I’ve earned all the holes in my clothes and my shoes.
Photo Credit: Sam Battaglieri
Grandpa Jake was a tough man who showed few emotional cards. My dad recalls one of the few times he ever saw Grandpa afraid. With a blade attached under the somehow still running John Deere, Grandpa was moving dirt on a steep incline above our house. I’m not sure if the tire shifted or the earth just gave way, but that tractor acted like it wanted to roll. Kids back home grow up with horror stories of tractors rolling over their operators on Ozark hills. Control was regained but the twenty seconds or so that Grandpa fought for balance felt like a slow-burning fuse.
Folks in Iowa occasionally see a big cat in the wild and social media blows up about the sighting. That’s a pretty common occurrence back on the farm. Neighbors regularly called each other regarding sightings of mountain lions or the livestock they’d harassed. Hearing about them and HEARING them are two very different experiences. We set up our tents one summer evening, near the creek, and under a huge hedge tree. Well after the fire had robbed us of any ability to distinguish shapes in the dark with our eyes, our hearing picked up new details. Deer and raccoons often ran by our site when we camped on the creek, but that night the activity was heightened. Like a crack of lighting you didn’t expect, a cat screamed. If the sun had been out I’m confident we could have seen it. “Scream” is the best way to describe what a mountain lion sounds like. It’s wild, maniacal, and you can feel it to your bones. We remained unharmed, but nobody could stop hearing that scream on repeat in their minds.
My first band was woefully unprepared for the first show I booked. We had practiced for a few months but hadn’t tightened up a set. I had been driving past what had been an abandoned mechanic shop. “All Ages Music Venue” had recently been spray-painted on the front door. I whipped the car around and marched inside. They were painting and making sure all fire hazards were adequately hidden from view of a fire marshall. I said I had a band that would like to play, and they offered a slot on the opening night. In two days.
Were we ready? Not really.
Did we make it work? We did.
Three of our friends showed up at 6 pm to see us play. At 2 am, when we finally played, our band and our three friends were all that remained. I’m not even sure where the owners had staggered off to. It was rough, messy, and maybe the start of this obsession. We kept practicing and booking shows. We met great friends in other bands and opened for some of our heroes along the way, but it started with being terrified.
When life holds a water hose to your face and says learn to swim or sink, all you can do is flail about and hope for the best. I could blame a worldwide pandemic for that feeling, but truthfully I can’t remember not feeling like I was flailing about. I prefer chess to poker. I enjoy calculation more than chance, but in life, I’ve always found reasons to gamble on my silly ideas. Sometimes it’s difficult to find the data to support the gamble when the gamble is you, but here we are. Perhaps I need to join a group for gambling addiction.
I’ve worn the soles out of my boots. I found out just the other day when Iowa got our first snow of the year. My wet socks were the first to announce the findings. My last record talked about putting miles under me. It’s time for new boots, and it’s time for a new album of songs. I’ve been writing these songs over the last year and a half. They’ve been inspired by struggles and victories that others have shared with me. Usually on a porch, after a show, with whiskey or boxed wine. I find myself repeating those conversations in my head as I travel to the next dive bar on tour.
I’m excited to hit the studio in November. I’ve been throwing these melodies and lyrics together on stage for a while, and I can’t wait to have my friends bring them to life.
At the end of the day, I’m honored to share some notes from front porch conversations with incredible people. I’ll try not to throw in too much of my own interstate ruminating.
