Cowboys in Blue

Here in southern Arizona, we decided to check out the 19^th Annual Cochise Cowboy Poetry and Music Gathering in Sierra Vista. We’ve all heard Home on the Range since childhood, but poet cowboys? It was an hour away, too far for the evening performances, so we went to the FREE daylong event, with 56 hour-long multi-artist performances on 8 stages!
We could only guess which to attend. But now I don’t think you could make a mistake! Our eyes were opened! No Home on the Range here, but original songs and poetry that touched your heart or made you laugh! Best is, most of the performers are real cowfolk who work their own ranches or do range work. They’re commonly brought up to it, some for generations. They know long winters. Days spent alone with cattle or sheep. They watch the clouds for rain that doesn’t fall, witness new life, and live with risk and death. No neighbors in sight. Unpredictable weather. And big families! Their poetry and the lyrics let us share moments of a legendary American experience! (This Gathering is held in a Southern AZ military base town, and what do you think was the typical age of the audience? They were all like us and older!! Will this wonderful genre survive?)
The performers were of two sorts – those who live the life of the cowboy family, and a smaller number who are professional folksingers with a wider repertoire and love of the land. All were terrific.
The poems tell of life on the range and homestead, often offering life lessons embodied in a dog that teaches an orphan pup how to keep the fences clear of intruders, or a horse that gives his life for his owner and lives on in his memory. They’ll keep you laughing, too, like when a guy brings home cats to keep the mice from his cabin, yet one after another the coyote gets’em…until he adopts such an ugly cat that the coyote spits him out!

The event title refers to soldiers who saw service in the early west, then turned cowpunchers when their enlistment was up. Some probably became poets – we learned that it’s a long tradition. Yvonne Hollenbeck’s great-grandparents began the family ranching, and poetry, too. She continues the tradition. Read her poems and one by her grandmother, Saga of the Dust, at this site: http://www.cowboypoetry.com/yh2.htm#Blanche. (I can’t reprint the poems here without permission!)
Bud Strom, orphaned at the age of 15, attended a military academy in Minnesota and worked as a ranch hand summers in Montana. After obtaining a masters degree from Boston University he chose an Army career, retiring as Brigadier General. He now dedicates himself to care of land and animals on his Single Star Ranch in Southeast Arizona, along the Mexican Border. What a smile! What poise! What beautiful delivery of his poem, “Montana Angels,” about a couple lost in a snowstorm, based upon a real event: http://www.cowboypoetry.com/budstrom.htm.
We were familiar with one participant, Hank Cramer, a folksinger with an amazing voice who tells stories of cowboys, sailors, soldiers, miners, adventurers, and drifters. He’s had all these experiences himself, too! Well, I don’t know about the drifter, but am sure he’s known some. His site: http://www.hankcramer.com/index.html Here are some songs from his wide repertoire: http://www.sonicbids.com/epk/epk.aspx?epk_id=112116&poll_id=&name=calendar&skin_id=5
We also knew of Kerry Grombacher (http://www.kgrombacher.com/ ) who is often in Louisiana. Here’s a Cajun Cowboy tune: http://ilike.myspacecdn.com/play#Kerry+Grombacher:Cajun+Cowboy:152387208:s71966066.16328047.44595244.0.2.99%2Cstd_acbf6534039c4ecb92e24d919d4c5764
Eli Barsi is a Canadian singer with many awards who was born on a Saskatchewan farm, but evolved into a professional singer who keeps busy traveling. Check out  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ycM7suup4Ws and http://www.elibarsi.com/. And can Eli yodel!

The camaraderie among the musicians was unmatched. The performers’ connection to the subject matter was personal, and it was original work. The poetry and music performances were clearly from the heart.
From now on, when we plan our trips I will research not only old-time and Celtic music events, but cowboy poets, too.

Halifax Again: Gravlax to Music

During the Halifax Sea Music Festival we had lunch at Stayner’s Wharf, entertained fabulously by the talented, funny, and perfectly named (they will tell you so) Dory Bungholes. In the group are Jon Stone, Jay Perry, Margo Carruthers and Vince Morash. Many people will ask…they’re called what?? Well, Jon explained it clearly: the bunghole is a round hole in the bottom of a small boat such as a dory, at the stern end. It’s used to drain water when the boat is out of the water. In the water, it’s stopped up with the bung, so the boat doesn’t sink! Better to be a bung than a hole, said Jon.








Once that that was perfectly clear, we had lunch.
Chuck ordered chowder, the best so far, he says!
When I ordered something I’d never eaten, gravlax, the waiter said, are you sure??? Yes, why do you ask? Well, the salmon’s not cooked; it’s preserved, sort of like sushi. OK, I said, I like sushi…though he still looked doubtful.



He placed it before me, then stopped by again when I’d about demolished it to ask how it was. When I said that it was VERY good, he seemed relieved!
The generous amount of thinly sliced fish was placed on slightly toasted white bread and served with a sweet, almost mustard sauce. I looked it up later, to see what I’d swallowed so eagerly.

