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What music are you listening to?
- Thread starter Tudo
- Start date
get your mind off wintertime
Clouds so swift
Rain won't lift
Gate won't close
Railings froze
Get your mind off wintertime
You ain't goin' nowhere
Whoo-ee ride me high
Tomorrow's the day
My bride's gonna come
Oh, oh, are we gonna fly
Down in the easy chair !
Clouds so swift
Rain won't lift
Gate won't close
Railings froze
Get your mind off wintertime
You ain't goin' nowhere
Whoo-ee ride me high
Tomorrow's the day
My bride's gonna come
Oh, oh, are we gonna fly
Down in the easy chair !
@peace
Well-known member
@Gry and @moose eater This song reminded me of you guys. It's a song about hitchhiking and taking freight trains across America. I have heard it on some indie stations I listen to over the past couple of years. Finally caught the name the other day and found out its meaning. I remember you two mentioning train hopping from your past and thought you may like it as well. Hope you are both doing well.
moose eater
Well-known member
Thanks. Great tune.
I was 19 or so, standing next to a corn field in Pouce Coupe, B.C., heading from Dawson Creek, B.C. toward Grande Prairie, Alberta, traveling down from the Yukon Territory of Canada, and though I'd done well smuggling various things as a perpetual transient, I was standing there on a sunny warmer-season morning, next to the corn field I'd slept in the night before with my Norwegian elkhound and my 2 packs, and I thought, "You know, this is a great life, but there's no future in it, no retirement, no social security investments, no 401K, no home, etc."
Insightful and a bit concerned with reality for a 19-year-old kid.
Now-a-days I wonder if I can still drive the distances I used to, in consideration of my spine's demise; contributed to by years of farm and woods labor and carrying 100-lbs. of gear daily on pavement and gravel, walking an average of 20-miles/day.
But that was a different world then. No computers to incessantly record your every infraction or 'wrong turn' in life's roads.
Cowboys tossing empties at you as they drove by, yelling insults, failing to realize we were chasing the same elusive dream, or grandpas and grandmas picking you up and taking you to a restaurant to eat before dropping you at the door-step of the destination, as though they were now contributing the energy that would have otherwise maybe been given to long-gone adult children, living vicariously through our crossed paths, gifted to you/me, despite differences and separations between their view of life and mine. Cops and ID checks, some of whom would give you a hot coffee from their thermos and a safe ride during a winter night of too many drunken drivers and remote highways in the bitter cold, and others who might just pull a firearm on you or strip search you, whether asking for ID or not.
That was America and sometimes Canada back then. As a young man I wrote a poem about it, titled, 'America Raised Me', read publicly one night at a coffee house in Spokane, Wa. in the later 1980s. (*Never read poetry or stories to complete strangers from a public stage or podium without knowing how the emotions might be dredged up; it can be embarrassing).
Here's a couple, both old and new, that enshrine some of that experience, and are heartfelt.
I was 19 or so, standing next to a corn field in Pouce Coupe, B.C., heading from Dawson Creek, B.C. toward Grande Prairie, Alberta, traveling down from the Yukon Territory of Canada, and though I'd done well smuggling various things as a perpetual transient, I was standing there on a sunny warmer-season morning, next to the corn field I'd slept in the night before with my Norwegian elkhound and my 2 packs, and I thought, "You know, this is a great life, but there's no future in it, no retirement, no social security investments, no 401K, no home, etc."
Insightful and a bit concerned with reality for a 19-year-old kid.
Now-a-days I wonder if I can still drive the distances I used to, in consideration of my spine's demise; contributed to by years of farm and woods labor and carrying 100-lbs. of gear daily on pavement and gravel, walking an average of 20-miles/day.
But that was a different world then. No computers to incessantly record your every infraction or 'wrong turn' in life's roads.
Cowboys tossing empties at you as they drove by, yelling insults, failing to realize we were chasing the same elusive dream, or grandpas and grandmas picking you up and taking you to a restaurant to eat before dropping you at the door-step of the destination, as though they were now contributing the energy that would have otherwise maybe been given to long-gone adult children, living vicariously through our crossed paths, gifted to you/me, despite differences and separations between their view of life and mine. Cops and ID checks, some of whom would give you a hot coffee from their thermos and a safe ride during a winter night of too many drunken drivers and remote highways in the bitter cold, and others who might just pull a firearm on you or strip search you, whether asking for ID or not.
That was America and sometimes Canada back then. As a young man I wrote a poem about it, titled, 'America Raised Me', read publicly one night at a coffee house in Spokane, Wa. in the later 1980s. (*Never read poetry or stories to complete strangers from a public stage or podium without knowing how the emotions might be dredged up; it can be embarrassing).
Here's a couple, both old and new, that enshrine some of that experience, and are heartfelt.
Last edited:
moose eater
Well-known member
With Sadler Vaden and Kevn Kinney...
