Stories Emerge Like Bears
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The Drums of Menomonie High School
When I was young, my ears were alive, and I heard everything. I counted on one hand the times anyone ever said anything important to me and stepped as drummers’ step, with attitude. I crossed every boundary and nobody ever bothered me. At 17, when Colt 4 broke up, I immediately joined a second band.…
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HEART TERRITORY: a journey in three parts.
HEART TERRITORY: a journey in three parts PART I. Soundtrack from the Road. This music reel captures several performances from July 26-August 21. The northern notes became part of the fabric woven into our summer journey. Acts are from Wisconsin, Michigan, and other places: Chippewa Valley Based Blues, Howard Guitar Luedtke and Blue Max; Detroit…
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Father and Son Among the Estivant Pines: For a While They Stand Together
Think of that seed opening to the sun as history unfolded around it; before Wisconsin had its name, before my ancestors had imagined coming here. We touched that history in the bark, feeling its heft, its weight, its gravity. Much like the love between fathers and sons or mothers and daughters, immigrant journeys, and the…
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The World Hooks Us With Appetite. Memory holds Us With Belonging
Northwoods vacation properties are full of contradictions. People go there for quiet and peace, but upon arriving, immediately unpack the noise makers: TVs, stereos, and phones, and turn them on. Whatever we meant it for, a cabin on the lake, like The Old-Style Place, always delivers what we truly need even if we don’t know…
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Halleluijah in a Northern Wisconsin Bar
Various renditions of every song are worth listening to. Some renditions move beyond our recognition, yet if we appreciate music and musicians, we can find something to enjoy. And some songs are nearly sacramental with ineffable or opaque elements that strongly affect the listener. Leonard Cohen’s “Halleluijah” is one of those songs; it’s not just…
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What Memory Keeps
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A Dust Bath for Five Chickens: satisfaction in small things
I’m in Wisconsin, helping my daughter with a small chicken project. Her five chickens needed a bin in the coop to take their dust baths. So we gathered a couple of old vegetable beds and transferred the soil into sheltered boxes where they could scratch, roll, and clean their feathers. Building a dust bath for…
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Nothing Is Forced into Action Except the Old Boat Motor
At the cabin, stories rise the way ghosts do. Nobody can produce them on demand. They are, like the Dylan lyric about sons and daughters, “beyond our command.” They flash across consciousness, drift back into the trees, return when they are ready. This is why I come again to Big Casey Lake, to the Old-Style…
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Rhiannon Giddens and Liberation Songs: When the Blackbird Talks to the Crow
What I’d give to sing just one song in hope-filled voice with Rhiannon Giddens. I’d heard her in Michigan when I sat on the ground; right, there, ten, feet, away — watching and listening — my mouth agape, ears drunk with the power blasting from her body, her banjo, and her SOUL as the Carolina…
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Ghosts Are Full Here As The Hungry Half Moon Rises
and so am I. I am full with the imprints of time and memory. I am rich in soul, yet I’m hungry for more. It’s not a feast I want, I keep my appetite for all things in moderation, but I want what singer Sam Garrett wants, “More life, more blessings; more peace, more unity.”…