Growing up in the hills of Virginia, there is no memory that strays
too far from a love of soil and song. We moved constantly but always
in view of the Blueridge. My parents were musicians, both
seemingly from some other time and from some other mountains.
The question “When did you learn to sing and play?” has always
struck me as odd as I do not remember a time without music.
My Daddy was a carpenter and cowboy and all that it implies.
My Mama made things beautiful, usually with her song.
Music was both luxury and necessity to us all,
a constant thread weaving through and righting wrongs.
I am after nothing and certainly not interested in fame,
but I was born into song and that, in itself, is legacy enough for me.