Ready to roll

Is it just me, or is it starting to feel a little bit like spring?

Maybe it's the fact that I'm leaving in five minutes for a two-weekend tour of Ottawa, Montreal, Toronto and Peterborough with my buddy Nathan Caswell. Maybe it's the fact that I had to spend $2200 to get my van road-worthy for the adventure. Maybe it's the fact that I'm out in the backyard, working on my many sheds again.

Or is it that my Summerfolk contract came in the mail? Or that Trevor Mills and I have nearly finished the new Mariposa website? Or that I'm putting the final touches on Katherine Wheatley's new site on Monday?

Is it that I've gotten the green light to shoot a documentary of Rodney Brown on board a freighter canoe on Lake Superior next summer? Or that the new studio version of Riding on the Railway arrived in my inbox this morning?

Or is it just a change in the blood, a shift in the tides, the faintest scent of springtime on the wind?

Whatever it is, I'm all over it. It's St. Paddy's Day and the highway is clear. There's a radio interview waiting in Ottawa this afternoon and an audience to regale tonight. I'm nervous distracted, and impatient, but I've got all twelve strings tuned up and sounding sweet. I'm ready to roll!

My 24-Hour Vacation: Part Two

6 AM, July 6th. I've been up all night and there's no point sleeping now. The sun is up and it's already warm. There is hardly a soul astir in Orillia, and even Highway 11 is practically dead. So I decide to take off for Honey Harbour, where I have a date with a white pine tree, cross-country.

Being from Parry Sound, I have a pretty good idea of the geography. I know that Highway 12 goes right from Orillia to Waubashene, where I can turn north onto 400 (formerly 69.) I know I'm north of 12 at the moment, but I figure if I just head west, chances are I'll hit 400 anyway. There's virtually nothing in between. On the off chance that doesn't work, any county road that heads south will take me to 12. This is how my mind works. I even checked the gas guage. Foolproof.

If you're expecting a disaster, there isn't one. True, the roads that run parallel to 12 don't go straight through to 400 from Orillia. In fact, they only run parallel for maybe 15 miles. Then they go at right angles. Then they turn to gravel. Then they turn to cow tracks, through some of the most gorgeous, untouched, old-fashioned farm country I've seen in quite a while. I guess not having through roads is one way of preserving the landscape. In any case, I had one of the nicest Sunday drives I've ever had, notwithstanding the fact that I drove in circles and zig-zags for about an hour, enjoying the stillness of a morning alone, before hitting Highway 12 and heading west.

And then I got a hankering for Tim Horton's.The problem is, once you get north of Barrie, the formerly ubiquitous Timmie's is a rare find. There isn't one in Honey Harbour, or Port Severn, or Waubashene, or poor, forgotten Fesserton, once a bustling gas-station town on the main route between Barrie and Sudbury; now an eyeblink along old Highway 12. So to get a cup of coffee on a sunny Sunday morning, a guy has to head PAST highway 400, west to Midland. Or in my case, to Penetanguishene, having managed to miss the Midland turn.

But what a treat: it's at least a 15 mile drive off the highway to Penetanguishine, and I was in no hurry. The landscape was getting rugged as I approached Georgian Bay, and I could feel my blood stirring for a sight of the water. The Bay is home to me.So it already seemed like the day couldn't get any better, and what should come on the CBC radio but good old Jeff Goodes' program Fresh Air!

I felt a real kinship- Jeff had been the MC the night before at Mariposa, so he must have been up all night too, as the program airs at 7 am and he was already fresh. Only 12 hours before, we'd been chewing the fat backstage, trading memories from the Gordon Lightfoot Tribute concert last winter, and now here he was with his coffee already metabolized, talking about how great Mariposa was the night before. But that's not all!The best part was, Jeff had hauled out tapes from a Mariposa festival about 30 years ago, on Toronto Island.

