Accent is always an issue. We tried to do it “Montana” style. It didn’t work. We tried to do our very best fake Scottish accent version. It didn’t work. We revamped the words, split the difference and sing this song somewhere between Flathead Lake and the River Tay.

Mirk and rainy is the nicht
There’s no’a staum in a’ the carry
Lichtnin’s gleam athward the lift
Cold wind drives wi’ winters fury

Chorus:
Oh, are ye sleepin’ Mattie
Let me in for loud the wind is howlin’
Ower the wallock Craigie

Fearfu’ soughs the boortree bank
The rifted wood roars wild and dreary
Loud the iron yet does clank
The cry of hoolits mak’s me eerie

Abune ma breath, I daurneae speak
For fear I rouse your waukrife daddy
Caud’s the blast upon my cheek
O rise, o rise my bonnie lady

She’s op’d the door she’s let him in
She’s cuist aside his dreepin’ plaidie
Blaw yer warst ye rain and wind
For Maggie noo I’m an aside ye

Noow since yer waukin’ Maggie
Noo since yer waukin’ Maggie
What care I for hoolits cry
For boortree bank or warlock Craigie

To a prairie soul, the beautiful plains and bluffs surrounding Keota, Colorado are heavenly. To others it seems bleak. Nestled in the Pawnee Grasslands, this little lost town seems to cling to the center of the world. It holds its secrets and its tongue, but to those of us who are drawn there, it is not a silent treasure. Sadie (the belle of Keota) and I meet in this place every chance we get. The endless sun gravel road to get there, the endless wind, and the endless sun – all these set us free.

This tune was born during a wild prairie thunderstorm while sitting at the cemetery in Keota…

Ken calls me a “malcontent”. I think it is just an addiction to “someplace else”. But whatever it is, I’m sure it is better there than here!

Away, away,
Brown leaves of fall
Fly free on winds of change
Your withered forms will
Soon find peace
And then call out my name
And then call out my name

Away, away
Wise winter birds
Fly free on winds of change
Your wings will find the golden sun
And then call out my name
And then call out my name

Away, away
Small seeds of hope
Fly free on winds of change
Then where you fall grow sure and tall
And then call out my name
And then call out my name

Away, away
Oh starless night
Fly free on winds of change
The dawn will come to urge you on
And then call out my name
And then call out my name

Away, away
I’m bound away
To fly on winds of change
I’ll take my flight and not look back
When someone calls my name

Away, away…

Years ago when we first learned this song, we didn’t have all the words. So we developed an abbreviated version. Now we know there are many more lines, but we keep doing it ‘our way’, and the piece never looses it’s magic in the singing of it!

Pale was the wounded knight that bore the rowan shield
Loud and cruel were the raven’s cries that feasted in the field
Saying “Beck water cold and clear will never clean your wound
There’s none but the Witch of the Westmerelands
Can make thee hale and soond

“so turn, turn your stallion’s head ‘til his red mane flies in the wind
And the rider of the moon goes by and you hear the owlet cry
Saying, “Why do you ride this wqay and wherefore came you here?”
“ I seek the Witch of the Westmerelands who dwells by the winder mere!”

So lie down me brindled hound, and rest ye my good gray hawk
And thee my steed may take thy fill for I must dismount and walk
But come when you hear my horn and answer swift the call
For I fear ‘ere the sun will arise this morn ye will serve me best of all!

And it’s down to the water’s brink he’s borne the rowan shield
And the gold rod he has cast in to see what the lake might yield
And wet rose she from the lake, fast and fleet went she
One half the form of a maiden fair with a jet-black mare’s body

And loud, long and shrill he blew ‘til his steed was by his side
High overhead the gray hawk flew and swiftely he did ride
Saying “course well, my brindled hound and fetch me the jet-black mare!
Swoop and strike my good gray hawk and bring me the maiden fair!”

She said, “Pray sheathe thy silver sword, lay down thy rowan shield
For I see by the briny blood that flows you’ve been wounded in the field!”
And she stood in a gown of velvet blue bound round with a silver chain
And she kissed his pale lips once and twice and three times round again.

