YOU GET A LINE, AND I'LL GET A POLE, HONEY

“Walk down them dusty, winding roads, I’m going to lay my head in Hungry Hollow.”

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Maybe it’s being in my thirties or maybe it’s just stage of life, but I’ve been dwelling on who I am and where I came from. So much of me was transformed on Ozarks dirt, running around hills and trees. I spent hours on the weekends and weeks during the summer by myself on those beautiful acres. Dad started taking me fishing soon after he adopted me. I am surprised we didn’t go on day one.

I’ve been blessed (and cursed) with a very vivid memory. To this day, smells, temperatures, or sounds transport me to childhood. Sometimes it is crisp air in my lungs early in the morning. Other times I can smell the dense red clay or wild strawberries growing along the creek. Lately, there have been a lot of dots connected to those times and the lessons they were starting to teach me.

Fishing can be frustrating when you’re a kid with boundless energy. I will never forget the look dad gave me when I mindlessly started throwing rocks in the water.

“You’re scaring of the fish!” No, Dad. I’m recreating the battle at Wilson’s Creek, and those rocks are cannon balls.

As the years floated by my attention span for standing in a single place increased. I wanted to know the secret and mystery to catching fish. Mornings turned to evenings and I was still wading up and down Flat Creek on my hunt for the biggest Small Mouth Bass I could land. While I caught some wonderful fish, I hooked something greater: patience.

I’m still trying to reel that one in.

-Gone Fishin’

I read a bunch of books about Frank and Jesse James

Their life on the run, and I figured I’d do the same.

I spent a few years in graduate school studying guerrilla warfare. I’m fairly certain that my Amazon used book purchases got me on several government watch lists. I assume you can only buy so many books on the Irish Republican Army, Che, Jesse James, and Ho Chi Minh before someone takes notice. Sorry, Suits. Nothing interesting here, just an aspiring historian and musician. 

My advisor always said folks study people in history that better help them understand themselves. That’s a little unnerving when your subjects of study frequently murdered at will and destroyed for pleasure. I focused directly on guerrilla warfare for my own research projects. Growing up in the Ozarks probably caused a predisposition to the topic. There were two major points about guerrilla warfare that always intrigued me.

1. To wage a successful guerrilla war, all you have to do is keep fighting.

2. A guerrilla can keep fighting as long as they have a friendly population.

Somewhere along the front range of Colorado it started to click. Like Frank and Jesse James, I would ride into town, make as much noise as possible, and then disappear into the surroundings. Like Mosby’s Rangers in Virginia, I’ve made friends along road who willingly provide safety and shelter. Words can’t express how it feels to have a home away from home in most states that I travel. A shower, a meal, and a couch can give a person a whole new outlook on life. It makes those lonely drives a lot less lonely when I know I’ve got friends at the end of the line.

I enjoyed the extremes of graduate school, but it was taxing damn work. The late nights and ridiculous reading lists didn’t bother me. What I couldn’t stand was the aversion to creativity in the work. When I attempted to describe the countryside and surroundings of my research, I was told those weren’t important details. When it came time to hit “submit” on my PhD program application, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to. I wanted to do things folks would call me a fool for attempting. I wanted to go see what I could do on my own and I wanted to be challenged to my core. (Sometimes when the money or the sleep just ain’t there, I remind myself that I WANTED this.)  

I started writing for Mississippi Jake during my college days. After recording the first Bootleggers album, I dropped a copy off with my advisor. The next day he walked into our meeting and said something along the lines of “We are going to have to keep our eyes on this one or academia is going to lose him to folk music.”

You weren’t wrong, Larry. 

-Mississippi Jake