The surprise.

Because this involved a surprise for my dear husband Terry, I had to wait to tell this story.

I was exactly one week into my tour when Will and Lori Faith Merritt said they had a surprise for me.  The only hint they had given me was that I should bring my guitar and my voice.  They didn’t tell me where we were going until we were nearly there.

I was on my way to meet their friend Michael Blake, author and Academy-Award-winning screenwriter of Dances With Wolves.

We drove quite a while, on paved and gravel roads, straight toward the Catalinas.  At the gate house, Will called Michael on his cell phone.  Michael met us at the gate and led us a good mile further to The Wolf Den, a lovely old adobe home nestled at the foot of the mountain.  We arrived as the sun set behind the mountains and the light in the sky was beginning to fade.

We shook hands outside and took my guitar in the house.  Then the three visitors walked a short distance up behind the house, while Michael drove down below to the barn and called in his 7 wild mustangs for their evening meal.

We talked in normal voices, but the sound carried and the horses were quite aware of our presence.  They knew his arrival meant good grain and they ran straight for the barn, but they didn’t really want to stay in the fence as long as they could hear us talking.  After we hushed our voices, they relaxed some.   He called them by name into the corral but never closed the gate on them.  It was thrilling to watch the way they moved, running, kicking and full of fire.  The pony dance.  I’ve never seen anything like it.

Back at the house we enjoyed a wonderful evening visit.  The house consisted of two or more separate adobe buildings connected by a patio area.  Out on the patio was a large cage about 7 feet high, where a large black bird was mending.  The house felt very open and warm.  The greatroom had comfortable low couches and a conservative number of bookshelves for one who writes.  The walls were adorned with large works of art in various modern styles and subjects.  There was a crystal award for his battle with cancer on a buffet, and high on a dark corner bookshelf by the fireplace, a gold statue from the Academy:  his Academy Award.

Michael returned from his visit with the mustangs, and we sat down for a visit.  He was slight in frame with long white hair, the back of his head bald from cancer treatments.  He wore dark glasses which he occasionally removed long enough to rub his eyes, or look you straight in the eye when the conversation grew particularly passionate.  He wore a print cotton shirt tucked out of blue jeans and smoked medicinal marijuana throughout the evening visit.

The others shared news of friends they held in common.  For Michael and Lori, most of these friends were the ever-diminishing groups of wild mustangs still running free in the American West.  They knew where they were and who owned the land where they ran free.  They knew how many were reported and how many were actually in each location.  They both knew of at least one future kill, and the ugly realities that went with that, including psychological treatment set up in advance for the unfortunate humans asked to carry out the killing.  It was a lot for me to take in.

The conversation turned to music, a passion of Michael’s.  He often travels with his friend Kevin Costner, who has formed a band and found some success in a musical direction.  I found myself on the spot.  The evening was growing late and we all anticipated early mornings, but Will asked me to sing a couple of tunes for Michael.   What an honor and a pleasure.  Something about the room gave it great acoustics, and my voice felt very powerful to me in that space.

I left with an autographed copy of Dances With Wolves, which Michael said was the only remaining hardback in the US.  He also autographed one of his choosing, Like a Running Dog, Vol. 1, Los Angeles 1970-72.   It opens with a description of his battle with cancer, similar to my dad’s, in greater detail than I dared ask.   I’ve already read about half of it.  He’s a great writer.

As we parted, he encouraged me to keep singing.   I encouraged him to keep writing.  It is not often that such a brief visit leads to true friendship, but I feel Michael and I are friends.  What a blessing to call such a gifted and insightful soul my friend.

I am so glad I took the time to visit Nicodemus, KS.  I’ve lived in KS my whole life, and have heard the story, but never have visited.  It is the only remaining African-American community built by ex-slaves west of the Mississippi.  There were once several communities like Nicodemus, but they all either died or assimilated into the culture of the neighboring communities.  Nicodemus has just a few residents.  Several of the farmers nearby are descendants, and they continue to develop innovative ways to farm the dry dirt here without irrigation.

