A couple weeks ago, thanks to the good folks at Agloves, I had the pleasure of saddling up with my good friend, and one of the last great frontiersman of our time, David Hancock.
This is a letter home that his folks recently forwarded on to me, and which I think I had best share with you all as well:
Arriving late Sunday night on a beautiful fall evening in the Red River Gorge, I called Ashima's aunt (Kay) exchanged pleasantries, and made a plan to meet up with them for a couple days of photographing as 11 year old Ashima set out to climb some of the Red's most difficult routes.
"Let's meet at Miguel's I suggested, I'll be wearing a blue jack--"
Laughter from the other end of the phone cuts me off "just look for the tiny Asian girl!" interjected Kay.
In order to come back, you must leave. to leave, you must pack, a suitcase, overflowing, with fear, and with doubt. More importantly, with humor, and an openness, to see, to hear, to feel, and to change. To move, forwards, and backwards, to weave, and to stumble, and forever move Onward, etc.
"The time has come to move beyond the shadows of the meadow, and forevermore live Onward, etc..."
The wheels of summer were slowly but surely shaking off the rust of winter and grinding into motion. The smell of asphalt wet with kiss of a passing thunderstorm permeated the air, and that was the last straw.
I stopped into the old Polish cobblers shop on the corner of McCaren Park. My left boot now had a new sole, and was ready to continue searching. Searching for old souls.
Rain, shine, and rain again, the music and energy at this year's Newport Folk Festival was unquenchable.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again, this festival is one of a kind. The people it draws, and the sense of comraderie that it fosters between artists and fans alike is truly unique....
