Coming Home to Bluegrass
Trip Start
Oct 23, 2010
1
6
7
Trip End
Dec 06, 2010
Sherwood, Arkansas
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Mind you, I had an early disdain for country music. In college, I was singularly plugged in to the likes of Mozart, Hayden, Bach, Brahms and Rachmaninoff.
That all changed about 20 years ago, one magical summer evening when my 87 year-old grandmother and I were both visiting North Little Rock at the same time. After supper, my brother-in-law, Bart (artist and guitar player extraordinaire) escorted us to a gathering of pickin' and grinnin' locals held every Friday night in the parking lot outside of Dixon's music store.
A steady stream of musicians and their families drove up the hill in battered, old pick up trucks and station wagons (and a few in late model Cadillacs). They unloaded ice chests, set up lawn chairs and uncased their guitars, fiddles, banjos, harmonicas and tamborines and took their places in a circle. These were sturdy and honest, open-hearted, no-frills folk. Greetings were warm, whether a generous hug, a handshake, a smile, a pat on the back, or a quiet, respectful nod to a late-comer after the music had started. I don't remember many of the details. Yes, there were baseball caps and cowboy hats, a few cowboy boots, faded plaid cotton shirts, t-shirts and jeans, some missing teeth, and, of course, some chewing tobacco, along with lots of beer and cokes.
What I do remember was looking out across the golden green tree tops of the valley, the invigorating wind and smell of threatening-but-never-quite-materializing rain, the hum of traffic moving rhythmically through the street below us, and how the sweet, fading light of day turned the bulging thunderhead clouds in the distance intense hues of gold that faded to pink and purple. Somewhere between the congenial exchange of laughter, fiddles and guitars, as we sat surrounded by strangers and loved ones, time stopped. The silent space between all that moving, resonant life opened up and sat with the pregnant stillness of eternity. Much more was being shared than a mixture of lively and haunting music here. We were swimming in universal longings and sorrow, soul-aching despair and redemption, the unspeakable joys and ebullience, not only of music, but of our own lives and of life itself.
This was life, vibrant life. Life arising -- tenderly, robustly, honestly. Life as it was meant to be. Shared, with a fullness of heart amplifying the beauty and richness of every person here.
I was hooked.
Ever since, whenever I come home (except when Mother and Dad were dying), Bart faithfully brings out his guitar. Our family gatherings now are centered in music. My brother David and his son Corey bring their guitars (as does my 7 year old grand niece). Brother Stephen bellows out lyrics (with a beer in hand) and moves his hips with a relish for life that is infectious. None of us leave those gatherings without knowing how completely we love each other, without a deeper appreciation of the treasure we have in one another.
So I have come home to Arkansas again...only 2 short months after my last trip home for my sister-in-law Tina's funeral. We are renting a cabin in Mountain View, going to the Annual Folk Music Festival there, bringing our lawn chairs to carry with us to town, so our musicians can sit down at the inspiration of an instant, on any street corner, to play with other musicians. It is going to be one grand celebration of life, music and family.
To warm up, on Friday night, Bart, Kathey and I went to the Sherwood Senior Center for another local pickin' gathering. This one has been going on for 6 years.
There were about 25-30 musicians, looking to be aged 60-90 years old, passing the microphone around the circle on an IV pole. (How appropriate is that!). Not all of them were great musicians. Most of the voices cracked or faded from time to time when they were leading a song. Sometimes the music dragged or was a little off note. That mattered not a whit ... it was full of the love of music, full of heart and wholly gratifying.
One couple danced the Spanish Two Step. They way they looked into each others eyes, was beyond tender and full of light (yes, some couples really do make it a lifetime of loving). Some of the songs made me slap my knee. Others made me get up and dance. Some made me cry.
I still catch myself singing one of the more aching melodies:
The God on the Mountains
Is the God in the Valleys,
The God of the Good times
is God in the bad times
The God of the Day,
is the God of the Night."
and another,
"I had nothing but heartache and trouble
I was seeking fortune and fame,
I had nothing but doubt and confusion
And Now, I have evry thang
Evry thang I need to make me happy
I have music to show me the way."
Apparently I didn't hear the wording of the last line correctly, but the way I did hear it, as "music" seems perfectly fitting and true, so I am sticking with that for now.
