Imagine a house where you could hear the Watersons and Mike Seeger and Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard and God knows who else all in one night while drinking a glass of Peter the Giant's strange brews. Bruce Hutton playing on the porch looking like a fugitive from 1935 and and Helen's daughter, Riki, and I clogging to his old time tunes. They were halcyon days, and no mistake.

Thanks for the memories. Fortunato