Late September and most of October has passed in a pleasant haze. I had not booked this tour on purpose to coincide with the leaves changing, but I couldn’t have planned if better if I had. All the miles I’ve driven around New England and the Adirondacks of New York these weeks have had an intoxicating and calming effect, especially after September’s events. It’s usually the unexpected that sticks in my mind when writing, but when I look back on the month I see a wash of magnificent fall colors, well attended concerts, and the company of good friends.

I’ve been pouring through books lately. I had just finished Cold Mountain for a second time, which is one of the finest books I have ever read, when my friend Joe Cleveland of the Folkus Project in Syracuse, NY sent me a biography of Pete Seeger. I promptly devoured it. I had no idea what that man has been through in his life with the ironic duality of his fame, yet unemployable because of being blacklisted. What integrity he had to stand up to J. Edgar Hoover and all his cronies, not claim the 5th amendment, and speak his mind. What senseless fear they had of this minstrel whose single-minded belief lie in the simple power of the folk song. How blind they all were not to see that in fact he was the epitome of patriotism. It was great to learn too how when no one would hire him to sing in theaters and concert halls he turned to sing for children, and then pioneered what musicians now refer to as the college circuit.

In Montpelier, VT on the tail end of Seegers' book, I found in a bookstore on sale a hardbound copy of the new book Seabiscuit. I held and coveted it for a few minutes while I responsibly decided that it was still too expensive. I left the store without it. Two days later as I was driving out of town I felt a tug. The book was calling me. Without any more hesitation I turned around and drove back to the shop and bought the book.

When I was a child I had a hobbyhorse that was ornately molded and painted like the old carousel horses. Made of thick, durable plastic it hung on a steel frame with big springs. My mother named him “Seabiscuit”. I had no idea of Seabiscuit’s story growing up, but I loved the horse and rode him often rocking back and forth, and up and down. Seabiscuit out lasted me to have my sister ride him until he finally fell apart.

Seabiscuit was a thoroughbred racehorse that in the late 1930’s became a huge celebrity. In 1938 and 1939 this horse got more press coverage than F.D.R., Hitler and Mussolini combined! America was outrageously in love with Seabiscuit. What was unique about Seabiscuit was that he was an ungainly, unruly and unlikely horse to be a champion. He was thought to be past his prime and given up on when he was saved by the unorthodox care of a new owner, trainer and jockey. These three men saw what nobody else saw and brought Seabiscuit to his potential. He won the adoration of millions of people because he had heart, and he showed it. It was exactly what people needed at the end of the Depression. It’s a true to life fairytale of a story.

Though I’ve never considered myself a real horse fan, I must have absorbed my mom’s love of horses by osmosis. It’s the little things: breathing deeply when passing a horse stable, knowing a Bay from a Chestnut, and a Buckskin from an Appaloosa. But most surprising to me is that I can barely watch a race on TV without coming near tears when the horses come down the homestretch. I was a sap while reading Seabiscuit. I can’t recommend the book enough.

The third great book I’ve found, and am now in the middle of, is a biography of the playwright and actor Sam Shepard. I was living in Oregon in the early 80’s when I found his book Hawk Moon and was blown away by his savage, immediate, visceral, gritty and surreal writing. In years since I’ve seen a couple of his plays, Buried Child and Fool For Love. Finding a book about him has been a study in what kind of inner space to inhabit while writing. It’s a great exercise in just getting out of ones way to JUST WRITE!

I’m in Asheville, NC now, out of the bosom of New England and back in the familiar territory of the unfamiliar. Getting to know my way around… Last night, and I suspect tonight again I will park my van and camp in the industrial area of Asheville between the railroad yards and the French Broad River. The temperatures have been a wonderful 50 to 70 degrees night to day. Last night I attended the open mic at the Grey Eagle, Asheville’s best acoustic music club. I have very mixed feelings about open mics as people are really there mostly to play and socialize and not to listen. I had a hard time shifting gears away from pure performance to the vibe of the open mic. Tonight I think I’ll hit the old-timey jam session at Jack ‘o the Woods and just loose myself with rhythm guitar and fiddle music.

To recognize a few of the highlights of the last month - There was the maiden voyage of the Railroad Café Concert Series in North Adams, MA that Lui Collins and I shared the bill on. Thanks Laini, you’ve got a gorgeous venue! I successfully initiated a friend Jim Picone in Calais, VT into the joys of house concerts. A big thanks to Suzy and Peg for putting together a concert at the Chinook Café in Conway, NH. It was probably my favorite show of the tour. It’s little victories like these that make this music worth doing. There was the magnificent day of unexpectedly meeting Sather in Montpelier and taking him hiking up Mt. Elmore. And I’d be amiss not to mention the wonderful week spent near Boston with Betty and Ian including my introduction to DVD’s with Chinese food and a bottle of single malt scotch. I was up much too late and amazed by the directors and actors comments that accompanied the film (Saving Grace).

I’ll put down what roots I can – ten days worth of roots – here in Asheville, before departing to the Midwest and Colorado through mid-December. All those concerts are up on my schedule. As always, I’d love to hear your comments in my guestbook. Keep in touch. Stop in for a show – say hello, see you soon.

Peace - Dana