I visited the great state of Minnesota over the weekend. I flew into Minneapolis on Thursday afternoon and while I waited outdoors for the shuttle bus to take me to my rental car, I basked in the gray, cold winds and snowflakes drifting about my head. Very weird weather. I landed with the knowledge of having three shows planned for that weekend: that night, Saturday, and Sunday evening shows, all in different cities. Within the span of an hour, soon after I started driving, I received a couple of calls from friends in the area inviting me to play shows (yes, plural) on Friday night as well. This was very good news indeed. Prior to this, it felt very lame (to me, at least) that I was to spend a Friday night on the road without a show. Lame indeed. Friday night, after all, is the beginning of the much-anticipated American weekend, the zenith of concert choices for land’s sake, and here I was, 1000 miles from home, without one. A child without a sucker, me without a stage.
First thing I did was call my buddy Gabe who happened to be in town at the same time and was on the road with Bebo Norman. After a quick burger and fries at McDonald’s (admit it, you’re “lovin’ it” too) and kicking off the 2006 Monopoly season with the annual Mickey D’s game, I found my way over to the venue where Gabe was setting up. Great to see him again, since he left Nashville nearly four weeks ago and has been on the road non-stop since. He managed to get me one of the two aforementioned shows on Friday night opening for Bebo, another old friend of mine from years back, in Fargo, ND. After bidding farewell to Gabe, I spent the next 30 minutes driving around downtown Minneapolis lost as a goose and very frustrated at the directions I had been given (or failed to follow, I will sheepishly admit). Like a NASA flotilla in inescapable orbit, I hurled past the Hubert Humphrey Metrodome several times before deciding that that particular tactic was doing me no good, nor was it advancing me anywhere outside of the metropolitan area. I finally finagled my way to I-35 and drove with all the rapidity my vehicle would allow to Janesville, MN, a lovely Americana town south of the Twin Cities. I passed a group (a herd?) of elk along the highway, but I mistook them for moose at first since I had earlier read warnings about how it was currently mating season and the last thing one would want is to interfere with such beasts and their amorous events. An individual could very well face his own demise if he were to cross tracks with a male or female during this heated season. Or so I’ve heard. I reached Jason & Taya Gray’s house about an hour or so before I was to play; cutting it much too close. It was a small house show with 12 or so in attendance, and a very generous group were they. A good night’s sleep and a five-hour drive headfirst into a 30-knot wind the next day landed me in Fargo, ND, a place I was somewhat shocked to find myself considering I had been home in Nashville only the day prior.
Have I ever told you about the two things in this world that most amaze, confound and inspire me? They are time and distance. Remind me to write more about it someday.
After a quick and painless soundcheck, I visited with Gabe while he set up the Compassion International table, I joined him for dinner, and at 7 o’clock I was introduced to the audience as the guy filling in for one of the two openers who had to temporarily break from the tour for a few days. The crowd was very gracious and forgiving as I broke a string on my final song of the night and sort of bungled my way through the remainder of it. My humble thanks to the folks at Bethel and to Bebo’s crew who made me feel welcome and for refraining from telling me I was awful. I heard the first two songs of Bebo’s set, got back in the rental car, an ugly pig-nosed-looking Chevy (no comment on the model), and high-tailed it to Detroit Lakes, MN, a 45 minute drive east, for an informal and impromptu house show at a friend’s place. It was a post-football game event and there was a very giddy group of high-school folks in attendance most of whom I had met this summer at Young Life camp. They were a joy to play for and made me feel like my songs mattered in their lives; a gift to any traveling songster. I was once again reminded of the treasure of getting to do what I love to do for a living. Surely I am guilty of griping about my job on many occasions, but once all the grime is raked away and the dust settles, it is an occupation that is ultimately fulfilling and edifying to me and, above all, hopefully to others. We are creatures blind to our own fortune. A mountain of steaming nachos chased down by a cold Oktoberfest at Zorbaz after the show with friends was a pleasant end to a very long and mile-riddled day. Ah, sleep, how she beckoned.
Saturday morning was a low-key affair replete with a greasy brunch at the Main Street Cafe in downtown Detroit Lakes with my friend Kyle, and then a slow saunter over to Marv & Iris’s home for coffee, fresh apples and a brief visit with this dear midwestern couple. The Young Life camp I’d spent several summers at was right around the corner so I dropped by to take her in before heading to my next destination. It was a place I’ve not experienced anytime outside of the summer months, so I found myself in awe of the cold lake winds blowing across the lap of the property, and the trees, how they bore none of the green proclamations of summertime vivacity. I stood outside of my car prior to departing and watched as a bald eagle soared past not 100 feet overhead. I felt homesick all of a sudden. Surely goodness and grace abound in these times of flight and existence. I played for another Young Life group that night in Fergus Falls, MN, slept on an air mattress that deflated sometime during the night, awoke at 5am and drove another 3.5 hours southeast to Hastings, MN to play at a church service and an evening concert. En route, I watched as the skies over the Twin Cities lit up from the sun’s rising as if October were, itself, the vessel of a dragon’s breath. Many thanks to the warm, humor-filled folks at The Harbor Church for letting me play there. I am grateful to folks like Nick & Angela Fox, newlyweds I met this summer in Colorado, who not only invite me to play my songs for them, but who also pay me to do so. Most times I feel unworthy of receiving a single dollar bill, but to be paid enough to keep the proverbial boat afloat reeks of sheer grace. I don’t like talking about money, especially in such a public venue as this (perhaps it is rude of me to do so), but since it seems to make the world go ’round, I realize I’m a very lucky man to receive any compensation at all to pursue what I love and feel that I’m halfway decent at. Yea, I am a creature too-often blind to my own fortunes.
Lastly, it has come to my attention that my blogs are a bit lengthy. Yes, quite possible. But since I see myself less as a blogger and more interested, as a hack writer of sorts, in journaling the lush ground that sprawls itself before me, there are moments which seem, to me, worthy of mention. If you’ve read this far, I suppose you are one of the few able to withstand my long-winded observations of the touring life (and non-touring, as may befit the season) in such a public setting as this. I bow humbly in your general direction and admire you for letting me bend your ears. Admittedly, since I myself struggle to stay focused for any longer than a few minutes at a time, I am one who, if I were not its author, would struggle to pay attention to these narratives. Touche. Ciao.
