the circle (somehow we managed to sing that song a bunch of times over the 3 days). In the old days of the Hi T bunch the "anthem" was sung every time a blender-ful of adult beverage was whipped to perfection. Now it's a two-blender operation. Judge John from California was solemn but kind and I was only fined twice (you pay a buck every time you curse or say something even vaguely negative about anything). I think a guy named Keith may have been most heavily fined; Carl Pagter might have been just behind him.

At the Greenwood compound on Sunday night, long after the Gibson Brothers had finished their LONG set and charmed each and every person on the grounds with their wonderful music and friendly ways, long after Pati and her staff had said their goodbyes till next year, long after "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" was sung as all the audience joined hands and frolicked around the stage area, hands clasped all in a gigantic circle, long after many of my friends had drifted off to their sleeping quarters, I was headed back to my own tent around 2 am to get some sleep when I heard this great jam going on down at....you guessed it...the Greenwoods. I wandered down there to find a large crowd gathered around Eddie and Jackie Greenwood and Eric and Leigh Gibson and their friends and band members...yikes! What a jam! With a nearly 400 mile drive coming up in just a few short hours I couldn't stay around as long as I would have liked to, but I listened to a few and then went over and laid in my tent listening to the jam for....hours (at least my eyes were resting). I was told they jammed until 4:30 \na.m. That's the kind of folks they are. I just know I floated off to sleep with the most beautiful sounds drifting on the cool night air among the pine trees.....

Pet Peeve #1: The great TPB festival drew to a close on Sunday night and Monday morning everyone was packing up and leaving. Durn. What if we all just decided to stay for another week???

What I Been Listening To...and Tim O'Brien

2007-08-28T00:22:00.000+01:00

The last few weeks I have done a LOT of driving. At the Galax Virginia Old Time Fiddlers' Convention earlier this month I hung out with a bunch of folks who pick and sing jazz and western swing music and rediscovered an old love for standard jazz music. So I got myself to a few stores and picked up some fine CDs of folks like Nat King Cole, Sarah Vaughan, and singers of their ilk. Eva Cassidy has long been a favorite of mine but I never bought one of her CDs until recently - it stays in the CD player much of the time these days (I really like "Songbird"). Got some Sinatra but I prefer Nat King Cole somehow. It's okay. It's my truck after all and your mileage may vary.

As much time as I spend at bluegrass festivals you'd think I'd listen to bluegrass most of the time while driving American byways but no! You'll find cajun and zydeco, Celtic and jazz, some blues, maybe a little classical, definitely some classic country....and maybe a little bit of bluegrass now and then. When I'm really tired I find clanging banjos do help to ward off sleep. And how!

One of the great losses (I hope not a permanent one) on the bluegrass trail is that of the Cox Family from Louisiana. If there are angels on earth surely Suzanne and Evelyn Cox are two of them. I have nearly worn out the CD titled, "The Cox Family" listening to it up one road and down another. If you haven't checked them out, do. They have been big-time influences on folks like Alison Krauss and Rhonda Vincent, and that's from the horse's mouth, buddy.

Seems like I've been saying this a lot recently but it is nevertheless true. Tim O'Brien is my overall favorite. Maybe it's partly because I've listened to him so much for 25 years now. Maybe it's because he seems to just like good music, songs he relates to, songs he's written about his own life experiences. Maybe it's because he doesn't seem to adhere to or even recognize those hard and fast musical lines "that's bluegrass" "that's country." No, on a Tim O'Brien album you might find quite a variety of music. And (YMMV) it is all real, real good. Now why is that I ask?

I recently had the chance to sit with Tim and his wonderful wife Kit out on the porch of a log cabin where they were staying while playing at a nearby music festival. I asked Tim about his songwriting and like with so many things one topic lead to another. But what came through in all the talk and anecdotes was this reality: Tim is true to himself. He writes about what he feels. He sings what he likes. He is his own musican. Now for my taste that is as good as it gets. I've never heard him have a bad night singing, haven't heard very many sour notes, have never done any less than really, really enjoy his music. At this festival (a real treat I think) he was playing solo. Like so many of you, I've heard Tim onstage with some of the greatest singers, songwriters and musicians of our time in various configurations but I have to say that nothing has ever suited me nearly as well as hearing just Tim and his fiddle, just Tim and his mandolin, just Tim and his guitar, and always that expressive, easy-on-the-ears voice of his. He looks like the boy next door. Matter of fact he looks very much like he did 25 long years ago. Maybe he's found the fountain of youth. Maybe it's there in your own heart. I don't know. I'm just glad I live in the days of Tim O'Brien and his wonderful music.

Pickin' in the Pasture (Part 2)

2007-08-28T00:16:00.000+01:00

Jesse McReynolds and his fine band did two good shows on Saturday. His grandson Luke McKnight has come a long way both vocally and instrumentally and Jesse just glows with pride whenever Luke takes a break. The way Jesse was talking onstage it sounds like maybe he's passing the torch over to Luke before too long. Heck, I heard Jesse say that he's not too far off 80. But when he snaps into El Comanchero (sp?) you'd think he was a little short of 40. The man still has the vitality I've seen him display these many years. After his afternoon show a lot of folks clustered around him for photos, autographs, and to buy CDs. Then he had to run over and do a mandolin workshop. I actually had a chance to listen to the evening show and I really enjoyed their musical offerings; Johnny B Goode, Paradise and some of the songs Jesse usually does during his shows. He played to a very appreciative crowd. I have to think the Alexanders were pretty happy while looking out over the crowd...I think there were five good-sized tents erected for shelter from the sun (and, as it happened, RAIN) - they were all full each day and evening. During the cooler hours the large, open area in front of the stage was also full of folks in lawn chairs. A few vendors supplied plenty of good food, pizza, homemade ice cream, popcorn and the like...even breakfast!

