Since music was so intrinsically related to those days, almost anytime I think of my late teens and early 20's, a song(s) is tied to it. About 10 Berea students were working in an associate VISTA program tied to the Council of Southern Mountains. They were having a meeting at Fontana Dam and 6 of us went down. We arrived at about midnight, far too late to check in and decided we'd drive to Bryson City...I have no idea why. Arriving in Bryson City, nothing was open but a small diner where we were looked upon with some skepticism...but served. Having even more time on our hands, we drove up the other side of the mountain to Clingman's Dome. We parked in the empty lot at about 3 AM and listened to the springmelt run off the rocks all around us. We of course solved the problems of the world that night and about 4:30 AM, Andy and I got out the guitars and we all sang. We sang Woody, we sang Dylan, but when we picked a few Carter tunes and Broadsides, it struck me for the first time that not only did it sound wonderful out there, but this was where the music came from...in that fog cloaked valley, across that far ridge...it lived here. The isolation of the mountains had given a different flavor to the Scots-Irish roots of the original tunes and for me it was something special...both the music and the realization. After awhile we sat in silence and let the spring morning provide the music for us. Years passed, we went in different directions, and like in "Bob Dylan's Dream"......"each one of them, I have never seen again."

Maybe you can only have those times when the world is new and you know how to fix it. We certainly thought so. But maybe you're only given a few moments in your life when things are clear and revealed...and pure.

Sorry Rick, this was supposed to be a joke thread and maybe if I were Arlo I could have done that a little better. Or maybe I need to stick to crude lyrics to show tunes. Ahwell...........

catspaw