“Just another day in January, and I’ve got a lot on my agenda. The snow comes hard & fast late morning, a localized squall of big, leafy flakes. I consider texting my friend Jamie, traveling over the mountain in the next couple hours, then realize he’s a born & bred Vermonter who undoubtedly knows how to handle his drive. I’m a bit of a mother hen, as well as being an outlaw producer operating on the outer fringes of the music industry. It’ll all work out, and micro-managing people is probably unnecessary: note-to-self. Hiking up to the yurt, to check on the aftermath of my recent Airbnb guests, is more important, since my review of them is still pending. The ground is only partially frozen, & my steps crunch along the path through the field, to the barn, with plenty of traction and little difficulty. It’s a relatively mild day, for this time of year. Mostly I’m there to bring down trash, check that the lid on the peat moss supply is secure, collect linens, and shovel, if the front door has been obscured. This place, high on the hill, has the best view of anywhere on my property. Which is why I pause, to gaze back at the distant peaks, overlords of this area, and linger a moment, on the yurt deck. Being on clean up crew has its perks. There have been many silent hours spent here, appreciating what it took to build a structure here, and giving thanks to all those who made it happen. We are truly, a motley crew. Yet each individual rings like a bell, in my heart and in my mind’s eye, as I capture the essence of what it takes to finish a project. I’ve just finished another project, an album, and with one last edit to perform, to bring completion to a year long effort, I feel all of it reverberate, into my feet, and hands, and fatigued mental powers. Nothing good comes easy. Or if it does, there will be a take away, and challenges, on the back end.. Part of being human, I muse, as I check the outhouse, and consider the location of the snow shovel. The wood chips I spread in the fall, are covered with dead leaves. The wood planter I populated with hot pink impatiens in the summer lies askew, where I pushed it, unable to actually pick it up and stow it away properly. Most of the firewood is dry, in the new wood shed, but some of it is being rained on. I wish things could be perfect. But “good enough” is something I’m learning to live with. We don’t all have amazing resources, beyond our ideas, and intentions. And so we continue to do what we do, within our limits. No problem, really. Because it counts, even as witnessed only by one. Size doesn’t matter. Soul matters. Passion matters. True effort matters. The rest is fluff. And seeing myself as a solo enterprise has never much hampered my ability to offer beautiful things, like a bubble blower, where ever I end up. On this stage, or that, with this partner, or that ... my output remains consistent. Some of us are set at birth, to do the same thing, over and over again. A painter I know has been painting the same hill across from his house, for decades. Who’s to say. I know his artwork continues to move mountains. Which is all that I aspire to do, in my small way. The view from my studio features a tiny bridge over a nameless stream, and I use it every day, to spur me on, and inspire all my creations.”
