It was a little more than 33 years ago, just after our family performed at the first of the Smithfield Summer Concerts. As I was packing up the instruments in front of the Smithfield Times an old man shyly walked over. Though I took him to be nearly 80 years old he walked with just the slightest stoop. His face was creased deeply. His skin was stained brown from years of working in the fields. He reached a calloused hand out to me and shook my hand firmly.
When I looked up I saw the tear slowly making its way down his face.
"Momma loved that old Carter Family song that you all did. Seemed like she would sing or hum parts of it the whole time that she was working in the garden. Ain't heard that song since Momma died. Didn't know that anybody still knew that song", he said in a matter of fact tone.
He went to speak one more time but all that came out was a bit of a quivering sound. He stood silent for a moment, turned his head away and simply said , "Thank you."
The old music matters because the old man mattered. The hard work that gave him his slight stoop, deep wrinkles and strong hands mattered.
Understanding who we are as a nation is impossible until one understands who we were as a nation, both good and bad. And nothing better explains who we were as a nation than the songs that were passed down through the generations. It is the music of working folks, the music of poor folks, the music of praying folks, the music of gambling folks, the music of killing folks, and most of all the music of loving folks that teach us who we were.
Pasture #3 is our effort to teach who we were. Every Monday night kids and a smattering of adults from the Mill Swamp Indian Horses program gather to learn to play ancient songs on even older instruments. Fiddles, banjos, guitars, mandolins, ukuleles, autoharps, wooden banjos, dobros, wooden drums, wash boards, wash tub bass, harmonicas--and even a kazoo all join in songs that go to the heart of rural America. Songs like, "Ain't No Grave", "I'll Fly Away," "Bear Creek Blues" and "Down To the River To Pray" rise up as the kids play a song or two and then switch over and play different instruments.
They share their instruments as they share their songs.
The banjo player might pass the tenor banjo off to another kid to play while she picks up a ukulele. The mandolin player might set her mandolin down and move over to the wooden drum while the dobro player hops up to do a few songs on the wash tub bass.
How they learn to play is nearly as important as are the songs themselves. No one reads music. In fact, it is rare for even lyrics to be read. All teaching and all learning is done in the oral tradition, the same way poor folks learned to play music since the first time a man began to beat a rhythm out of a hollow log with a stick.
On June 21 at 8:00 we will be back on the stage on Main Street in Front of the Smithfield Times. Come on out, bring a lawn chair.
Thirty three years since the old man learned that someone still knew the words to the song that his Momma sang while working in the garden, The circle will remain unbroken.
"Bye and bye Lord, bye and bye."
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