And she bound his wound with the goldenrod; full fast in her arms he lay
And he has risen hale and soond with the sun high in the day
She said “Ride with your brindled hound at hell and your good gray hawk in hand…
There’s none can harm the knight who’s lain with the Witch of the Westmerelands!”

As I was recovering from surgery and battling with midlife crisis, I invoked the young girl I once was to come to my rescue. It could also be an old, old love affair remembered, we all have one…
I asked my daughter Darci to sing with me; thus the maid, the mother, and the crone all encompassed.

Chorus:
Rise up, rise up
My wild-eyed girl
Sleep not this darkest hour
Come fan the embers
Of my soul
Till the dawn
This night
Devours

Our sun bathed day, so far away
How quickly did it fly
Now I dream it true to be with you
In this twilight where I lie

Chorus

The cold damp stone where we passed by
And the moss where we laid our heads
Were warmer then, than I am now
Alone in this linen’d bed

Chorus

Bridge
The dusk so slowly gathered in
I did not feel the chill
Now the age-ed night has seized my heart
And I am old against my will

Where have you gone my wild-eyed girl?
Far from me you have strayed
Now I hear the brook side call my name
Out where the young lovers play

chorus

This must have happened a lot in the old days, there are many similar stories and songs in the British Isles. Our favorite English songwriter Steve Tilston did a great job with the details and the PG rating! Ken sings this fully clothed (however I am anxiously awaiting the ‘un-cut’ version!)

As I roved out one summer’s day for profit and for pleasure
I planned to rob the London coach to take it at my leisure
A brace of pistol’s duly primed, a sabre fit to shave on
I waited there beneath the trees that line the bank of Avon

I didn’t hear her dainty step as she appeared before me
A face to charm the singing birds with words that did implore me
“ Oh can you help me sir?” She said “I fear the time has near run
For me to cross before the tide swells the banks of Avon”

Chorus:
Ah come all you roving fellows, listen while you can.
Of the time when I became the Naked Highwayman
Repeat

So gallantly I did dismount and walked her to the water
There she told me that she was a wealthy merchant’s daughter
So I thought I’d try my luck, try me best to charm her
Said I was the only son of a country farmer

“oh your hands they are as smooth as silk you ne’r do touch the plough sir
an’ I suppose these pistols help you milking of your cow?”
she looked at me with mocking eyes, coal black as the raven
then she fell into my arms beside the banks of Avon

(instrumental break to signify lusty/rustic/romantic/sensual interlude)

with honeyed lips I was beguiled, a lamb led to the slaughter
I fell asleep in the arms of the merchant’s daughter
When I awoke I was alone, clothes and pistols taken
With just the leaves to hide my shame beside the bank of Avon

Then I tried to catch a glimpse of the city spires
Creepin like a rabbit thru the bushes and the briars
Then I heard the London coach and I was all a shiver
The lady’s voice was callin out “stand to and deliver”

Chorus

“oh your money or your life I’ll have, it’s all the same to me
it’s hangin for a sheep or murder in the 1st degree!”
she stood in my overcoat, brandishing me pistols
and relieved the London coach of the gold of Bristol

then I’s up she’s mounted on me horse and off into the distance
as I ran naked to the coach beggin for assistance
no more I’ll play the highwayman, ho more I’ll put the mask on
I’ll leave it to the bright eyed girl who runs the banks of Avon

Chorus

Sherman is a big gray gelding that likes his own pace, mostly slow. That’s the jig part. Then when the ride is halfway over, he picks up the pace and keeps up with the little brown horse, a bit faster, but not TOO fast.

The jig is slow and plodding like Sherman, and then the same melody is used for a slow reel. Ken and Sherman never did ‘gallop’ into the sunset.. Sherman could only be pushed so far.

