What is the depth of hope?

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Have you ever sought a particular outcome in any particular situation?
Perhaps you have a dream job that you are working to reach. You have studied, gotten the education required. Then applied and achieved an interview and are awaiting a response.
You are hopeful.
The doctors have said you are facing a tough battle ahead to regain your health after coming down with an unexpected affliction. You follow their guidance, change your habits, eat better, exercise, and follow the medical regimen.
You are improving and await a new prognosis from your doctor.
You are hopeful.
Your mind and body is troubled by an addiction. You try to stop using. You go to counseling and see progress. Then when you find yourself weak you use again. You find yourself in the depths of despair for failing once again. You start over once again.
You are hopeful.
You’ve met someone new; your heart flutters and beats faster. Your mind desires a chance for what you believe may be love. They like you back. You go out on a date and things seem promising.
You are hopeful.
You are a boy who wishes to please his father. He wants a baseball star. You try to pitch and you have no power or control. You try to hit but you miss every time. But you desire is to make your father proud. So, you keep trying.
You are hopeful.
Within your soul you can tap into the source of eternal hope. It will sustain you in the darkest or brightest times. The hope can uplift others who cross your path. What is the source? God blessed each of us with the ability to find the hope and tap into it by asking Jesus into our lives. That hope may not allow us to achieve our dream but it will help us no matter the result of our attempting to reach it.

Chuck Wagon Gang rides still 

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     From my earliest memories of music emanating from our mahogany cabinet phonograph, there was always an album or two from one of gospel music’s longest running acts – the Chuck Wagon Gang. Their sound and history were unique; growing in much the same way other acts did from the Depression era, radio stations, churches, schoolhouses, county fairs and everything in between. The group originally made up of members of the Texas Carter family, not the Appalachian one that went by that name, although Dad Carter was from Kentucky.
     The group has seen many personnel changes over the years — its sound and devotion to old-fashioned gospel has remained much the same. I was privileged as I came up in gospel music to appear with members of the original group as well as subsequent configurations. It was always a joy to share the stage with them, no matter when, where or who.
     Their greatest significance is that the band provides an important link between country music and traditional sacred songs of the South. This music has moved Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Charlie Daniels, and generations of gospel singers and open-eared listeners. For more than 80 years, the Chuck Wagon Gang has offered hope and harmony, faith and family and is now in its third generation.
     Their latest release Come Go with Me is all new for Mountain Home Music Company and it features a variety of both old and new songs all bearing the signature sound that has sustained the group for an unprecedented career that’s now lasted nearly 90 years.
     Produced by Jeremy Stephens, leader of the popular bluegrass revivalist band, High Fidelity, and a former member of the Chuck Wagon Gang himself, Come Go With Me makes a compelling case for the timelessness of the group’s sound.

     “I have loved the Chuck Wagon Gang since my early teens when I raided my grandparents’ LPs and found several CWG records,” Stephen said. “I was so blessed to play guitar and sing with them for 6 years prior to beginning to tour with my own group, High Fidelity, and working for Jesse McReynolds, but the biggest honor was being asked to produce their latest album. It was so special to be able to take the direction that the group wanted to go with the album while still remaining true to the original stylings that the Chuck Wagon Gang is so well known for. “
     Indeed, at a time when the listening audience’s appetite for the down-to-earth resonance of acoustic sounds, the sturdy simplicity of traditional styles and the abiding warmth of sincere gospel sentiments has never been larger, the elemental approach embodied in this down-to-earth yet well-crafted collection has never been more appealing.  
     With Stephens on board not only as producer, but also as instrumentalist alongside studio wizard David Johnson and award-winning bassist Mike Bub, they serve up a set that embraces continuity through a seamless blend of material that, whether old or new, sounds tailor-made for their old-school approach.
     Bookended by new songs — the closing “Our Sins Are Washed Away” even comes straight from the pen of the group’s leader, Shaye Smith — the Chuck Wagon Gang visit classics like “I Dreamed About Heaven Last Night” and Dottie Rambo’s thoughtful “For What Earthly Reason” and recent arrivals like “The Mighty Word of God” and the bluegrass-flavored “I Will Not Cry Today,” presenting each in an arrangement that faithfully reflects the essence of the sound first brought to the world three generations ago, yet infuses it with new energy.  
“We have an interesting variety of selections on Come Go With Me,” Smith said. “Maybe for the first time ever, there are as many brand new songs as recognizable favorites. But even these old favorites are new for the gang. I believe there is something for everyone within this album and we’ve been anticipating its release with great excitement!”
Learn more about the Chuck Wagon Gang by visiting https://thechuckwagongang.net/.

