October 2003 - Nevada
Wednesday, 29th Wells, Nevada
The wind has been whipping, bucking and tearing at anything loose or
movable throughout the night. The dogs are restless, and I can’t imagine
that the people here have slept much better. The previous night, in the
pristine quiet, voices of coyote mingled with train whistles. They
harmonized in a nocturnal language among the sagebrush and mountain
mahogany. A gorgeous high-pressure system sat over Nevada and much of the
west for the last two weeks, but now it’s giving way to a hefty front of
much needed moisture. I figure this wind is a herald.
Sue and I arrived at Steve and Maggie’s ranch at the foot of the Ruby Mountain range on Sunday for a house concert. We stayed on though Tuesday, resting, hiking, working a little, and eating very well. Steve and Maggie raise cattle and hay, which is the norm in these parts, but Steve also supplements the income with a microbrewery, Ruby Mountain Brewery, which he distributes in Nevada and Idaho.
This ranch is an oasis in the desert. Its fifteen hundred acres sit on a sweeping slope of ancient ocean floor. In back of this modest ranch house is an old pear and apple orchard. Its overripe and fallen fruit cover the ground beneath the branches for deer, raccoon, and skunk to pick over. Yesterday, the orchard’s pleasant fermenting smell mingled with desert air and sunlight to produce a truly restful feeling.
How things change. As this morning sky lightens I see gusts of wind whip the desert soil into great brown clouds in the air. “It’s a damnable dustbowl,” Steve says as he comes through the door from inspecting the yard. The cattle have all turned their heads toward the fence with their tails windward. The forecast later is for snow. As we pack the van for leaving it begins to rain, which is a real event here. Steve looks at the pavement and says, “Four inches of rain.” Meaning, four inches in between the drops. He says further, “Sometimes a good rain will come down three inches between the drops.” I’m feeling hesitant about leaving the bosom of this easy rest, yet hesitation turns to momentum as we give glad goodbyes. We’re on the road to Elko.
Nevada to most is someplace to gamble, or something one must drive through to get to California. The only way to really appreciate Nevada is to get off I-80. Sally Haueter, organizer for Elko’s Cowboy Poetry Festival, quipped that Nevada effectively prevented itself from development by building the interstate along the unremarkable path of the transcontinental railroad. The highway has no dramatic mountain grades of the likes of Salt Lake City or Reno that attract attention and immigration. Some folks would consider it a blessing though, as so much of Nevada is unspoiled with traffic and population. The best parts of the state are off the small highways, and lie in the nooks and crannies that few make the effort to discover.
In an effort to discover a cranny for ourselves we drove south from Elko through Spring Creek to the village of Lamoille. From there we drove into a fold of the western slope in the Ruby Mountains, and into the glacier-carved Lamoille Valley. After a bracing hike and with night coming on, we drove back to Elko. We found ourselves at the Stray Dog Tavern where we asked if they wouldn’t mind hearing a few fiddle tunes. Before long we had a few dollars in the fiddle case, and folks buying us beer. Tracy, the owner, invited us to have dinner on the house. We played a bit more, someone bought a CD, and by the end of the night we felt well provided for.
Thursday, October 30th
We awoke with snow covering the
windows of the van. After scaring up some coffee and a couple of bagels we
hit the road to Idaho. Driving north, the day lightened, and blue sky made
itself seen. Just past the border town of Jackpot, where Idahoans go to lose
their money, the landscape changed. The north-south ribs of mountains gave
way to flatlands of irrigated hay and grain fields. Steve and Maggie
mentioned a hot springs south of Hagerman, and we were in the mood for a
good soak. Low and behold, there it was: Miracle Hot Springs. For six bucks
apiece we could soak all day. Nighttime found us settling into an
unremarkable motel in Twin Falls.
Wednesday, October 31st
With one more day to bum around
before our gig in McCall, Idaho we drove up to Ketchum. This area is famous
for being the home of Ernest Hemingway and the Sun Valley ski resort. I had
played Ketchum several times at the Big Wood Bakery. There I thought we
could have some lunch and play a few tunes. Later, after music and a walk in
the village we took a hike up a ridge behind the village. Coming down and
around the long way we found ourselves walking through a graveyard. We read
to each other some names and dates on the stones and tried to imagine what
their lives were like. Oooh, how appropriate is that? The sun was going down
and we were in a graveyard on Halloween!
Monday, November 3rd
In Boise now and it’s snowing as I
finish up these Notes. Today we’ll just drive east with no particular
destination, but Laramie by Wednesday night. We’ve got another three weeks
of touring before going home, all working our way east. Please take a look
at the
schedule page, and if you know any folks out where we’re going, give
them a holler, and tell them to come out to a show!
Keep in touch with the guestbook and the email list, and we’ll see you down the road!
- Dana