east west

is bluegrass the new post punk?

so the nights are longer, the rain beats on the windows ceaselessly, and holiday promotions found their way to the forefront before november even showed her face. we take our hikes in the mist now, meander along the railroad tracks (ears to the rail, no trains headed our way anytime soon), cut our way down to the columbia and a beach of whitewashed timber. nothing to speak of except for pointing out the interesting stones, look at this whorl in the bark, was that once a chinook? the leaves have turned to that brown sludge (the northwest's equivalent of ice), and i've requested rubber boots for christmas.

we're headed to virginia on a wednesday night red-eye. as always, i have high hopes for the blue ridge - this time around, they are as follows: shoot skeet over the hollow with my husband (effectively proving to him that i am, in fact, a good shot), and learn how to play the banjo. katie thinks these are worthy goals.

winter brings the beginning of the reading period. I've spent a lot of time with geographically specific pieces, and realize how important they are to me. When you write, when you sing, when you create - there must be some sense of that culture found inside. What was it like to grow up in Holt, Colorado? How would that make you different from someone raised in Brooklyn, someone raised in Tallahassee, someone born in Iowa City? i'm convinced that it matters.

posted by jessica @ 12:39 PM