This was an incredible, historic event- it would seem like an urban myth if I hadn't heard it with my own ears. But it's true: a couple of young up & comers named Bruce Cockburn and Murray MacLauchlanwere the talk of the town that weekend. They were joined by a few old friends of the festival who "dropped by:" Gordon Lightfoot, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young and Bob Dylan! Sounds like not a bad lineup to me. I didn't get backstage for that one, but sipping on a medium regular, munching a chocolate croissant, staring out at Discovery Harbour from the Penetanguishene wharf, I came as close as I could to travelling back in time. Thanks Jeff.

Okay, so I've already had a huge day, and it's only about 7.30 am. Caffinated enough to keep the car on the road, I decided to make a beeline for Jay Ingram's cottage. Did I mention I had a date with a white pine tree? The tree is on Jay's property, in an undisclosed location not far from Georgian Bay. Only Jay was awake when I pulled in at 8 AM. He was grinning down at me from his deck, looking like Obi-Wan Kenobi in his white hooded t-shirt. He took me tip-toeing around the side of the cottage to see a turkey vulture, warming its wings in a nearby tree. He fed me more coffee, woke up his son Max, and we proceeded down the driveway with armloads of tools to build A Treehouse.

Carpentry in the forest. What could be better?I spent a few hours getting covered in pine gum, banging two-by-sixes together as the day lengthened. What a treat to join in with a boy & his dad building stuff. Had a great lunch with the family, and then turned with a sinking heart back toward the city. I nearly fell asleep behind the wheel on a gridlocked highway 400, but I got home alright. By 4 PM I was treating myself to a long, deep sleep, dreaming in the shadows of my 24-hour vacation.

24-Hour Vacation: Part One

Okay, so after 7 1/2 years in Toronto I finally went totally insane and just had to get out. Usually, despite my rural roots and inherent passion for nature, I handle the Big Smoke just fine, and have never felt desperate to leave. That might be partly because I'm often on the road anyway, but whatever it is, I usually don't go nuts here.

Last Saturday morning, though, I was putting still more finishing touches on my deck, re-configuring the benches so I could see my 15 x 32 foot yard, and I just about lost it. It was nine million degrees, and I was overtired, and overworked, and undercaffinated, and by 2 PM I was a sweaty lunatic.Thank God, an escape route was open! I packed all my tools and my beater guitar into my trusty 1992 Ford Escort hatchback (the car I call "The Best Small Truck in its Class") and hit the road.

One Tim Horton's coffee and 2 hours later, I was in Orillia, enjoying a backstage pass to Mariposa on a Saturday night.It might take me a couple of entries to describe the event properly, but for me the great thing was just feeling like I belonged there. My CD had come out to late to get into proper contention for the Festival this year. And although I had a great audience response at the Last Chance audition, I didn't get the gig that way either. That's okay by me- I had a great time auditioning and met some great people, and I never treat an audition as anything other than a chance to play my songs. But I was offered a VIP pass for my trouble, and am I ever glad I claimed it.

There I was, backstage, hobnobbing with all kinds of musicians whom I know and really respect like Dan Kershaw, ,Kristin Sweetland, Suzie Vinnick, Bob Snider, Jason Fowler, plus Mariposa members, all of whom warmly welcomed me there. Not only that, but numerous people who had voted at the Last Chance as audience members seemed surprised and disappointed that I wasn't playing, as they felt I had done a good job and had they had voted for me. This actually happened several times, independently.

I'm sharing it here because it was an un-looked-for bonus for me. It's so easy to get disappointed when you're putting yourself out there on stage all the time, and the results don't always show. Yet at times you make an impression without even knowing it, and when that comes back to you it's really rewarding.

Anyway, that was over and above quaffing brews to the tunes of Mary de Keyzer & Melody Ranch in the beer tent, hanging out at the Shannon Guitars tent with Larry Shannon, who hand-made my stage guitar, and listening to my Parry Sound soul-sister Katherine Wheatley on the big stage with Wendell Ferguson as the breeze rolled through the willows off Lake Couchiching.

And of course Bruce Cockburn was great as the headliner, but even better was trading tunes in the bar of the Sundial Hotel after the concert wrapped up. The night was long. The music was great. The beer was cool. The laughter was loud. The sky was clear. And the sun, when it rose, was resplendent. A reminder that after every night, a new day is born.