Please Happy

Martin Sexton is the only person who has inspired me to scream Hallelujah! while jumping up and down and dancing.

And the other night, my cousins’ version of Hallelujah (Leonard Cohen by way of Jeff Buckley) had me in tears.

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Another singalong from Grandpa Whaley’s house!

I grew up with jam sessions in the kitchen. Violin, guitar, piano, mandolin, banjo, voices. At Grandma’s, we’d gather around the piano. At Stony, we’d crowd around the campfire.

A few weeks ago, when we were home for a few days, Grandpa Whaley hosted a dinner party for the fam that turned into an engagement party that turned into a jam session. This is a short recording of my dad and his two brothers singing “Paradise” by John Prine. Also known as Muhlenberg County.

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I always loved having music everywhere, but only now that I am sharing this familiar world with the person I love, do I realize how fortunate I have been to have live music coming out of the windows and doors and kitchens of my life.

Uncles, sons, cousins and Grandpa moved this fuchsia couch into the cabin.

It was because of my height that I didn’t help, not because I’m a girl (we had to clarify that as a group before the activity began). First, they hauled it from Balty to Upstate New York in a trailer, then unstapled the screen on the side porch, then hoisted it up and over the railing, then into the cabin, then into the living room.

All while being directed by Grandpa.

When we go to The Farm, we stay with Jake’s mom.

Most of the time, we’re not there (we’re at the big farmhouse swimming and working and playing cards and discussing and running and chasing cats and driving to Baltimore and eating big family dinners).

But, this time, we took (a little) time: we had some lovely dinners overlooking a meadow where a fox and a few deer live. We were sung to sleep by bugs and birds with the bass frog chiming in occasionally. And we spent some early mornings there sipping chicory coffee and pounding computer keys. The light there is dreamhouse-quality.

The Couch.

The Morning Grind.

The View.

Jake calls his dad Pops. Everyone does. He is an animal lover and studier and dissector and rescuer. He is the father of our cats Rolo and Beans (a post on them later). And he watches and listens and notices with a focus I’ve never experienced.

The light in his house is intoxicating in its whiteness. Dull diffused white. And his house is surrounded by green.

Just another picture from the place where the family gathers to swim and swim and swim and jump and swim.