A bluegrass era nearing its end

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When I reflect upon my life, some of my greatest joy came upon the grounds and on stages of bluegrass festivals across the country.
My youthful days brought a desire to throw an instrument in the car, a tent, sleeping bag and enough clothes and food to get by while I took in day and evening shows and late night jam sessions.
The people attending, the performers became my family. I once compared the experience to living in Mayberry. We had a small town that each weekend moved to a new location with many of the same lovable characters making up our world.
All we did circled around a group of established and much loved performers whose talents surpassed all we knew and who could keep us mesmerized again and again as they flowed onto the stage and sang the songs that touched our hearts. The first generation of those performers were the kings and queens of our world. As fans we shared their lives in ways no other music industry ever afforded. We actually came to know them, their families, we often shared meals and laughed around the record tables to endless stories.
Most of that first generation has stepped off the stage. In recent weeks, the heavenly bluegrass band expanded by two more mandolin players and lead singers whose sound and songs were known around the world. First, Jesse McReynolds of Jim & Jesse and the Virginia Boys. His career spanned from 1947 until 2023. He and his late brother Jim joined the Grand Ole Opry in 1964. Their career was infused by breaking musical barriers and taking their unique bluegrass style across genres. They turned heads in the 1960s dedicating an entire album to the songs of Chuck Berry in bluegrass style. Johnny B. Goode became a career-long fan favorite. Jesse could as easily play with a Rock and Roll star as a Jazz virtuoso innovating his instrument with two distinct approaches including split-stringing and cross-picking. Both of which made him the envy of every player and an inspiration for generations.
He and his brother created bluegrass hits such as “Cotton Mill Man,” “Paradise,” “Sweet Little Miss Blue Eyes,” “Hard Hearted,” “Pardon Me,” “Border Ride” while adding hundreds of songs to America’s music catalog.
Of course, with their distinguished career came International Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame induction, America’s highest musical award – National Heritage Fellowship, Grammy nominations, and countless other awards.
I first saw them as a youth at one of those festivals, and I was blessed to have them both a mentors in my life and career. I appeared both as a Virginia Boy and as a guest star on the Jim and Jesse Show. I slept in their bus and Jesse’s house many times. No bluegrass legend invested more in my life than Jesse. He and Jim were my family, so with Jesse’s passing I lost an adopted father in many respects. But the world lost a vital link to a generation of music performance which will never be again.
Another legendary figure, who I was also blessed to be friends with who died four days after Jesse was Bobby Osborne. Beginning as part of the Hall of Fame Lonesome Pine Fiddlers in 1949, he and his brother Sonny – The Osborne Brothers, also joined the Opry in 1964. Before that they performed with the Stanley Brothers, Red Allen, Jimmy Martin and others. Their vocal blends combined with the coordination of their banjo and mandolin talents endeared them to worldwide audiences. Their albums were an annual feast of what was going to be the next hot song heard in jam sessions. On stage, they were unmatched in their ability to entertain. If you are from America, you probably heard their big hit “Rocky Top,” which they popularized. Bobby could sing “Ruby, Are You Made At Your Man” with a voice so high he could catch the birds in flight above the stage he was singing upon. They also added hundreds of stylistic performances to the American songbook – “Big Spike Hammer,” “I’ll Be Alright Tomorrow,” “Up This Heal and Down,” “Pain In My Heart,” “Me and My Old Banjo” and others.
They also were International Bluegrass Hall of Fame inductees. Among their awards were major ones in both country and bluegrass. And they also received the National Heritage Fellowship Award. I was honored to feature The Osborne Brothers on shows I produced. I will add my sorrow among the many fans who will miss Bobby. There are only a handful of the first generation performers remaining. These were the last two among the Opry family, which added to their legacy. I wish I could once again throw my fiddle in the back of the station wagon and head down some old dirt road to a pasture by a creek where in front of a stage thousands were gathered around to hear Jim & Jesse and the Osborne Brothers and so many other legends once more. We sure were blessed to know them!