“Gravlax or gravad lax (Swedish), gravad laks (Danish), gravlaks (Norwegian, Danish), graavilohi (Finnish) – that’s me…if you’re of one of these heritages, you’ll want to try it! - graavilõhe (Estonian), or graflax (Icelandic) is a  Nordic dish consisting of raw salmon cured  in salt, sugar and dill. It’s usually served as an appetizer, sliced thinly and accompanied by a dill and mustard sauce, either on bread or with boiled potatoes.”
“During the Middle Ages, gravlax was made by fishermen who salted the salmon and lightly fermented it by burying it in the sand above the high-tide line. (Now who would’ve thought to do that? Looking about, whistling: Fishing? Who, me? Oh, no – How about let’s go for a drink!) The word gravlax comes from the Scandinavian word grav, which means literally "grave" or "hole in the ground" and lax (or laks), which means "salmon", thus gravlax is "buried salmon".”

Clary Croft sang for us, too. Yeah, it was a memorable time.

Sea Shanties in Halifax!

Why did we decide to go to Nova Scotia this summer? We were drawn by the Celtic music and the nautical heritage! The deep maritime traditions of the eastern coastline include music, too. There could hardly be a saltier location than the waterfront Museum of the Atlantic to host the Halifax Harbor Sea Music Festival. Sadly, day one was canceled due to hurricane Earl, but Sunday was sunny, glorious and full of music.

                                        
Sea shanties celebrate the nautical life. You get a pat on the back if you know what they are; a big hooray if you sing ‘em now and then!
 Shanties were songs sung by seamen in the days of sail to coordinate routine tasks that had to carried out handily and rhythmically. When hauling a line, rowing a boat, lifting an anchor or pulling a heavy sail aloft, the shantyman led a song to maintain the pace while the crew sang the chorus. Songs talked about about life aboard, yearnings for home, heroism, myths and distant ports. Sailors boasted or made fun of the crew. They sang about battles and pirates. Harmony, unity, celebration of history, eulogy, community, tragedy and nostalgia – all these plus a good bit of craziness and a dose of the bawdy are embraced in sea shanties. 


I thank K.C. King, a fellow concertina player and founder of the NO Quarter Shanty Krewe (a name with New Orleans and nautical allusions) for teaching me about the music and getting me to sing with the group back in 2003. As he insisted, “enthusiasm trumps talent,” so I qualified. Here we were before Hurricane Katrina somewhat depleted our ranks. We even sang at Jazzfest once – in the Kids’ Tent!

 







Enough, back to the Halifax festival and some of the singers we met! Sea shanties from mariners worldwide were passed on orally as sailors went from ship to ship and port to port. Nowadays, many are re-discovered in old music collections. Bob Walser, singer and music historian, told us the history of one you know, The Sloop John B.
Depending on your age you might have learned the song from The Kingston Trio (1958) or The Beach Boys (1966). The Beach Boys’ version was ranked #271 on Rolling Stone's list of The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time. But it’s way older! It was in a 1927 collection of songs by Carl Sandburg, and in a field recording Alan Lomax made in Nassau in 1935. It seems that there was an old Bahamas sponger boat called the John B (see some here) whose crew always got wildly jolly whenever they made port. She was wrecked and sunk in Eleuthera about 1900. An illustrious history!  Check it out on Wikipedia. Bob is on the right above, with Geoff Kaufman, singer-songwriter and member of the shanty group Forebitter.
Sea songs and shanties are still written today. Alastair Macdonald creates beautiful, emotive songs about nautical life along Nova Scotia’s shores.
Here are Tom Lewis, Bob, and Melanie Ross. 








And Debra Cowan; then the group Pitch’n Timbre. We sang along with them all, too many to show. Here are bios of them all.



 
















The evening concert brought all the singers onstage. Afterward, those who couldn’t bear to go home gathered at the Hart & Thistle to wind down, chat and get better acquainted. Quite late in the evening someone found a homesick Boston sailor at a table alone. Everyone gathered around and put music to work cheering us all, beginning with the melancholy “Grey Funnel Line” (by Ciril Tawney). We got in several more before the pub closed and cast us out. It was simply a perfect day!

                    And all the time, I was thinking of you Shanty Krewe, wherever y’all are!
P.S. I’m excited! While we’re here in New Orleans, the NO Quarter Shanty Krewe will sing in a historic New Orleans home for the Holiday Home Tour on December 11 and 12! This will be a blast!

Margaree Valley, Cape Breton Island

Nestled in beautiful  Margaree Valley is the town of Margaree. Among the lakes and rivers are also Margaree Forks, Upper Margaree, Southwest Margaree, North East Margaree, Margaree Centre, Margaree Harbour and East Margaree. There may be more that didn’t make it to the map. It’s difficult to find or photograph these towns - by the time you realize you’re there, you’ve already left them behind!

