I am back at home after a long, exhausting, exhilarating and very worthwhile run of shows in Mississippi, Louisiana and Illinois. So far in the month of April I have slept in my own bed a total of 3 nights. I’m cautiously glad for a brief pause in the action before heading to Colorado and Minnesota for more shows. This allows me a chance to catch my breath, if only for a moment, and for a time to venture into the yard to witness the green life straining to reach for daylight in the flower beds we recently tilled, composted, mulched and planted with all manner of perennials, hydrangeas, maples, and various shrubs and liriope. It has been nice to come home after a time away and to see greenery, once a mere root or rhizome buried beneath the earth, breaking the surface, invigorated, and growing out of its winter isolation. Life and growth continues.

Danielle and Ellis flew to Louisiana this afternoon for her aunt’s funeral. I am at home alone, a situation that is fun for a total of about five minutes. I have plans that involve anything BUT watching television (an admitted weakness of mine): finish reading Andrew Peterson’s new book, On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness, Vol. 1, and to write a new song or two in anticipation of beginning the recording process for the new album. Ben Shive is producing, and, as I am a big fan of his, am eager to hear what his creative mind brews up. I also need to hang the new ceiling fan/light fixture in our den; a project that I’m sure would please my lady. And, if all goes well, try to get in a few holes of golf in the interim. Long list, short time.

I played on St. Charles Avenue on a Thursday night in New Orleans in front of a wonderfully respectful audience (whose church steeple had caved in during Hurricane Katrina), and afterwards strolled down to Cafe du Monde for late night beignets and cafe au lait. The moon was out and shining, the river was overheard lapping at the pier, and my wife and I walked along the levee for a stretch holding hands and acting like we were young lovers. Since my parents had met us earlier in the day in Manchac, LA at Middendorf’s and drove Ellis to Baton Rouge, we enjoyed our brief Crescent City date, but found ourselves missing our boy immensely. The Ridgely pseudo-reunion show the following night in Baton Rouge was quite enjoyable. Nearly a hundred folks showed up as we did a writers-in-the-round: me, Kevin (Smith), Ridgely. We somehow managed to pull off old Ridgely tunes that I didn’t think we would be able to conjure anymore since it had been nearly 10 years since the last time we played them together. It was good to remember and to sing those songs again, especially since they are impossible for me to pull off in a solo setting. Singing, I recalled just how well and naturally our voices blended and the richness of those guitar parts. Our brothers, Brian “Bubba Fong” and BB joined us on drums and percussion. The evening was recorded and videoed. There’s talk of releasing this concert on DVD. Stay tuned for that. Good memories of the salad days.

After spending Monday night in a pop-out camper next door to our semi-nomadic friends, the Garrigans, who also live in a camper in the parking lot of our former church in Birmingham, we drove back to Nashville the following afternoon, whereupon I got in the car on Wednesday for two college shows just outside of St. Louis. The Thursday show was at 11am, and after playing for an hour and loading the car in the pouring rain, I drove back to Nashville, where, after spending not quite two hours with my family, I got back in the car with friends Andrew Osenga and Jeremy Casella to make the drive up to Chicago for a Friday night show. So much fun. So much weariness. I’m getting old for this sort of thing. The Union show with those guys was good, clean, humbling fun. Their songs (and albums) are tremendous, and there were several times while onstage I asked myself just what business I thought I had being up there alongside these gents, these genuine musicians. I am a lucky dude, and a fraudulent one, to be sure. To call this my “job” becomes more and more an amazing realization as the years go by. I am not worthy of such good things. Many thanks to all of you who showed up, in some measure, for one of these recent shows. You do my heart good. May this tax season bring you cheer (and a refund).