March 2003
Wednesday, March 19th Windsor Bush, West Cummington, Massachusetts.
Here, in a house that was built in the 1820’s, Sue and I are spending three days and nights with no phone, no radio, no TV, no internet, no car, and no newspaper. This house sits at the bottom of a field in a high bowl of hills that abuts the Windsor State Forest. Indians still lived in these parts as the pioneers moved in almost two hundred years ago. A row of knarled old maple trees border the road outside the door and were no doubt planted when the house was new. It’s quiet here except for the sound of snowmelt, birdsong, and the refrigerator clicking on and off every fifteen minutes.
It’s the height of mud season. Previous to the last five days of above freezing temps the world here was hard and cold and snow lay in blankets of drifts three to five feet deep. Now the snow is quickly ebbing and the gravel roads are releasing their frozen store of water. Any vehicle that puts its weight on these roads will find the earth giving way and making ruts in its passage. After a succession of wheels the muck deepens and ruts threading in and out of each other suck, pull and scrape, throwing the car hapless as it struggles for traction in its path through. Driving up here was a lot like running white water rapids (uphill!). One has to pick a course and just hang on for dear life.
The mud is a good metaphor for how folks in New England have felt about this winter: “Stuck in it”. People have been generally sick and tired of so much cold and snow that these warm days have been a godsend. Mud season doesn’t affect most people, as it’s generally a hilltown phenomenon, but it sure helps me feel connected to the seasonal change. I figure it’s a good time to be up here without connection to the outside world. If what we really need is peace I thought I’d try and find a little in myself before this weekend's concerts near Utica, NY and Boston, MA.
Our president is going to begin dropping bombs, and committing atrocities with my taxpayer dollars, and there seems to be very little I can do about it besides write, sing, and talk about it. I am split between being horrified, shutting down, and being fascinated and learning more. I heard somewhere once about the power of residing in the “formidable middle," which means I think, to live quietly mindful of one’s beliefs and remain steadfast with them. So, while going cold-turkey on communications with the outside world, this mini-sabbatical has been an excellent way to get reconnected with what really matters inside.
Monday, March 31st Asheville, NC
Been home a week now, and savoring it. Home is always sweeter after
being away for a month. Low and behold it’s snowed twice since we’ve been
back, and it’s amazing to see snow covering the flowering trees. However
today the sun was hot and the last snow melted. The grass had grown so long
while we were away that I had to go out and buy a used lawn mower. Oh, how
suburban I felt!
Lui Collins spoke on stage during our gig near Boston last week about this being a very important time to be mindful of our own thoughts. It’s easy to get caught up in everything the media throws at us; the propaganda and the sheer spectacle of this war on the television. But I think it’s essential to get out and continue to do whatever good work one has to do. It’s easy to feel powerless in this mess of what people with money will do to perpetuate their wealth, but what we do with our minds and our actions are ultimately the most influential things.
Meanwhile, the gigs roll on. Sing, sing, sing and make beautiful music all over the place. We each have our thing like this. The more some people make war, the more other people make love, I think anyway. That’s my peace this month.
Keep in touch, Dana