The land and fields were nice. You could smell the chimney smoke and the dark fertile soil of the fields. And the hills full of trees lent this place a fresh air. We wound our way through the fields and hollows, and were getting more lost by the minute, so we made the wise decision to finally stop at a gas station. There were four men sitting and talking in the station garage, and their accents were strong, almost indecipherable to me. I bought some gum and peanuts as payment for directions, and asked the lady where we might find some camping. Said all we had to do was take a left on that street there and 2 miles later we’d hit a dirt road then some camping. And in the morning, all we had to do was take the main road back out to Asheville. Amazing, as if we were supposed to stop and ask her. It felt like it was predestined, and she and I agreed you just have to ask sometimes.
Rocke was relieved, he was starting to think the camping wasn’t going to happen. Minutes before we had been thinking of just heading into town that night, but instead we headed back through the farm fields.
And like she said we found the dirt road; and suddenly, as if changing countries, right outside someones’s backyard it became national forest and started to climb steeply. Just like that, we were in the middle of the cool, dense forest and we’d be able to camp in these alluring North Carolina woods. This is exactly what we were hoping for. As it turns out, the Appalachian trail traversed just miles form that spot, through the heart of the Appalachians.
We found a nice spot and started collecting some firewood. There was a stream running strong right next to the spot, and small waterfalls cascading down past. The fireflies came out and looked magical in the dense, fading green forest; a gentle electric show; nature never fails to amaze. After a couple tries and creative kindling, we had a nice fire going, and dusk started to lose it‘s light.
As night fell I broke out my fiddle and played the old time music I knew. The flames leaped and sparks drifted upwards, and I tried to make the old tunes speak. Rocke called a coupl
e tunes and danced with a beer in his hand. That did it for me, sawing away on tunes by a fire on the mountain with a bottle of Jack, a beer and a friend, enjoying the smell and sounds of the woods. To think of how many people have done that in these mountains and around these parts. If not around a campfire, then around a fire at home, or out on a porch, friends and family playing and listening. These were the mountains where the old time and bluegrass music lived for so long.
We drank and kept the fire going, and talked of the music we’d see the next day in Asheville. We passed the bottle and polished a good many beers, the sounds of the forest and the relentless stream accompanying us. After a couple of hours the fire started to die out, and we slept out near the fire. The stars were clear and the stream was running strong, and the sound filled my brain as I slept.July 4th
We woke up with heavy heads, but not feeling too bad. After taking a little bit to get our bearings, we headed into Asheville to get some breakfast. We were ripe, and sure that the people smelled us. Who cares, the food was good enough and the coffee helped get the day rollin‘, and we went to find a hotel. A few exits down the road, and we dropped our stuff off and showered. Back in to town. It was July 4th, and we were gonna catch some good music. After all, Asheville was where the old music still lived. Lunchtime beer, and we saw some signs about a festival and free music. Just outside of town a little at the ballpark, there was food, entertainment and fireworks. A couple locals we asked said that was the place to see some banjo and fiddle music, so after a couple more, we headed down to the Shindig, a family event they have every year. People of all ages are there; Nothing beats an unassuming town festival sometimes, the food grilling and families out to enjoy a holiday.
I had my violin in tow, just in case anyone wanted to play. And as we looked around for food, we passed by the back of the stage and saw a band of four older men playing under a tent. They were all in their 60’s or older, on violin, banjo, bass and guitar. The violinist eyed me to see if he recognized me, a young man with a fiddle, but then lost interest and kept playing. And they’re playing some old tune, a reel with the violinist taking the melody. What a joy to just sit and watch them as they picked their way through a few songs. It seemed like it was old hat to them, seemed like they had played those songs a thousand times over. This is just what I wanted to see, and didn’t even think to take a picture as I was so wrapped up in what they were playing. Up on stage, the MC started the proceedings, and announced the house band for the festival. And the men ambled up and started the show with a couple bluegrass songs, nothing too fast or rockin‘. They didn’t put on airs or try to pump up the crowd, and they weren’t out to impress or be flashy. A nice change from what I‘m used to seeing, it was just music. With smiles
on our faces, Rocke and I got some food and found a seat out in the grass.After a few songs, there was a square dance announced, and things got going. Slowly, a circle formed in front of the stage, and a huge, informal square dance was started. The four men played an upbeat dancer, and over and over, cause all they needed to do was keep it going. And the longer they played, the more fun the people seemed to have. The feeling of dancing took them over. After at least a 10 minute dance, they finally stopped, and the MC announced a flatfooting show up on stage. So one after another, little girls and boys, old men and women, folks of all ages took turns out in front doing a flatfoot dance, their feet shuffling and flying, their bodies defying gravity. The energy really got going and the square dance resumed, the four men sustaining the movement of the crowd. And the violinist improvised just a little with every go around, with the banjo ringing in back. People were really having fun, and I was loving seeing something that had been in that region as long as people can remember. The music and the dances originated together, and they evolved together over the years, and there they were still. How great.
The two couples in front of us on the lawn were very talkative, especially one of the guys, and he eventually wanted to start talking to us. At first I was wary. I think, in retrospect, he saw my violin and was curious what we were up to. He asked where we were from, and he had been hiking in California before, so we talked about that for a while. I was impressed that he'd gone into the Mineral King area with just him and some buddies, no guide. He said when he was growing up in the North Carolina hills, he would get bored, or want to get out of work by taking off for a couple days at a time in the hills, and he became adept at topographic maps and surviving in the wilderness. He asked if I played any bluegrass with that violin. I said I tried. And turned out he played some dreadnaught guitar. As we were all watching the fiddle and banjo players on stage, he told us a story of how music was passed along in his hometown.
Every Friday, the men of the small town would meet at “the shed”, an old barn down the road from the houses of the town. Only men could gather there, and all brought an instrument or sang. What happened in the shed stayed there, and it was a chance for the men to pass along songs and liquor bottles, exchanging and handing down the songs they knew to each other, but especially the next generation. What songs they played and how this exchange happened was left up to my imagination, but it helped me envision how all the tradition of old time music was- and still is- handed down in remote communities along the Southern Appalachians. Not much written music, just stories and songs passed along by those who know them.
Watching the rest of the festival, each band getting better, was a real joy. The young fiddler played, and invited the old man in the house group to play in harmony with him. Then the trio with the banjo ringing out and the nice three part harmony. I wanted to remember every song, absorb the tradition before I left. What was everyday for these people was like a history lesson for me, and a very fun one.
