Notes From The Road - April 2007

'Round My Door

Thursday, April 26th 

I’ve been wanting, for some time now, to write a song about where I live. In doing so I would practice that thing I talk about of songs growing out of the landscape. Last summer I was driving often on the back roads of Madison County, North Carolina. I began taking notes with a song in mind by asking myself what is different here – what is unique about this place? The French Broad River is a big presence here. The river lives here. It moves and breathes here, and so does everything else – the trees, the mountains, the shape of the land, and the railroad. In our small town of Marshall, the hills rise steeply from the banks of the river leaving only enough of a footprint on one side to lay the railroad track, the main street of town, and a row of buildings on either side. There’s an old description of Marshall that goes, “This town is a block wide, a mile long, heaven high and hell deep.”

The beauty of the springtime is fleeting, and with hungry eyes we try to take it all in. A beautiful, warm day is a leap into the season. You can witness the advance of the flowers and leaves day by day. And a hard frost is a setback. This April, three consecutive nights of temperatures in the teens blasted all the flowers on the apple and peach trees in the south. There will be no crops for the farmers this year. Just about every tree that was leafing out received a rude shock. Now, the streets of Asheville are lined with trees whose leaves are burned brown. It’s a drama alright, but it’s a drama that takes some noticing. It’s the drama that plays in the background of our lives, and the more we are engaged with the natural world, the more it engages with us.

This is the second year we’ve had a Carolina wren nest in our porch. Along with the robins that return to this spot every year, the Carolina wren is most comfortable with our presence. These wrens could understudy for a rooster, so clear and loud its song. And they sing from our porch rail! Yesterday afternoon our front door was open wide to let in the sunshine, and in hopped a very young wren, just out of the nest. Sue called me in to usher it outside, but not before it decided to escape and flew up against a closed window. It was dazed and blinking as I scooped it into my hands. I carefully took it out to the porch and placed it on the railing near the nest, then went inside to watch it through the window. After a minute of it sitting, still appearing dazed, I filled a plate with water and took it outside. I dipped a finger into the water and transferred a drop onto the stunned bird’s open beak. It took a second for it to register that the water was there and as if awoken the bird swallowed the drop. I did this again, and again the bird accepted the water. I repeated this once more and went inside to watch again. The young wren slowly grew more attentive, then like a shot flew to the hedge behind the house.

I think if there’s anything I’m trying to do with my songwriting it is to get people to sit up and notice and engage with the simple things around us all. They are free and available and are always in the moment fleeting. Noticing this is like raising children or growing a garden – you always get more back than what you put in. Noticing – that’s what it amounts to. Simple.

So, these images accumulate to the place where like rain water on a window they grow and merge with one another. They form something bigger and begin to paint an image and tell a story. Somewhere along the way some noodling on the guitar steps up to support the purpose of the words, like bones support flesh and skin. This is how a song is written. It is more similar to leaves pushing out of a bare branch than anything man actually makes. This is how I believe anyone can write a song by noticing, participating, and ultimately, co-creating.

Anyway, here you go. I call it “’Round My Door.” I hope to have a rough version up on MP3 on Myspace before too long. I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, here are the words. Thanks for reading. Take Care! – Dana

A tractor’s in the tobacco field
Turning the red clay ‘round
All along the cane break line
That borders into town
Dogwood and the redbuds there
Color up the mountainside
‘Till you can’t see ‘em anymore
All this ‘round my door

The mountain is a big brown bear
Sleeping off the wintertime
Frost hangs on the sourwood trees
And the sweet woodbine
Wood smoke and the morning clouds
Peel off the pines
‘Till you can’t see it anymore
All this ‘round my door

The French Broad is a mighty dame
From Carolina and Tennessee
She run high and she run low
But she’s always running free
I go down and see her some
Cast my troubles in the deep
‘Till I can’t see ‘em anymore
All this ‘round my door

Right is west and left is east
The sun is in my eyes
We’re heaven high and hell deep
On this moonshine
The holler is a peaceful place
Hear the lonesome whistle cry
‘Till you can’t hear it anymore
All this ‘round my door

‘till you can’t hear it anymore
All this ‘round my door