I spent quite a bit of time in the interpretive center, temporarily housed in the township hall.  I thought a lot about the composite character I’ve been trying to build for my historical programs.  Part of the reason I can’t just portray Big Goat (yes, that’s what they called her!) is because she was described as a “Negroid Indian woman”.  Clearly if that’s the way a complete stranger described her, it was visible, and it would take a lot of makeup for me to pull that off.  However, today I had a chance to think through Big Goat herself.  Instead of the parallel character I’m building, I took some time to imagine her journey.

In a couple of weeks, Nicodemus will celebrate Emancipation, as it has done every year since 1888.  Descendants, friends and interested guests come for a weekend of festivities.  I’ve decided to come back for some educational presentations on that Saturday; might bring a couple of friends to keep me awake on the drive.

Saturday’s concert in Bird City was a tremendous success.  Turns out the smallest community brings the biggest crowd.  It would have been even bigger if it were not harvest time.

The best part of my stay here was getting to visit with Dawn.  She is so talented and so SMART.  She played fiddle with me on Liberty Waltz, and the crowd loved it.

This morning Craig and I went to church with Dawn in McDonald, KS.  It wasn’t like home, but the people there were warm and inviting.  Afterward, we were invited to homemade Sunday dinner with friends.  Dawn said her goodbyes before we went in; I didn’t see her when she left.  I know she hates goodbyes.  Such a dear, dear soul.

Tonight I have a room at a small hotel in Hill City.  The A/C wasn’t really missed in Bird City, because the climate was still dry there.  But it’s humid here, and hot.  Very, very hot.

Granby, CO sits just 16 miles west of Trail Ridge Road, so this morning it made sense to me to exit the Colorado Rockies by driving up and over the Continental Divide straight through Rocky Mountain National Park. The drive was even more spectacular than I had remembered. As I went up and the temperature went down, I rolled down the windows and ran the van’s heater on my feet to keep my toes warm. The air was full of the scent of fresh pine, and the roadway was lined with wildflowers. Past the tree line, I giggled with joy. It was wonderful. The mountains remained in my rear-view mirror until I reached the far side of Greeley.

The temperature outside climbed steadily, and by the time I reached Yuma, CO, it was just plain hot. Somewhere along the road, I passed a man on a bicycle that was loaded down with travel packs. I said out loud, “I hope those bags are full of water.”

Highway 34 wound south through Nebraska and became highway 27, the one that leads through St. Francis, KS and the Arikaree Breaks. Weary of driving, I found myself stopping frequently along the way to stretch my legs. Along the Arikaree Breaks, there was an intriguing historical marker that described a group of Indians that fled from a massacre along Cherry Creek, including a list of survivors that included Black Elk. A rest stop in St. Francis answered my question about the origin of Bird City, the only Bird City in the country: Benjamin Bird, head of the Northwestern Cattle Co. had his headquarters near the site.

I’ve never seen harvest so frantic. Western Kansas has had an unusual amount of rain this summer, and just when the wheat was ready to cut, they were hit with four straight days of rain. The farmers have been anxiously waiting for the puddles to dry up in their fields, hoping the ground will dry enough to bring in the harvest before it’s too late. Today I saw several fields with two or even three big rigs running at the same time.

This is my first visit to Bird City. Terry and I stopped along the highway here twice before just to stretch our legs on journeys to Colorado, but we never actually saw the town. It’s charming. I had to take a driving tour when I first arrived. The beautiful city hall was built by the WPA in gray limestone. I found Liberty Music right across the street from the Legion Hall where I’ll play tomorrow, and next to the Legion Hall is the post office where Dawn sometimes goes to play music; the acoustics are perfect there. We supplied electricity to my van out back, and walked two doors down to Ed’s Steakhouse.

On the way, we ran into that bicycle rider I passed earlier today on the highway. Craig “Rockman” Gedeist is from northern California, riding his bicycle all the way to Florida. Dawn struck up a conversation with him, noticing the backpacker guitar strapped onto his bike. He says he injured his left hand, so after years of unsuccessful attempts to play around it, he’s switching to left-handed playing, and learning to read music. I asked him if all those bags were full of water. He said they weren’t, but he was looking for something to eat and drink. We asked him to join us for dinner, and to consider staying over for tomorrow night’s concert. Well, after a fabulous steak and some visiting, he’s decided to stay. We have been visiting and jamming ever since.

