“By the end, it was mostly rain. Not the pleasant mist, almost like moving thru a cloud that had spritzed us all afternoon, but something wetter. Still, it had been, well, the perfect day. Most of the super heavy “grunt work”, was behind us. This time of adding to something that was already good, felt good.Just in time for the start of a retreat at the property, a secluded enclave run by two amazing beings. I guess I should know by now, that Vermont hides its finest, until one finds them. I wouldn’t say that clairvoyance is required, but it might be. I moved to Vermont in 1980, based on such a hunch. As a visitor, I’d spent a weekend being fed from an outdoor kitchen, and meditated, in a humble forest temple, all for free. Those I observed there, clipping grass with hand tools, left an impression. What I didn’t know at the time, is that I was an aspiring landscaper gardener. But I was also a musician, and then a recording engineer, and, eventually, a producer. It doesn’t really matter, what you call yourself. What you do, should speak for itself. There will always be confusion involved with creation. That ride, that mess, is a holy trinity of honesty, outpouring & loss. And in some other realm, what I might refer to as the sacred landing pad of the imagination, we are fully wined, and dined. I can’t explain to you, why my thoughts in the truck today, seemed front-loaded with a longing to be in Paris, or Budapest. Where I thought I might be, if I’d not been so side-swiped by bad people. I’d love to build gardens anywhere, or make records anywhere, welcomed by even two, amazing people.”