The times I looked over at the record tables it seemed like all the bands did a pretty brisk business after their shows; I hope so!

One of my favorite moments during the Abrams' shows came when James stepped up to sing a song that I think was called "Can I Get An Amen?" WOW. What a VOICE. I've always appreciated his voice singing the tenor parts, but it's the first time I remember hearing him sing lead. It's a high voice to be sure and that 14-year-old has great pitch! This is not to slight brother John whom I already know has a wonderful voice. And I'm not sure if cousin Eli sings or not, but I had fun photographing him as his nice curly hair blew this way and that in the wind. I'd be happier if he played acoustic bass but I think I'm fighting a losing battle there. Every time I see the Abrams Brothers though I am even more impressed than the last time. They sing and play so well -- and so many instruments! They are intelligent and polite and well I have to think they must have mobs of girls running after them wherever they go -- though John tells me he stays so busy with music and school that he doesn't have a whole lot of time for that. James admitted with a twinkle that he finds time for girls!

Now I want to talk about Jesse Alexander, Susan and Andy's 9-year-old son. He is taking the mandolin and fiddle by storm. I was bragging on him last year but he must have spent the winter woodshedding because he's that much better this year. Pretty amazing to hear a 9-year-old do a 45-minute set onstage in front of a large crowd of people....Jesse did just that on Saturday and you should have heard that crowd cheer. Off stage Jesse is polite and personable. Call me privileged - I got a tour of the house where Jesse, a cowboy and Indian, Civil War and WWII buff, has various "displays" of battles and wars and so forth set up around the house. He also proudly showed me some items passed down from ancestors to him. And talking with Susan I learned that SHE is actually Welsh. This came about when I stopped in the kitchen for a cookie that looked familiar. I was told it was a Welsh cookie...I took a bite and grinned. It was DELICIOUS - and it was what we call a "Welsh cake" over in Wales. And I must say that Susan's was right up there in the top ranks for flavor and moistness. Then I found out she has Jones, Morgan and Davies in her background and the rest is history. Come to think of it she even looks Welsh!

Andy tells me that the Amish are set to return for the 11th Pickin' in the Pasture. I don't think he's announced who will be performing there next year but I'm pretty sure it will include several of the most traditional bands on the BG circuit. We talked some about maybe having an old time band as well. I hope that happens. The best festivals mix the two.

While some of the days were REALLY hot and some of the rainstorms were really WET, all in all the weather for Pickin' in the Pasture was fine. There were plenty of jams around the grounds. On Saturday morning there was a Vintage Tractor Parade and I followed the 5 red tractors (Farmalls) around the grounds. Quite a lot of folks lined the route to watch them pass by and wave. As I left Sunday morning there was a gospel hour over at the workshop tent. There were several dozen folks over there singing one gospel song after another and I found myself wishing that I didn't have to leave because I sure would have loved to be a part of that.

Now the road to Pickin' in the Pasture - whichever way you go - guarantees you some good fresh air and nice pastoral scenes. My way took me through the mountains to Ithaca and then across to Lodi. Along the way were many farm stands selling fresh sweet corn and juicy tomatoes. Perennial beds spilled over with coneflowers and black-eyed susies, farmers were busy baling hay and hauling the bales to the barn. I passed a couple of bearded Amish men in little wagons. Getting close to Lodi I spied many Amish farms (notable for the absence of electric lines and motorized vehicles) with pastures of fine horses close to the barn. I find it joyful to drive the roads that wind through the countryside and get a peek into the lives of country folk.

This year's Pickin' in the Pasture festival was really fun; the staff and the Alexanders are so hospitable and helpful. The stage is nice and the crowd enthusiastic. Most folks got to the stage area early and seemed to stay for all of the performances. The bands all knocked themselves out to do their best. And it was just really, really good. Pickin' in the Pasture is still I suppose a small-to-medium-sized festival. One of the really good things I like about PIP is that they don't have TOO many hours of music onstage. I think the show started around 11 or 12 most days; and the last band finished right around 10:00. Plenty of time for picking and socializing. Most folks I know are quite happy to not have too many bands performing allowing them time to hear all the bands, pick some, and get a reasonable amount of sleep. Another thing I really liked about PIP is that each band still does two shows enabling you to maybe catch just one of them. The trend these days toward one long show I think makes people have to make too many difficult choices and ultimately hurts the bands' CD sales....maybe you just HAVE to go to a banjo workshop and it's at the same time as the only show being done by your favorite band. You have to choose. While in some cases maybe having just one shows helps bands in the summertime get to their next gig in a more timely fashion, that really depends...what time will your one show be? If you get the dinnertime slot or first in the morning you are NOT going to be heard and you won't sell many CDs. So bands and promoters, rethink this!

Anyway, next year when you're planning your schedule, if you like traditional bluegrass music and enjoy jamming and want to try a nice, friendly festival that isn't as big as Bean Blossom or Grey Fox, do think about coming out to Lodi NY. You'll be glad you did.