The closet door seems smaller

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I don’t know about you, but I am sure aliens have been in my closet.
No other explanation can be conducive to my temperamental feelings.
I went in the other day preparing for a trip. I began by pulling out a few of my favorite standbys and when I slipped them on and they no longer went around my waist.
I figure some alien beamed in, liked them, wore them to some event, then had them dry cleaned before returning them to their usual hanging place. It must have been the dry cleaning that shrunk the pants. I can’t understand why the jacket remained the same size.
When thinking of an alternative explanation, perhaps my leprechauns, who store all the family gold that I have yet to find, decided to practice tailoring.
They have been cutting down my best pieces using the excess materials for outfits of their own.
They don’t always wear green you know. That’s just a legend for the March 17th.
They sew so well, they make it look just like when it was made but it’s just smaller.
I know, I know, aliens, leprechauns, seem a bit far-fetched.
But if it isn’t those two things that would mean my waist is bigger than it was just a few months ago when I wore them last.
I have continued my regular routine
That may be possible. Possibly, I have taken something that makes me retain water.
I know I am not eating anymore than usual – my usual two-to-three helpings at meals. I exaggerate their only one, just on big plates. Yeah, it must be retaining water. I can fix that by drinking more water so my body will release all it’s holding.
So, either it’s the aliens, the leprechauns, or my closet is full of water. Wait a minute that would make it a water closet, oops, that’s a whole ‘nother room in the house. I guess I mean my body is full of water and maybe a little fat that settled in for a visit.
If it’s the third, I guess I will need to up my game a bit with some extra exercise, maybe I will look in to whatever will keep the aliens and leprechauns out of my closet, just in case it’s the first two.
I am to be back in those pieces again soon, so I hope the leprechauns didn’t cut too much out of them.

Touching the past in the present

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Within our lives we often go through experiences that last a few years and pass into the annals of history.
During those years we often make friends and create family-like relationships that during those periods sustain and mean the world to us.
Then one day it all ends and we move on to other frontiers with new worlds to conquer and new friends to make.
Our high school, college or military experiences are often this way, and when we graduate or are discharged we are catapulted out of those environs and those friendships forced to make a new field of play.
After that, these types of situations are more relevant to those people who have jobs that are often project based or simply enjoy moving from job-to-job.
In the last few days I have found myself taken back among friends who at one time were present, but life moved on and so did we.
It was amazing to me how we were able to pick up on old conversations and shared memories that only we might understand and were able to recall great people who are now gone but remain within our hearts and minds.
While many spend years in one place often working for the same employer, I have spent a lifetime creating short but meaningful experiences working with many amazing people through music entertainment and film and TV. With each opportunity I picked up a circle of friends and created bonds that sometimes amaze even me.
I can gather with someone from one circle laugh and talk about the common memories and personalities that rotated within it, then walk a few feet away talking with another old friend and do the same about another circle.
It is fascinating to me how our minds can compartmentalize our lives so efficiently that we might do that even within the same room.
Though my recent years have limited my contact with those older circles, I found my spirit and my hope for the future reinvigorated based on those shared past moments.
They provided me a window to see into once who I was and whom I still am within.
The smiles, the laughs shared with the great people who once walked beside me and whom now rest somewhere in the sod reminded me that they still walk in my laughter, in my smiles and in my stories of them. They live as long as I do and someone else from the circle does, so we can encourage each other in those shared moments,
Life is a blessing. Its phases provide us benchmarks upon which we may build a chapter that allows us to grow. As the page is turned and a new chapter is headlined, we from time-to-time enjoy a flashback, but ultimately, it’s our job to forge ahead, creating the energy for new circles of influence. Think upon this; one-day two old friends get together to talk about old times. Will your name come up? Will something you did or said be shared with a smile?
Are you creating circles of influence that will last for ages? If not, maybe you should start. Today is a good day for it.

Are we who we should be?