In our modern society, sometimes we assume we are beyond being a food source. I look at crows differently notw that I know what they’re thinking. These lines, dating back to the 13th centrue were collected by Sir Walter Scott (1803). We have converted a few of the old Scottish words to more user-friendly English, while trying to keep the integrity of the story. 

As I was walking all alone
I spied twa corbies makin’ mane
And one to the other did say
Where will we go and dine the day?
Where will we go and dine the day?

Behind yon oul fail dyke
I see there lies a new slain knight
Naebody knows that he lies there
But his hawk, his hound and his lady fair
His hawk and hound and his lady fair

His hawk is to the hunting gone
His hound to bring a wild fowl hen
His lady has taken another mate
So we can make our dinner sweet
So we can make our dinner sweet

And you can sit on his white breast bone
And I’ll pick out his bonny blue eyes
And with a lock of his golden hair
We’ll feather our nest when it grows bare
We’ll feather our nest when it grows bare

And many’s a one for him makes mane
Naebody knows where he has gone
Through his wihte bones when they grow bare
The wind shall blow forever more
The wind shall blow forever more

Two traditional tunes that I learned from the dulcimer wizard Cliff Moses.

The great Irish poet John Odonohue speaks of landscape having memory. While crossing the Nebraska praire on a frigid January night, Ken and I discovered the Dismal River. Moonlight on cottonwood skeletons, crystalline air and isolation… we weren’t sure whether to drive faster or linger longer. That landscape memory is now part of our own.

My soul shivers
From the wind
Of a storm that is not mine
All my edges frayed
I am a well worn suit of time
I’ll offer up what’s left of me
In a place that understands
That weather from another time
Can hold you in it’s hands

Chorus:
Dismal River, be my companion this night
While I bathe my soul in ancient moonlight
Wash away my sins, in prairie tears
Dismal River

Tonight the prairie bares herself
In hopes of a lovers breath
But stone gray eyes of chilling stars
Stare down upon her breast
So I shall fill this empty place
And it will empty me
We tow will find a warm embrace
In the love of a distant sea

Chorus:

And when this dismal time moves on
The river and my souls
Will lie face up in prairie sun
Kiss reeds along the shore
But now I need the gentle face
Of a place that feels the same
This dark storm will not last for long
But the river will remain

Chorus:

New adventures and old longings are the double-edged gift of the road. I have always felt “watched over” as we make our way across the map on my lap. Even more so the dark Feburary night I wrote this song… somewhere in North Dakota.

Note: you know you have been doing something a very long time when the song dates you. This was written ‘pre-cell phone’ days, when you really did need to find pay phones and stand in the cold to make calls. Oh my.

When the warrior sun falls silently and the hand of night
Leads him on
Nothing whispers loud and clear, like a dark
Dark and lonely road
Starry nights and pay phone lights
Keep his ghosts at bay

Chorus:
For the night is the minstrel’s cradle
Gently rocked by a restless wind
And the music lingers near the ground
While the night souls sing him home

In the brightness of a morning some make plans
And fill the day
With familiar sights and familiar sounds, it’s with sameness
That they pay
But there’s a haunting in his daylight
And he must be on his way

Chorus:

Well a minstrel packs belongings, memories wrapped
In last nights clothes
And he takes his leave so silently, those left behind
Do not know
That the freedom of the road life
Gives a heart so much to say

Chorus:

The night it is the minstrel’s cradle, gently rocked
By a restless wind
And the loving arms of darkness, have a prayer their own
To lend to him
And his movement is his lover
And the road will smooth his brow

Chorus:

My first childhood memory of Mexican food was a place called Tortilla Flats, in my Colorado hometown. This tune reminds me of the smell of peppers, cumin and hot grease… flaming palates begging for mercy, and then begging for more!

Here’s to all the Mexican food I’ve eaten and loved and am still carrying with me!

Tish Hinajosa and Peter Rowan penned this beautiful and haunting love song. I can’t get Kenny to sing me a love song unless it’s in a foreign language… not to worry, it’s a small detail I can live with!