It will be nice to add Craig to our tech team when it’s time to set sound for the show. Dawn wants to use her sound system instead of mine, and it’s big equipment. I do enjoy the idea of using speakers once used by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. Dawn has met all SORTS of musicians…

I always dread a day of driving, because I expect to be bored.  Not today.   I found beauty AND adventure.

This morning before I took off, Mary Kaye treated me to a walk up the canyon in her neighborhood; that’s quite a spot the Knaphus family enjoys.  It was great to spend some time together and really get acquainted.

After a lengthy search for my overpriced sunglasses, I was on the road.  I drove through some mighty mountains.  Mighty.   If I’d been in a boat, I’d think at one point I was in the Grand Canyon.  Ever changing, it was a beautiful drive.  Early on there was a heavy rain in the mountains, and although I drove out from under it, the dark clouds followed me most of the day.  I snapped a few photos just west of Devil’s Canyon, drove the bridge over beautiful Eagle Canyon, and longed for the views I missed completely because of
the rain.  I’ll just have to come again.

By late afternoon, I arrived at my destination, only to learn that this RV resort charged as much as a hotel room, so I picked out a cozy-looking Forest Service site, and headed for Coffee Pot Spring Campground in White River National Forest.

The description on the tiny screen of my cell phone said I’d drive north of I-70 some 18 miles or so, mostly dirt road.  It was a breathtaking drive, always climbing and winding through amazing views.  At about the 9 mile mark, my van started gasping and lurching, and just didn’t want to go any further.  Great.  This beautiful road had no cell phone coverage, that’s for sure, and very little traffic.  No calling AAA this time.

I wasn’t out of gas; I figured I had about 12 gallons or so.  It ran, but had no power.  I figured if I could just get turned around, I could coast all the way down hill.  I tried to do a 15-point turn in a wide spot, but it quit on me, blocking nearly the whole road.  Then a car came, a small SUV.  Well, I asked the nice couple if they happened to have cell phone coverage.  They didn’t, but he had a tow chain.  He repositioned his vehicle to attempt a tow, and I tried to start the van just one more time.  It fired up, and I revved and moved before it could die on me again, til I was facing downhill.  Ah, well, all’s well that ends well.  I decided it was best to head back downhill and toward civilization, just to be on the safe side.

I had no more trouble.  I guess the van just struggles with steep grades and high altitudes.  Like me.  It’s alright.  I had a delightful, peaceful drive in the mountains.

Two in a row in Utah.

Monday I drove to Salt Lake City early enough to make my pilgrimage to Temple Square, to walk around the big temple and to step inside the hall where the Mormon Tabernacle Choir performs.  I was raised on that sound.  Just as I stepped inside, a young lady stepped to the front of the platform, with no microphone, and demonstrated the amazing acoustics of the room.  First she dropped two pins, and then a nail.  Then she spoke to us about the dimensions of the room, while turning her body and her head 180 degrees; there was absolutely no change in volume.  We heard every word.  The short speech began and ended with a brief recording of the choir.  Very nice.

I arrived at the home of my hosts, Bill and Lu Middleton, in time to freshen up before Terri and Steve Taylor arrived with pizza.  We set up sound on the back patio and guests brought lawn chairs to enjoy the evening shade.  They all complained about how humid it has been there.  Hm.

Today I drove to Mary Kaye’s house in Manti.  We were a bit concerned about the daily rains that have been coming up over the mountains nightly, and decided to set up the concert in the living room.  So of course it didn’t rain.  Not much, anyway.  But we had a great potluck before the concert, and afterward we settled in for a nice jam session.

Every concert is different, because every crowd is different.  I enjoy visiting with the audience beforehand, so I can get an idea of what direction the evening should go.  It’s fun to take that ride together.

What a fabulous day.  The best crowd I’ve had yet.  Probably the biggest, yes, but more importantly, the most responsive crowd so far.  The people who attend house concerts tend to be good friends, and these were certainly that.  Many had known Richard and Sally for years, although there were a few of Richard’s fans as well.  They laughed in all the right places, and I enjoyed sharing music with them.

The concert opened with Richard, then a friend joined him to add some guitar “enhancements”.  Then it was my turn.

The air was filled with the smell of the sage that grows in his yard.  It was magical.  Such fun.