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At many points in my life I have recalculated where I am. I pull out the proverbial compass to figure out if I am headed towards due North, or if I am off course headed somewhere else.

To my surprise, I have never been on the course setting for due North. That is assuming that is the place I am suppose to be headed. It seemed to be where everyone headed in the old black and white movies. I wonder sometimes where exactly am I suppose to be going.

I have traversed many paths in my life, and God has afforded many adventures upon which I could not have dreamed. But no matter what day it is when I wake up, I think there is more to accomplish.

It’s an old story, I still want what I wanted when I became an adult and a few of the things I wanted as a child. No matter how many years pass, I seem to be checking off from the same old list. At least trying to do so.

I have read the list in my mind again and again, and some of the items begin to become impractical as time passes but yet they remain on the list.

I probably won’t have that houseboat that I once visited as a twenty-something. The mansion with all the latest guy toys is probably also not among my future acquisitions either. Both of those would have been nice, but in this day and time, I just don’t see it.

A farming homestead seems more appropriate and better sustaining for long-term needs.

I have always had a desire to have a dream job doing what I love. While I have been blessed to have short runs in such positions, I have never held that dream job.

That is one thing I would still like to do. Although I don’t know if it will be possible. God only knows if such will be in the miles ahead. I can only remain open and prepared for the possibility should it arise.

Improving my skills in some of my many already learned areas of study. That is a constant hope and desire, but as in many areas, I have always gotten bored easily when trying to refresh already learned techniques or even start a new focus.

The main list remains a part of my daily routine. It gets impeded by shorter lists with items that have a more immediacy in need. Those things must be done more quickly and I generally accomplish those lists with ease.

As time passes the items on the big list seem farther and farther away from ever being completed.

I am still hopeful on some of the items. I think God intended me to succeed, my insufficiency has limited my ability to reach some of the goals. Perhaps, I am striving to eliminate those inabilities so I may yet reach the remaining goals as I continue my journey.

I’ll just pull out my compass and keep heading North, I know a fellow there who is suppose to be good with checking lists.

Reaching beyond one’s self

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I stepped forward and the next thing I knew I was lying at the bottom of a flight of steps.

I didn’t know the door I opened led to the basement. But it wasn’t a moment before the reality of my mistake became a realization. The abrupt nature of my landing was certainly a rude awakening.

As a youngster at this point, about eight years old, thankfully as I tumbled quickly down the stairs at the bottom of the flight was a landing and the outside wall. When I hit the wall, somehow I stubbed my toe, busting it open on the end. Thankfully, no broken bones, just a bit of bleeding on my toe and residual pain as I picked myself up and walked back up the steps.

I was staying over night with my elderly neighbor, Millie Dobbs, who became an adopted grandmother to me. She lived with her daughter and son-in-law, who were out of town. They didn’t have any children.

Of course, my tumble upset her, but we got my to bandaged and all was good.

We had a light dinner with a warmed ham sandwich and barbecue Charlie’s chips. After dinner, we spent the evening playing games such as Chinese checkers and gin rummy while the television played a John Wayne western in the background.

As we played hand after hand, she talked about her work as a nurse in New York and asked me questions about what I wanted to do in life. Though she was a Yankee of German descent, she seemed to fit right into the contemporary Southern suburbs of Atlanta. She shared with me about meeting Marilyn Monroe during a hospital stay. She had been deceased a few years at that point but she had captivated America during her film career. Even an eight-year-old knew who she was.

Much of what we did was just be. We talked, we laughed, we had fun and enjoyed each other’s presence.

I spent much of my youth doing odd jobs for Millie. I think it was just her way to give me some money to buy things I might want, but it wasn’t a birthday or Christmas. Millie became a regular presence at our house, she spent a lot of time with my mother passing the day. My Uncle Waymond stayed with us for extended stays and Millie always came up to be the fourth in a card game as the evenings were filled by topics the adults knew more about from the shared decades they lived through.

One of my favorite things to do was on her birthday, we walked to an Irish restaurant which had opened about a mile from our homes, and had lunch. They made the biggest hamburgers and put all kinds of things I had never imagined on the burger such as mushrooms and other adds.

Why have I shared these memories, what is the point?

