Songs are my compass.
It begins in the South. Mississippi. Cypress bottomland. Red dirt roads. Tall pines. A blanket of humming insects and heat. Delta floods. Field hollers. Church and hymns. Juke joints. Hill country boogie. Slide guitar.
In the East. The Appalachians. Stone and moss and mist. Mica and whitewater. Plant medicine. Dark hollows. Moonshine. Fiddle tunes from across the ocean. Banjos. Flat picking. Harmony. Ballad singers and contra dancers.
In the West. Rocky Mountains. Sun. Snow. Stars. Woodsmoke. Peaks and canyons. Alpenglow. Cottonwood, willow, aspen. Spring water. Sweat lodge. Drums and prayer songs.
In the North. Big sky. The wind and the train. Yellowstone. Long winter. Golden grass. Sagebrush. Wildfire. Boots and wooden floors. Pedal steel. Two step. Cowboy poets and yodelers.
The songs are in the place. I hope your own relationship to place is deepened by the music I sing and write.
Photographer: Tom Pascalle