Solo, solo tus ojos, sueno tus ojos
Siempre a mi lado
Ojos, solo tus ojos, luz de estrellitas
De enamorados

Chorus:
Claro, de luna Hermosa
Sabe, que es cosa preciosa
Solo, solo oon requerdo
Requerdo esos ojos
Duenyos de mi amor

Feunte corre luciente
Como estos ojos
Quieren quererte

Chorus:
Claro, de luna Hermosa
Save, que es cosa preciosa
Solo, solo un requerdo
Requerdo esos ojos
Duenos de mi amor

El Morro National Monument is in the high mesas of New Mexico. It was first inhabited by the Ancient Puebloan’s, with ruins and petroglyphs dating back to the 1200’s. Then, in 1605, Don Juan Onate’ stopped for water at the base of ‘the bluff’. He was the first to carve the words “Paso Por Aqui” (meaning passed by here) and the date. From that date on, travelers passing did the same, there are over 2,000 inscriptions, dates and messages….
While working in the Grants area with outreach schools like Cubero, we saw the sign for El Morro and decided to go see it. I was mesmerized not just by the landscape, the ruins, the fresh water pool or even the thousands of inscriptions. But it was the power of the words ‘paso por aqui’.

We have a musician friend who worked for a while installing heat ducts. He told us himself and other workers often wrote messages inside the ducts, not as a prank, but that maybe someday in the far off future someone might find those hidden messages. Humans seem to want to do that, leave a part of themselves or a message that will outlive them. The message to me was not the antiquity of the words Don Juan wrote 400 years ago, and it wasn’t even his journey to that isolated place… it is the journey of life itself, for all humans, captured in those words ‘passed by here’…

Chorus:
Passed by Here
I have peered into your door
And felt the strength
Of those who passed by here before
May the threshold
Of your heart and of your home
Bless all who come and go
For even you will pass by here

Trying not to be forgotten
Hands of flesh upon the stone
In the spaces are the stories
No one will never know

So a dreamer carves a message
To the future he can’t see
And however long he lingers
His mark will always be

Bridge:
In the rock the old ones knew
Here their words would stay
But written on the wind
Is what they really had to say

Now with what you have become
Etch your name upon this place
And let all who follow after
Know you “passed by here”
With grace

For we all will pass by here!

I first heard this sung by Mickey Zekley back in the early 80’s. I thought it was the most romantic lyric ever! I sang it to myself for years, then forced it upon Kenny who has made it even more romantic to me!!

The time has come, I can no longer tarry
This morning’s tempest, I must surely brave
To cross the moors and high towering mountains
To lie in the arms of the one I love

And when he came to, his true loves dwelling
He knelt down gently upon a stone
And whispered softly into the window
Does my own true love lie there alone

She’s lifted herself up from off her snow-white pillow
She’s lifted the blankets from off her breast
She’s lifted herself up, upon an elbow
Who’s that disturbing me from my night’s rest

It’s I, it’s I love, it’s I your own true lover
Come open the door up and let me in
For I am wet love and oh so weary
For I am wet love, unto the skin

She’s lifted her self up with the greatest of pleasure
She’s opened the door up and let him in
And all night long they rolled in each others arms
Until the long night was passed and gone

And when the long night, was passed and over
And when the small cocks began to crow
He took her hand, aye left a kiss and parted
He saddled and mounted and away did go

Not a part of your clothing, but a carnival ride!
Jimmy calls it a rolling vomitorium! He and his little sister hopped on The Zipper at a Montana fair, when they were too young to know the fear. Little sister slipped out from under the bar, and her weight made the enclosed cage go faster, and faster…
This must have been the catalyst for Jim Schulz to delve into science to such an extent that he has won every science-teaching award in the world!

Not only a brilliant scientist but a gifted musician, he penned this tune in honor of that fateful day…

This version was done live, in the round in our little studio in Polson Montana. With dear friends, a great tune and energy galore, the fact that it was 3:00 a.m. only glorifies the moment of frenzy! Thanks guys….