Tom, thank you so much for that wonderful image of Merritt "walk[ing] back into the kitchen playing and singing with the guitar body up against his cheek...." It went right into my heart and stayed there. I've been thinking of you a lot.
Bob Deckman, I loved your words, too--I don't know you, but thank you for saying what you did.
When I first started trying to write down memories of Merritt to give Dick Lewis for his PFS article, I didn't get very far. I just kept bursting into tears. I cried for Merritt because he had lost the world, and for the world because it had lost Merritt; for myself, and for anyone else who felt bereft.
Thoughts, photos, and songs are still catching me off guard, and that will probably go on for a while. (Craig Brandis played "There's a Gold Mine in the Sky" during the sing at Kit's last Sunday, and it unraveled me: "Take your time, old mule, I know you're growing lame/ But you'll pasture in the stars when we strike that claim....")
What I've found, though, is that the whole, friendly feel of Merritt is still here, everywhere I turn, warming me like a steady sunbeam, and it feels like a comfort that will endure. So does the music.
I keep having an image of Merritt on a (clover-seeded?) cloud with that mule, as they "sit up there and watch the world roll by...." Merritt looks amused, his guitar is still to hand, and he's singing.
Love, Lorna "Doone" (Fossand)
* * * [Below is what I finally sent Dick. It came out sounding more formal than I'd meant it to, but the love and thanks are there.]
MEMORIES OF MERRITT HERRING
I love my first memories of Merritt, because they are shot through with qualities that are at the heart of why I celebrated his presence then, have cherished his friendship, and mourn his loss so deeply. I remember him first at Singtime Frolics, the Portland Folklore Society's annual singing weekend. It was probably 1998, when Larry Hanks was weaving his magic as the featured artist. (I'm guessing we had Merritt to thank for Larry's presence that year, as they'd been friends for a long time.)
What I noticed first about Merritt was his gift for putting even the most tentative, beginning singers at ease and making them feel welcome. He did that often throughout the weekend, and it was lovely to watch person after person bloom under his encouragement. Accomplished singers, too, glowed more brightly when caught in a warm beam of Merritt's praise. I know he cheered Barbara Millikan, and I can still see the pleased, "Aw, shucks" look on Larry's face the evening several of us gathered in Merritt's camper. Merritt coaxed one fine song after another out of Larry, complimenting him all the while and encouraging the rest of us to share in the pleasure: "I just love that wonderful bass voice of his in that song," he'd say. "Isn't it great? I never get tired of hearing it."
At another Singtime gathering a year or two later, I came across Merritt leafing through his song binders in the cafeteria. I joined him and, to my delight, we spent about an hour and a half swapping songs while the rest of the camp swirled on without us. I can still remember the heady feeling of managing to offer at least two songs he hadn't heard. (That experience may be old hat to some of you, but I am a piker in your midst and I was thrilled.)
Later at lunch, he came by my table and said, "Come with me--there's someone I want you to meet." He introduced me to Dick Holstock, saying, "This is the girl I was telling you about. She can really SING!" I nearly looked over my shoulder. That astonishing comment glows within me still, as does all his subsequent encouragement. I doubt I'd ever have had the temerity to try for my first solo gig without Merritt's kind words, and that would have been a shame, as I might never have discovered that the best cure for stage fright is the joy of sharing songs.
With his fine voice, clear, confident presentation, and wealth of songs, Merritt could easily have held center stage at any gathering. Instead, he let the songs and their stories have the spotlight and created a space where each person with a song to share felt worthy. His death has torn such a hole in the fabric of our community. But we shall take the music he loved and weave bright strands to mend it as best we can, and his generous spirit will live on in every strand.