Headed to Winterfolk

Hello,
I'm headed to Portland today to meet up with Little Bro. Brendan, Mark Ross and Ben Pearl at Winterfolk. It will be the first time that I've been back in Portland since 2004. Dad and I used to go up there every year for Winterfolk until his heart condition took over the road managing duties. It will be nice to see everyone again. We were originally going to close the first set ( the spot dad always played ) but since Rosalie's new CD " Strangers in Another Country" was nominated for a Grammy she is going to close the first set so she can fly out early and we are going to close the show. Hardly what I was planning on for my first gig but what the hell. As I used to say while hurling my self down the ski slopes, go big or go home. wright?
Please do check out the Sisters web site it is one the many places that held a very special place in dad's heart. when we drove up he always made sure we left early enough to get to the Sisters cafe for lunch. He loved to sit and talk with every and anyone. I gotta hit the road I'm going to Marks place in Eugene for a couple of days to rehearse. I will post more with some pics later in the week.
I have posted some links on the right side of the page for Winterfolk.
Take Care
Duncan

Hello, it’s been awhile.

After dad died I spent a lot time trying to figure out what to do next. For awhile I thought I might just carry on my normal life and talk to folks about dad when they asked. But that’s not really me. I also pondered the idea of a book, not about dad and his life but instead about the two of us and getting back together after being apart for so many years but some of those chapters are still being written. Instead I came to the realization that I have to figure out away to keep dad’s work out there and among the people. Not being much of a singer or musician myself I made the decision to break new ground and branch out into the unknown. Over the last few months I have been playing dad’s old road worn Guild and with the help and encouragement of some great friends begun working on a tribute show for dad. My plan, thanks to Tom May is to try it out this February in Portland at Winterfolk. Winterfolk is one out the trips dad and I looked forward to the most every year. It will be nice after a short absence to be back in Portland and hang out with everyone at Sisters. I hope to see some of you there.

We’ll see how it goes I really don’t know what to expect I just know I have to try it.

Now about the song we started a few months back. It’s mostly finished. I say mostly because It’s the first version, no rewrites, I leave up to anyone who wants to change it as they see fit to do so.

The verse about the light being on at the top og the stairs comes from the first few days after dads death. The first day he lay in a state of rest so folks that wanted to could say good bye. There was a small floor lamp by his bedroom door that was on so folks could find their way up the stairs. The next day when the mortuary came and did what they do I saw that the light had been turned off. It’s funny how the smallest of things can be so sad, I mean it’s just a light. I turned it back on because, know matter were we may find ourselves it's always comforting to know that when we need it the most ,some where there's a light on to show us the way back home.

Untitled

Far away on the Western slope

where the golden waters once roared.

On the darkest of nights she lay alone

and softly whispers these few words.

The lights on at the top of the stairs

rest your head my sweet love and linger no more.

Jungle angles sing your refrain.

and I’ll miss like the dry earth misses the rain.

Fire burns at the end of the yard

the stewbum stares Into the flame.

Lonely and cold with no place to go

he softly whispers these few words.

Your life was boom, your life was bust.

Your life was filled with the wanderlust.

You tramped the world with a worn out heart

but now old friend it’s time we part.

High on a hill in a house built by greed

he dusts off a forgotten old friend.

No longer bound by want and lust

he plays up an old gentle tune.

Oh how your songs they sing to me.

Your words set me free.

I’ll pick up my hammer and nail

on your wooden ship I’ll set sail.

Over the plains the Rattler rolls.

With a tug of the chain the whistle it blows.

Through a wide open door Chico sings aboard

shakes out the dust and offer a few words.

We know not what lay over the hill

might be some wobblies or a scissorbill.

But I tell you this my old friend

we’ll be coupling cars at our journeys end.

Down where the black oak

shades your grave from the searing sun.

I wipe away the last few tears and

whisper these few words.

Lord I know, how I know

how hard it is to let go.

You faced your end with courage and grace

and I will forever remember your

tender face.

The lights on at the top of the stairs

rest your head my sweet love and linger no more.

Jungle angles sing your refrain.

and I’ll miss like the dry earth misses the rain.

See ya in Portland

Duncan

Howdy
A brief note. Keith Bendar if you still check the blog please send me your e-mail address.

I am finishing up on the song we started on the blog a few months ago. I will post it this weekend
along with some updates and pics
Thanks
Duncan

Mark Ross sent this along. Thought you might enjoy it.

