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no room for hipsters

the occupation of Ashley and Levon

the hill, Tazewell Virginia

We’re back off the hill.  There aren’t many places as well suited for inspiring hard work.  I locked myself in the basement and recorded steadily to an audience of old dolls and Christmas wreaths, stopping to take deep breaths with good visits, front porch sits, and Grandmother’s sweet tea.  The hill looks off in all directions of appalachian countryside that sucks the frustration of a laptop screen right out of you.

Now at Grace Acres Farm outside of Washington D.C., we’re on our last leg before Knoxville.  I like it here.  If you’ve read this blog very far back you know that this place is one of rejuvenation for us when we’ve needed it most.  There are chores that need doin’ and fresh eggs with stuck feathers for breakfast.  The girls catch the bus and Ashley and her mom have tea.  I drink coffee and then slip down in the basement.  This basement is where I recorded everything on my last album and it lends confidence to be back.  Today I tied up the ends from Grandmother’s basement and Glen’s basement in Bristol before that, then made my first burned mix of the newest few songs.  I’m numbering my mix prototypes this time; I was never certain of exactly how many reams of CDs I used last year.

Tomorrow night we head to the 100+ year old Brightwood General Store to play alongside my very dear friend Scott Lashinsky who’s driving up from Richmond.  If he’ll let me, I’ll tell some stories later about our extraordinary travels and bands we used to be in.   Then Saturday we are setting up the farm for a wingding with camping, live sound and pickers from all around Northern Virginia.

It is of note that Ashley and I have reunited with our dog and cat, who will not be left this time at Grace Acres.  They don’t believe us and we are in a phase of rebuilding trust.

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