A mountain music camp adventure

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Happy birthday to you… Last week that melody played over and over in my head as I began teaching some talented youth how to play the fiddle. While I have not taught in years, my friend Mark Wheeler of the three-time Dove award nominees – Marksmen Quartet asked me to help with his annual Marksmen Mountain Music Camp near Dahlonega, Ga. where children have the opportunity to get their feet wet playing a string instruments of their choice – guitar, mandolin, bass, fiddle, banjo or piano – or furthering the skills they already have by playing with seasoned professional musicians who work to inspire the musician within.

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Encourage one another

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When one spends some time reviewing the sum of one’s life, one will find that there are many along the path that helps to propel an individual in one direction or another.

Over the last few years I have spent a great deal of time reflecting on those who have made an effort in my life from childhood and into adulthood.
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Should we throw out the baby with the bath water?

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As an election season drags on, there always reaches a point of shear commercial overload.

For me, it’s just about now despite we are not even in the thick of it yet. I have heard enough from the candidates and just wish they would go away and let me alone for a while.
My decision is already made and I hope the rest of voters see it my way. I know whom I am going to vote for among the current crop of national, state and local candidates.
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Some flour, a broom and a lesson on being needed

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As I look down at the flour on the floor and the straw of the broom as it meets the floor at the edge of heap, I swiftly move it through the white powder. In the motion, my mind sweeps over my memories and I find myself standing beside the table in my boyhood home.

My Grandma Kitty is standing at the end of the broom sweeping flour that I had managed to spill as we were preparing biscuits and getting ready to bake a batch of cookies.

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Sea sounds for the soul

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The waves beat  rhythmically against the shore in an endless pattern that seemed would never stop.

I had stretched out in the back of my white Ford stationwagon  near the shore and the sound lulled me quickly to sleep.

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Cuttin’ okra and clearin’ my head

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The hot summer sun beat down on the back of our necks as we moved along the rows of okra with a knife in hand stepping inch by inch between each stalk and cuttin’ off the pods from the bottom up and placing them it in our tow sacks.

My mom was up ahead in the next row and dad was a few rows over as we worked to harvest the pods before they grew too hard to eat.
Cuttin’ okra was never one of my favorite things to do largely because of the itch brought on by the hair of the deep green leaves of the plant but it had to be done every few days.

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Keeping one’s word sets the tone for life

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I have been told there was a time when a person was judged upon the words that emanated from his mouth.
A person’s character could be seen in his deeds and by what he would say and sometimes what he would not say.

I have met many people in my life. Some, I would not trust them as far as I could throw them, while others — if they say it, it will be done.

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Jerry Sullivan, a musical soldier of God called home

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One of the early influences that impacted my musical and spiritual life were those emanating from the legacy of the Sullivan Family of Alabama.

When my career in bluegrass was beginning I often found myself appearing on shows with Jerry (1933-2014) and Tammy Sullivan, carrying on that legacy but forging a new path of their own in the gospel and bluegrass music scenes.

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The honeysuckle pull

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The sweet smell of honeysuckle lightly drifted over the back porch steps as I sit at the top of a thirty-step descent to the ground below. At three-years-old this was a surmountable achievement to navigate these without tumbling to the bottom. And in reality my mother was always watchfully standing by looking through the porch door as she ironed to make sure I did not rush beyond my abilities and go scampering down the steps.

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A moment in the mountains

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I stood at the edge of the mountain and looked down at the green of the fields below.

The fields were cut neatly into the shapes that the farmers had cultivated them in for years. The blue sky around me seemed to almost envelope me as I stood amongst the rocks and trees listening to the wind whipping the bark of a pine tree nearby creating a faint whistle.

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