Utah's Speech

Friends and Brothers, for many years now we have all understood that railroads exist solely to carry persons such as ourselves from one place to another. The business of transporting freight simply helps to defray the expense of this noble and much needed endeavor. I would like to take this opportunity to publicly commend the Union Pacific,Burlington-Northern, Denver-Rio Grande and Western and similar charitable organizations for their benign efforts on our behalf and to offer heartfelt thanks for affording us the opportunity to spend so many carefree hours watching the pleasant landscape flow by. Oh, the rich pageantry! The bracing mountain air, sparkling lakes and snow-capped peaks spread out before us like a handful of jewels. Lulled into blissful reverie by the gentle swaying of our noble chariots, we gaze enraptured at the panoramic splendor of America.Exaggeration? Ah no, my friends. I cannot believe that so heady a delight as we have enjoyed for lo these many years could simply be the result of economic necessity. Surely the Almighty has penetrated the hearts of railroad executives, and through them his divine purpose moves: that we homeless vagabonds are permitted to advance that spirit of adventure for which our mothers bore us and which is so firmly rooted in the very heart of our great Republic. Indeed, I affirm without fear of contradiction the belief that God, Motherhood, The Founding Fathers and the Railroad are committed to permitting the hobo his humble existence.I hasten to add, however, that all is not rosy and bright with our Brotherhood of the Road. On every hand villains and assassins assault our way of life, indeed our very persons. High-binders and cut purses sap our meager resources as the necessities of life (wine, a humble crust and a quiet corner in which to enjoy well-earned repose) continue to soar in price. Organized authority (which any sensible person must assume was constituted for our protection) now falls upon us cloaked in the foul disguise of "custodians of law". Where, I ask, will it end'? Will we, in the final extremity, be forced to abandon our historic mission of bringing the divine law of "Freedom in Mobility" to the benighted heathen cringing meekly in factory and barnyard? Will we (oh dire presentiment!) be driven to join them in that abomination against our class and kind- WORK? No, I Say, a thousand times NO! Take heart, noble companions! Share with me a sacrament of our sacred beverage, shoulder your bindles and once more plunge into the fray, secure in the knowledge that we carry with us the future of the Republic, indeed the hopes and dreams of all mankind. Let us sing.(Speech to be delivered at the 1976 bicentennial Hobo Convention in Britt,Iowa, where I intend to be elected King. Campaign staff positions are now being filled and all donations are gratefully accepted and can be forwarded to Philo Records. They are, of course, tax deductible.)

Hello,
Well it's been a while. The tribute show for dad last night went well. It was a Small but intimate crowd that was primed and ready. I emceed the show and after coming to an understanding with the audience as to my singing ability sang a song or two. I sang " Daddy What's A Train" with Gigi Love who was nice enough to come up from her home in Durango for the show.......she was kind enough to play in the key of "off " because that's the key I sing in.

We all sat in assorted kitchen chairs that gently arced across the stage with dad's stage set up in the middle. It felt both comforting and familiar to sit in dad's chair, surrounded by friends and swap songs and stories with everyone. I opened with a couple of stories and a poem I wrote for dad Anke Summerhill, followed with "Star Light on the Rails" it was beautiful. Mike Iverson sang "Johny Thurmond", Doug Wintch sang " Queen of the Rails" , Kate MacLeod sang " The Green Rolling Hills of West Virginia" and Kyle @ Weston Wulle closed the first set with " All Used Up " The second set was more of the same and we closed with Dad's Hymn song. It's hard to say how things went from the stage but judging by the laughter, appropriate somber silence and applause, folks enjoyed the show. I know I did.

After the show and the everyone had fled to the comfort of their homes the auditorium was empty and quiet. I sat on the edge of the stage and soaked it all in. I was filled with an ease and peacefulness and left thinking, what's next?

Hello,
Some folks have asked about directions to the cemetery where dad is buried so I am posting a link to directions from downtown Nevada City. There are two cemeteries on red dog, Forest View is on the Left or North side of Red Dog. Dad is in the back North East corner towards a blue house that boarders the cemetery.

On to other news. some of the folks here in SLC are planning a tribute concert for Saturday Sept. 27, at the Fine Arts Theatre on the University of Utah campus. Maybe I'll see some of you there.

Ken Sanders and I are still working on republishing dad's old song book. The only thing holding up the project is myself. I can't seem to make my self sit down and write the new forward and pick out some photos to add to the song book. Mostly because I have been spending my spare time learning to play and sing. I know it sounds odd that up until now I haven't played or sang much. I know dad always wanted to see and hear me on stage but it was something I just couldn't make myself do. When I was much younger I never saw the logic in learning something that was one of the things that kept dad and I so far apart ( kids logic) and as I grew older I thought " how can I possibly measure up". But now that I have dad's old Guild I think with it comes a certain obligation. So I must play. Ben Pearl myself and Mark Ross are going to do tribute set at Winterfolk in Portland this winter. Sisters of The Road, Portland and Winterfolk was the road trip dad and I looked forward to most every year. I think 04 was the last time we made it, might have been 05, either way it's been far to long.
It will be nice to see our old friends again. I hope the show doesn't turn out to be a poor mans Gallagher show and I throw up on the first row.