I didn’t have to spend time with Millie. She was not my kin. But her presence enriched my life with her experiences and the time shared. One day, her son-in-law had to move for work to Florida and of course Millie went. Letters back and forth followed until the word of her passing came by phone.

That day saddened me more than I could have imagined.

She really had become a regular part of my life. Even today, I have a storage box and if opened, one would find various crafts which her hands made and gave as gifts. These things are cherished as was she.

Is there an older person in your neighborhood, in your family, in your path which is open to sharing life experience with you and your family?

Don’t miss that chance. Share a bit of your time, and let them do the same, and what you might receive back could give for decades to come.

History can inspire

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History has always been a passion to me. I love to read about what happened and delve deeply into whatever topic of history I am learning about.

While today finds me expanding my knowledge of world history, as a youth, it was primarily the American experience which fueled my exuberance – the Revolution, the War of 1812, Mexican American War, the Civil War, WWI and WWII. These wars were all moments in time for which I sought our family connection. The young male desire to learn generally leaned more toward the physical struggles and the fighting. The sense of excitement was what drove my childhood mind. Overcoming the adversary and surviving to return successfully to your family was an enriching story and satisfying story. The deaths however always brought a sense of sadness knowing that someone would not be returning home.

The stories of home didn’t really excite me until I reached adulthood. By then I realized we each spend most of our lives repeating and doing what a child would consider mundane to keep the home fires burning.

I talked with my surviving uncles who had served in WWII. WWI was still alive for my gra ndparents as that was the war of their youth and their friends and family faced being sent to fight. I had two great uncles go, one returned in ill health and tried to get back to life but the impact of the war took a toil that saw him eventually succumb to long-term impact of his injuries. Great Uncle Tom returned in a wooden box and we always remembered his sacrifice for our country especially on Decoration Day (Memorial Day).

For their parents, it was the Civil War. Most of their children recalled more of the impact of upon daily life, the limited food and supplies long after the war, the guerrillas who raided the farms claiming allegiance to one side or another. The absence of men who went off to fight, some for North, some for South. I had grandfathers on both sides.

The oral and written history of the War of 1812 and the War of Independence were also sought. And there were stories that passed. I had grandfathers in both. Currently, I have found about 13 Patriot grandfathers who fought in the Revolution. I fondly remember getting to visit cousins, sitting by the fireplace that my Revolutionary ancestor Greenberry Wilson had sat in front of and listen to my cousins share the stories passed down. I played upon the paths and the furrows that Adam Sherrill had farmed.

They were alive to me as a youth through the words shared. As I grew, they were not a name in a family tree, they were part of me. As real as they were standing in front of me sharing a bit of their story with one of their grandchildren. I heard the story of Adam falling from his spooked horse at the Battle of Boyd’s Creek in 1780 at French Broad River, Tenn. breaking his ribs. The Indians had laid in wait flat upon the ground for the patriots. While dazed, an Indian springs upon him with a tomahawk about to end his life. Then a musket ball from a comrade fell the Indian, saving Adam, who escaped and joined in pursuit. I heard about the march of the Over-mountain men to fight the Battle of King’s Mountain.

All these fueled a desire to find more connecting me to cousins like Davy Crockett who gave their life at the Alamo in Texas in 1836 and so many others.

I have found battles around the world where my grandfathers fought hand-to-hand against other grandfathers. I am lucky they had already had their children, or when they died, I would not be here.

I have shared all this to say, thank you to those who struggled through all that they may have faced to raise the next generation. I am here because of the mundane and the extraordinary that you experienced. For those who fell in war, thank you for your sacrifice.

Is life meant to be hard?

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Oftentimes we are blessed by a surprise. Something unexpectedly falls into our life that adds to our well being. Our mind, our heart, our hopes become enriched by the surprise.
 
We can look throughout our lives when such a surprise might come along at a point when our life seems to be foundering and we just can’t seem to put one foot in front of the other.
 
Now, I don’t mean our health is necessarily challenged. Sometimes it’s just our spirit that is discouraged by a heaping helping of what other’s throw upon our lives individually, at school, or at work. Occasionally, it is the impact of what is going on in the world that we receive from our daily dose of news.
 
