I grew up in Georgia among the magnolias and azaleas. The green there gets sticky in the summertime. And covers the sky on some of them backroads leading around past lean-tos proudly emphasizing the “PIT” quality of their barbeque.
I studied in a part of Tennessee where the fog is blinding and the hollers are deep. Sometimes they make their own whiskey there. But mostly they drink a lot of someone else’s. Then they gather together to sing a most beautiful evensong.
I spent a great deal of time out in the Texas hill country where an African savannah got crumpled up like a piece of paper with cracks and canyons, Germans and Czechs. The barbeque smoke smells different. One evening at sunset I heard drums of a tribal sort coming from an empty canyon on a 7000 acre ranch that was kept “shotgun in your face” private by an 80 year old female descendant of Stephen F. Austin. There’s never been an explanation for that.
I lived on that ranch 20 years later and covered every inch of it. There’s still no explanation for the drums. Unless more mystery explains things… which it often does, I guess.
I wrote songs for a handful of years and played them on stages and in living rooms, coffee houses, bars, and pubs throughout the U.S., Canada, and the U.K.
I spent an evening with a Lakota man who gave me some sort of Native American vocational test involving the sky and stars. He said I would have been made a scout in the old days. That was kind of weird. I slept that night in a tepee and woke the next morning with a chipmunk running over me. I guess that was kind of weird too.
I am devoutly Christian and profoundly grieved by nearly all that is the modern expression of the Church. I sincerely believe that agnosticism is the conclusion of modern Christian teaching that has the most intellectual integrity. Fortunately, there is the older faith in Christ.
I live on the South Texas border pursuing various creative, contemplative, and missionary endeavors.