Our day again demonstrated that Cape Breton folk are the friendliest we’ve ever met, the most open, content and fully grounded in their lives and community. I’m raving a little, but they’re outstanding, rivaled only by people living in the rest of Nova Scotia. Strangers are always greeted, and everyone loves a good chat!
An attractive, well-dressed woman in about her 60’s welcomed us to the Margaree Salmon Museum. Then she brought the collection to life – it’s a tribute to the salmon, fly-fishing and good sportsmanship on the local rivers. The tale is told through fishing tools and reminisces from those who have known the river intimately, both locals and those “from away” who’ve returned to wade the shallows year after year. The director spoke as though they were all her friends, back to the birth of the sport centuries ago! Only fly fishing is allowed on the river, with catch and release strongly encouraged.


















Up the road, Robert Ingraham was on duty alone at the Margaree Fish Hatchery, which has been supporting the salmon and speckled trout population since 1902. The lucky Atlantic salmon don’t die after spawning, and live several years. In spite of their longevity, they’re extinct in most of their old north Atlantic habitats. We peeked into an open door, and Robert stepped out to let us know that it was a closed building, and pointed us to the visitor center and the pools where we could see fingerlings called parr.









Then he stayed for a good chat about the hatchery and his community. He was a woodsman for much of his life, but likes this work much better. We learned that the Salmon Museum director and her sister, too, had never married. This puzzled him. Here’s Robert with the tool used to pick non-viable eggs out from among the good. Three men carry out the demanding process of raising 200,000 salmon and 100,000 trout annually.  
Distance means nothing to Cape Bretoners, where tiny towns are far apart. Robert suggested we go up to Pleasant Bay at the north end of the island for the great sunset. See some whales, likely a few moose. We didn’t tell him that we’d already been there and failed at both goals!  This is our moose sighting. Right place, wrong time.


We’re off to lunch at the Dancing Goat instead - a trendy sandwich shop at Margaree Forks. it’s crowded, energetic with people and talk. Halfway through a huge sandwich an attractive server stopped at our table and soon we were chatting again. I’d guessed she was a college student, but she was 32, and the second child of 15!! By age 14 she was helping to raise the youngers. “I’m putting off have my own, probably as a result of that!” It was a rural family, and her dad, a woodsman with a back injury, stayed at home with mom. They had a garden and always got by, had “just enough,” nothing more than what they really needed while growing up. The pix is a hooked rug. More about that later…
We stopped at an advertised afternoon jam session at Canton Cross Road Community Centre. After all the Cape Breton fiddling we’ve heard, what did we find? Ten guitarists all in a row, all pickin’ singers! “Dream, Dream, Dream” and country singin’ were not our plan that day, but one young bearded guy sang Irish songs. It was his first time there. He nervously introduced himself, said he and his family had just moved to a place that’s way up a dirt road on the map. Everybody applauded and he dared to try a very good difficult tune next.
We stayed a couple more rounds then turned down the road to home.
The Margarees. Glad we went!  (August 29, 2010)                              

Waitin’ on the ‘Cane

9:00 a.m. Saturday: I never thought we’d be sitting here in Halifax, waitin’ on the ‘cane, the hurricane, waitin’ for big Earl to come up the Bay of Fundy, on the other side of this narrow Canadian province.
How did we get here? We came to attend a weekend Sea Shanty Fest! Everyone’s known about Earl, aiming at Nova Scotia. No one evacuates here, where else would we go?
We came into the Shubie Park Campground Friday to settle in and wait for Earl. The girl at the check-in counter made a joke about the storm, but I was not much amused. It seems that locals are casual about these things. In Yarmouth, close to Earl’s projected landfall, thousands are in the midst of a huge motorcycle rally, with more arriving today!
The campground manager was everywhere, on a bit of a short fuse, anxious to get things right for everyone, carefully placing each of us in areas without trees, stern to wind. There are tent campers here, too, restricted to a shed-like shelter. Lots of nerves were evident, everyone staying pretty much to themselves, choosing their own precautions. You can be sure that if we were still in amazingly friendly Cape Breton, everyone in the campground would have been wandering around chatting! We must all be folks “from away,” meaning not native Nova Scotia-folk.
At the end of the afternoon, I caught the manager making last rounds and mentioned that she must have a lot on her mind. I live in a 14 foot trailer, she said, and I’m not doing a thing! I won’t even take down my big 3-sided trellis, it’s just too hard to take down and set up again!
The sky looked pretty ordinary at sundown.We bedded down expecting to wake up to rain before dawn.







But, this morning nothing’s happened! We have to wait. Let’s get it over, Saturday’s event was canceled, we want a full day of sea music on Sunday!
It’s to arrive as a minimal category 1, blasting up the Bay of Fundy. It sure seems odd. Seven years in Slidell, outside New Orleans, with storm evacuations every year, and here we are, sitting, waiting for a hurricane!
BREAKING NEWS ON THE RADIO!
“During the night … Earl…shifted a little…to make landfall in HALIFAX…” What?! Was that so?
Great.
Note: I Couldn’t post this when I wrote it first thing this morning, the park internet was turned off! Now, we’ve recently got electricity again, so the follow-up is late. You can guess that we’re just fine.