Back home from Out West. Thanks Missoula and Deadwood folks. Had a fine time reading, conversing, and playing with the Long Beds. Now it’s time to work on the woodshed and chicken coop and move the pigs to the old punkin and potato patches.
Sometimes when I am whanging away on my poor guitar, slamming the pick back and forth in one of the two rhythms I seem to have in me, I wonder what it is to be Greg Gilbertson. He lives right up the road. Fascinating work.
And nary a strum to be found…
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