I’ve had a marvelous drive today, from San Francisco through Sacramento and on to Reno. I saw every kind of mountain you can imagine along the way — some covered in wildflowers, others yellow grass, then pine forests, granite boulders, and even a zebra-pattern of white sands and black volcanic rock. Even drove through Donner Pass.

At one rest stop, there was a historic marker indicating the tracks of the Transcontinental Railroad running alongside the highway, built in 1885 by Chinese workers recruited from Kwantung Province to work for Charles Crocker of the Central Pacific Railroad. At times, it really did look like I was driving through a Lionel Train poster, complete with the mountain stream running by the road.

When I got to Reno, traffic slowed to a crawl just as I approached an exit for downtown. I figured if I was looking at stop-and-go traffic, why not do it on the strip? So I turned off and drove the Reno strip. Lots of the 50s-era hotels were closed down, but I sensed some hesitation to let them go. I like to think the bank owners might still light up the signs at night, and just indicate “no vacancy”. There were plenty of larger casinos still open for business, but the country’s economic downturn was evident here.

At the far side of the strip, I followed a sign to Virginia City, which was right on my way, and drove up and into the mountains. Looked like the gold country of CO. There was gambling here, too, but the town was all history and tourism; no new buildings on the main street. I ate lunch at a restaurant that was remodeled all fancy, with gold tin ceilings and glass chandeliers, but they only served sandwiches and salads. Next door was the famous “suicide table”, in a saloon with old wood floors filled with slot machines.

Richard and Sally greeted me at their home in Dayton, the site of the original Comstock mine. They are headed to Reno until late night for Richard’s gig. I’m free to help myself to the frig and the TV. I might not do anything useful at all.

I’ve been thinking a lot the last couple of days about blessings.

It began on the drive down the mountain yesterday. There was one stretch of that winding road that passed through thick patches of yellow honeysuckle bushes. The sweet smell was so wonderful. Almost overpowering.

Perhaps the reason I haven’t been able to write much music on this journey is that my mind is so busy absorbing new sights, sounds, tastes and smells I can’t shut it all out long enough to focus in a creative direction. Perhaps at home, I’ll have a chance to sit back and reflect on my experiences, and that reflection will lead to some good music.

On the road for 20 days now, I am so fortunate to be safe, rested, well-fed, well-equipped, and accumulating fond memories of my journey. I am relaxing with old friends and making new ones. I’m enjoying my favorite foods and trying new ones. I’m visiting some of my favorite places and some I never could have imagined. Tomorrow I turn my face toward home. I still have 5 more gigs, with many miles to go and many mountains to cross. But I am grateful.

So good to make music with friends.

Tonight’s gig was at a city park in Pasadena, CA. We played in an amphitheater that looked a lot like the Hollywood Bowl, but in a real nice neighborhood. I mean nice as in neat and tidy, with old trees in the park and California tiles on the water fountains.

We played for a crowd that was a mix of local office workers, residents from a couple of retirement centers, and families from nearby apartment complexes. The park supplied whitewashed wooden chairs, some folks brought lawn chairs, and others just sat down on the grass. It always strikes me that the people here feel free to just plop down on the grass without blankets. No chiggers. Wow.

We had a sound technician from the parks service, and grilled hot dogs and hamburgers were available at the edge of the stage.

It was an hour-long set, so The Tumbling Tumbleweeds sang a few songs, then I sang 4, then they came back and sang some more. They are really sounding good.

Joyce Woodson was there with friends, and her face just lit up when I sang her new song, “She’s in Love with Her Horse”. It wasn’t perfect, but she liked it just fine.

We went to a nearby café after the show to celebrate R.J.’s birthday and visit more. It was pretty late when we turned for home, but what a wonderful day.

Tomorrow I’m off to San Francisco to visit our friend Niel Tam and his family, then on to NV, for a house concert at the home of Richard Elloyan. Richard had given me a song of his, and I do love the lyrics, but as much as I’d hoped to sing it for him, I just don’t feel settled in with it yet. Every song is different. I felt at home with Joyce’s song right off, but spent six years ruminating over “The Mourning Dove” from Les Buffham. It turned out right nice, but that’s a long time. Here’s hoping it won’t take THAT long…