Country Music

Willie Nelson writing songs for Patsy Cline. An interesting hour listening to music from the Country Music Hall of Fame. Nashville and Bakersfield, California. Robert's. RCA Studio B, Elvis, one-pass recording. Chet Adkins. What's his name, playing the piano, "Last Date", Floyd Cramer. " Gentle On My Mind", John Hartford, a great song. Elvis recorded 200 songs in that studio. "It's Now or Never". I have to look into this, even though I've always found the lap-steel guitar to be disconcerting. No pain no gain, right? I found a small clutch of morels, stuffed them with caramelized shallots and cream cheese. I don't want to tell you how good these were. One of the best things I've ever eaten. Filled all of my water buckets, wash water for a month. Got to town early enough to have a chocolate milk and a scone beneath the floodwall. River traffic in the fog amazes me. Putting stuff away, from the reception, then setting up for the music event all morning, cleaning; then in the afternoon, D replaced some lights in the permanently installed artifact exhibit, and, now that the dust has settled, I started cleaning all the surfaces. Had to haul trash, from last night, to make room for the trash from tonight. I grazed a bit, while Pegi and Meagan arranged the finger-food on various trays and in various bowls. Again, so many people there, that I left half-an-hour early, drove down the river road, which is beautiful right now, then all the way up the creek to it's very source. In the bottoms, on the river, colors are exploding. The background color, a palette of green, intensifies. So much happening that it boggles the mind, I look at a bush one day, and it's a bunch of sticks, the next day it's leafing out. It all happens so fast. Next thing you know you're a grandparent. I run the Jeep through the ford a few times, to clean the wheel wells, stop, in the middle of the creek, clamber out on the hood without getting my feet wet, roll a smoke, watching a couple of young squirrels frisk about. I hear another vehicle coming up the road, and it's a Park Ranger I don't know, who stops, to see if I'm in trouble, parked in the middle of the creek, sitting on the hood, smoking a cigaret. He's clearly perplexed, but I put him at ease, with a few simple questions, what's this, what's that, and he asks me to roll him a smoke. I get this a lot, because I smoke, and because I roll my own. I roll him one, it's an easy gesture, I've rolled thousands of these, and he's taken with my dexterity. I blow it off. I can roll a cigaret, big deal. Meanwhile three crows have set up a raucous chorus in the background. He's never heard of Patsy Cline. Someplace, you draw the line, meaning emerges. Deny what you will. When your panties are in a wad. I've experienced almost everything, but this new spring is special. Emerging as it does.