September 17, 2009
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For Mary Travers
Damn. As being the resident CBT folk-music junkie here, I must say a few words.
A good portion of my youth was traveling up and down California with my mom and dad, and, in the interests of familial harmony, they carefully selected music they both could enjoy. Their tastes, for the most part, overlapped a great deal, and being raised in the early sixties, a fair portion of it was folk music. There are many places I can remember hearing the work of Peter, Paul and Mary, and they are indelible in my memory. The family singing Puff the Magic Dragon as we wound our way through Big Sur, the mist giving credence to the idea of a dragon. Hearing 500 Miles as we rolled through the straight and flat country from Williams to Red Bluff, a train track to our right. Sitting on a rock in Pismo, perplexed, trying to puzzle out the lyrics to Too Much of Nothing. My first introduction to life long friends Gordon Lightfoot and John Denver in “For Lovin’ Me” and “Leaving on a Jet Plane”. The breaking of a rainstorm at Sonora Pass to “The Day Is Done.”
As long as we remember, they can always be.
