slowly and steadily we see the year wind down as the clocks roll back and the holidays approach. does anyone else feel like this was the year that wasn’t? it feels to me like we just finished 2020 and now we’re coming into 2022. how did we suddenly get here? that’s how it feels to me. even the weather seems confused- warm in the northeast and foggy in la. we’re having a second harvest at the farm, and the folks in la can’t remember ever seeing fog hang around for so long. i can’t even seem to write the year “2021” on anything without having to think about it- it seems like i’m making a mistake. i’m trying to get my bearings but they escape me- i’ve resigned myself to a sense of suspended animation until the new year, with the van gogh brothers’ latest album , “21 grams,” wrapping up as my only anchor.

years ago local artist dennis brennan said he was trying to age gracefully, which of course he seems to have to those of us who know him. i admired this sentiment and have thought about it often since. of course i’ve probed the meaning of such a statement… what does that look like and what does it mean for me? how am i supposed to behave and what is grace and what isn’t? i’m not sure i know the answer but i think it has to do mostly with living in perpetual gratitude as much as possible. when i’m grateful, i’m not angry, jealous, evasive or phony— i’m the truest and best version of myself, and it looks and feels like grace.

September is here and we’ve resumed our lifetime residency at Vincent’s, Worcester, which runs every second Saturday of the month for as long as we’re all around… We played to an almost entirely new audience and Paul’s remark put it best, “It’s like starting all over again— and I like it!” The Zen of dive bars for musicians who play all original music like ourselves, is that you have to win crowds over playing songs they’ve never heard before- there is no leaning on nostalgia or familiarity. This all works on a couple of different levels. First, the songs can’t suck. Second, you have to deliver them with way above-average musicianship and a confident performance. Finally, you need to say enough but not too much to form an emotional bond that engages the audience with you almost separate from the music.

The Dog Days of summer ended right on schedule in the Northeast with the sultry heatwave breaking overnight on August 14th, if you subscribe to Dog Days as defined by Old Timers as the period July 15-August 15, which I do. August for me has always been that transition month of high to low summer— what New Hampshire poet Laureate Donald Hall termed a New England “in between season.” We still have summer, but with hints of changes to come. The weather usually dries out, the sun is noticeably lower, and the moon seems to take on a subtle, telling glow.

another summer settles in the northeast as i settle in with donna at magical moon farm for our second summer of farming, healing, and music. this year is so different than last, with a waning pandemic in the US and a shifting sense of life in our global community. we see it in the many people who visit the farm for peace, love and music. there’s an uncertain hope and a hint of unease and we see people come here searching for something to hold on to, and so many remark that they find it here at the farm.

the bright skies of march have begun to fill our lives in the northern hemisphere, with the sun at its strongest and the days beginning to lengthen… this and the vaccine rollout are making for a building anticipation that’s nearly palpable. you can almost hear the voices in the streets and shops, and while many restaurants and clubs remain closed or at limited capacity, they are filled with smiling people in my mind’s eye. like everyone else, i can’t wait to play the bars again, to go out to hear live music and to shake off some of the year-long fear about crowds. spring!