We go to the mailbox, and there is a stack of bills. While they are generally expected, sometimes their constant call upon our means bring us down. Then the unexpected comes along, your vehicle breaks down, your body decides to offer a new ache, pain or illness that persists requiring a visit to a doctor, then tests are needed, and you either don’t have insurance or not paid enough of your deductible.
 
Perhaps the kids need something for school that wasn’t budgeted, or perhaps they want to go to summer camp and there’s not enough money but you will try to find a way to not disappoint.
 
Most all of these things are common to each of us. Are they hard? Yes, they can be depending on our situation and nature. But we all share these experiences in common.
Do we get to uniquely complain about any of these? Not really. There is nothing special about us in these things.
 
Sometimes we do have a unique experience that makes life especially hard. Those folks should earn a chance at least for our ear if they need it.
 
An uplifting surprise, such as a gift of attention, a word of encouragement, something handmade given, a God wink from above, can make our world more bearable even if it is just a moment in time.
 
Is life hard? It can be. But I think back upon my ancestors who I knew as a child and the lives they endured, the hardships and work we wouldn’t even be able to perform. But they managed to seem to be some of the happiest and most giving people I ever know. Now you might not see it by looking, because we Appalachians are so stoic. Our happiness is for those who we are close to.
 
Even if you are stoic too, find some happiness to share with those close to you. Every now and again reach beyond that fold and uplift a stranger. Make life less hard.

A community of discipline

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If you are of earlier generations, then you may have lived in a time when your parents actually disciplined you.

I know in my case, there were a few “Go to your room,” when I misbehaved. Of course, our rooms didn’t have TV’s, computers or other electronics. I did have a radio in there and some books and of course toys to play with, so it wasn’t so bad.

But usually, if my mother at some point in the day had said that to me. I also knew come 4:30 p.m. when my father came home, he would call me out and depending on the severity of my offense, I could here the sound of his belt being pulled from his pants at a high rate of speed. Then my posterior would receive reinforcement of the reason I shouldn’t have done whatever I did.

Of course, there were other types of punishments, extra chores, loss of allowance, grounding, removal of participation in some special event I was looking forward to doing.

As my behavior moved throughout the neighborhood, there was a team of mothers who kept a close eye on my friends and I as we played. We had no boundaries, yards where we were welcome, woods, streets, and creeks were all among our sphere of activity.

Every single house we passed had at least one adult that knew one of us, if not all by name. If any of us got out of line in public, the telephone lines would begin humming as calls began going house to house until it reached the appropriate parent. Then we would hear in the distance our name ring out. And usually not just our first name but our first, middle and last name was being yelled out by someone’s mother or father. Then we would hear our co-patriots chiding us because they knew we were about to get it as we got on our bike and peddled or ran off towards our house.

And even beyond a mother’s and father’s discipline, they shared that authority with anyone within whose care we were placed. Aunts, uncles and grandparents were automatic, we got whatever their children got if we were out of line.

This was also true when we went to spend time at a friend’s home. Before that occurred, my folks meet the parents and soon had made a decision whether I would be allowed to spend time under their roof. If I was, I also knew that my folks had given them a blanket notice, if he gets out of line, punish him as you would your own. I can say, I always felt like all the parents’ home I stayed in, I was treated as one of their children.

Of course, as I grew I understood that there was an expectation of behavior in public, or when staying with someone else. If I had acted out to the point my parents would be told, I would not only see retribution with my guest guardians, but I would definitely see worse once I returned home.

This certainly made me and any of my fellow youth more likely not to be a problem.

If we embarrassed our folks in public, say at a store, church or some other public place by “pitching a fit” or not doing what we were told. It is safe to say that retribution was swift, we would be picked up by an arm, an ear or whatever was closest to grab and escorted to a less public place or outside where our posterior would meet with an attitude adjustment. We would then be returned to whence we came, perhaps with a few tears on our cheeks but in a much better and more respectful mood.

I can safely say that as I grew, that discipline shaped me into the respectful, law abiding adult that I am. It also placed within me a deep appreciation for what my parents and various temporary parents did to teach me how to carry myself and participate in the greater society.

While I remember the lessons taught, you know, I don’t remember any pain, or frustrations experienced during those moments of intense fellowship.