Looking back over the last month the most visceral and dominant feeling I get is driving in Vermont south on I-91after my first weekend of CD release concerts. It was Sunday in the twilight going fast seemingly downhill all the way with the whole highway to myself. The late May air was warm with the windows down, but cool 'cause of the fog in the thick trees. Summer is just beginning, I have a new CD, and I'm on my way to Texas!

The drive from Massachusetts to Central Texas is about 2000 miles. Looks to me like the larger cities in the Mid-West were conveniently spaced two to three hours apart. Recalling the route is like reciting a verse made easier by its meter and rhyme. Home to Albany, to Syracuse to Buffalo to Erie to Cleveland to Columbus to Cincinnati to Louisville to Nashville to Memphis to Little Rock to Texarkana to Dallas to Austin to Kerrville. Just like following a river flowing downstream all us Kerrverts and Kerrvirgins, by wheel or wing all Kerrverging on Kerrville, Texas.

The beauty of Kerrville is typical in this story: within twenty minutes of setting foot on the ranch I spy Hugh Blumenfeld sitting in front of the Kerrtree Store. He hails me over and voila, time takes it's first leave of absence. We talk for the next two hours about a folk operetta, and about merging traditional music and contemporary songwriting, about archetypes and folk heroes. At least an hour goes by before we even think trading songs.

The New Folk Competition was fun and nerve wracking. Myself and many other songwriters were inducted into what we've dubbed the "sevens club", meaning, basically we all came in "seventh" (after six "winners"). Monday, after the competition, was when I really started to relax and have some fun. The camp that feels most like home to me is Camp Coho. There's nothing more satisfying than hearing Steve Gillette, Jack Hardy, Gary Martin, Al Grierson and Richard Berman trade songs for hours on end. Jack's quips, and Gary's single malt under the starlight by an open fire make for a satisfying (if not surreal) experience.

Finished a new song there. It was first a mandolin tune called Harrisburg given its melody by the graceful arched bridges along the Susquehanna River. I finally came up with some words for it. Had to change the name to Susquehanna, because when I got done with it there was not a mention of Harrisburg, yet I do mention Marysville and the Rockville Bridge. It goes nice played along with that Casper & Dots mandolin tune.

I'm in my Massachusetts hill town. It's been raining and cold for a week. I've got my Kerrville T-shirt on under a sweatshirt and jacket. It feels more like March outside. It's hard to believe that two weeks ago I was sweating it out in Texas. I think I write these monthly notes just to get perspective, and to remember where I've been. Like the words of James Keelaghan on his new CD Road, the first verse in Ring goes:

"Australia's a ring I wear
A shirt I bought at an open market
A coloured feather someone gave me
The change that rattles in my pocket
Suspended now on silver wings
I'm thinking things that travelers think
I'd never know that I was there
But for the shirt I bought, the ring I wear"

I'm spending time at home now sending out new copies of The Trade out to mail orders arriving daily and getting out CD's to radio stations and press all over the country. Lui Collins and I are rehearsing for our summer chock full of concerts. Take a look at the schedule page to see where we'll be playing. Lui's new CD Leaving Fort Knox is now available and I strongly recommend it (biased as I am). Take a look at her web site to see how to order it.

As always I appreciate your comments and notes that you leave in the guestbook. Take a look there and leave me a "hello". Let me know your impressions of The Trade; I'm curious what y'all think.

Until next month, be well, and kind regards,
Dana