PDX House Concert

This week’s special PDX House Concert

UKALALIENS WORKSHOP
Loaner ukes available by reservation
Seaside Library
1131 Broadway St, Seaside, OR 97138
503-738-6742
Seaside Library
Free
Saturday, 6/11
2pm

Uke Workshop – Intro to Fingerpicking
ABC Music
263 Chemeketa St NE
Salem, OR 97301
503-363-1641
questions@abcmusicsalem.com
Saturday, 6/11
7PM Show

KATE POWER & STEVE EINHORN
Hayloft Concert
Salem, OR
Double bill with local ukuleleist, Lara Bergerson
Reservations at sharon.hayloft@gmail.com
Monday, 6/13
7pm-8pm

UKALALIENS WORKSHOP
Loaner ukes available by reservation
Ledding Library
10660 SE 21st Avenue
Milwaukie, OR 97222
503-786-7580 – Free
Saturday, 6/18
7pm Show

KATE POWER & STEVE EINHORN
In Concert in PORTLAND
Thriving Life “Community Concert”

Hawthorne District
Info & Tix Here
http://thrivinglifenvc.org/social/qualityfolk
Contact: Vika Miller
Phone & Texts:  503-862-9695
Email: thrivinglife.events@gmail.com

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Portlanders_Pete_Poster
THE PORTLANDERS
Kate Power, Steve Einhorn, Mick Doherty, Kevin Shay Johnson & Pete Krebs
<<< ONLY Summer Appearance >>>
Sunday, August 14
Outdoor House Concert, Potluck & Party
Address provided upon Ticket Purchase
Tickets at Brown Paper Tickets
5pm Potluck
6pm Show

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Ukulele Road Show_poster
Triple Duo
UKULELE ROAD SHOW
Northwest Tour 2016

Kate Power & Steve Einhorn
The Quiet American
Craig Chee & Sarah Maisel
Info and Tix soon at www.gorgeukuleles.org
Advance tickets $20 (service charges may apply)
Tickets available per venue

SEATTLE
Friday, 9/9
The Triple Door
216 Union St, Seattle, WA 98101
206-838-4333
Tickets thetripledoor.net

OLYMPIA
Saturday, 9/10
7PM Show
Traditions Fair Trade Café
300 5th Ave SW, Olympia, WA 98501
360-705-2819
traditionsfairtrade.com
Tickets Here

PORTLAND
Sunday, 9/11
7PM Show
Alberta Rose Theater
3000 NE Alberta St, Portland, OR 97211
503-719-6055

LINCOLN CITY
with Special Guests
Thursday, 9/15
7PM Benefit Uke Show for Camp Westwind
Lincoln City Cultural Center
540 NW U.S. 101, Lincoln City, OR 97367
541-994-9994

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OTIS
UKE CAMP at TUNES IN THE DUNES
SOLD OUT – Contact to be added to the Wait List!
Tunes in the Dunes Ukulele Camp
Friday, 9/16 to Sunday, 9/18
Incredible lineup of presenters!
Sold Out! Registration closed (wait list only)
tunesinthedunes
Camp Westwind
Otis, OR
Limited seats, Unlimited fun!
Presenters include…
Kate Power & Steve Einhorn
The Quiet American
Craig Chee & Sarah Maisel
Bill Griffin & Walt Kealé
Hood River Trio with Ben Bonham, Ronnie Ontiveros, Kerry Williams
Andy & Pam Anderson
Bryan & Nancy Holley
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Ukulele Road Show_poster
Triple Duo
UKULELE ROAD SHOW
Northwest Tour 2016

Kate Power & Steve Einhorn
The Quiet American
Craig Chee & Sarah Maisel
Info and Tix soon at www.gorgeukuleles.org
Advance tickets $20 (service charges may apply)
Tickets available per venue

SEATTLE
Friday, 9/9
The Triple Door
216 Union St, Seattle, WA 98101
206-838-4333
Tickets thetripledoor.net

OLYMPIA
Saturday, 9/10
7PM Show
Traditions Fair Trade Café
300 5th Ave SW, Olympia, WA 98501
360-705-2819
traditionsfairtrade.com
Tickets Here

PORTLAND
Sunday, 9/11
7PM Show
Alberta Rose Theater
3000 NE Alberta St, Portland, OR 97211
503-719-6055

LINCOLN CITY
with Special Guests
Thursday, 9/15
7PM Benefit Uke Show for Camp Westwind
Lincoln City Cultural Center
540 NW U.S. 101, Lincoln City, OR 97367
541-994-9994
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OTIS
UKE CAMP at TUNES IN THE DUNES
Tunes in the Dunes Ukulele Camp
Friday, 9/16 to Sunday, 9/18
Incredible lineup of presenters!
Sold Out! Registration closed (wait list only)
tunesinthedunes
Camp Westwind
Otis, OR
Limited seats, Unlimited fun!

Presenters include…
Kate Power & Steve Einhorn
The Quiet American
Craig Chee & Sarah Maisel
Bill Griffin & Walt Kealé
Hood River Trio with Ben Bonham, Ronnie Ontiveros, Kerry Williams
Andy & Pam Anderson
Bryan & Nancy Holley

It doesn’t get more down home than Kate & Steve singing a new carol in The Quiet American‘s home in Hood River on a winter’s morning before Christmas. Kate Power, Steve Einhorn, Aaron, Henry & Nicole Keim sang Mary’s Baby from the first refrain and captured it here on the wing. Won’t you join us and sing along? (lyrics below) Your comments are most welcome! Please share this song with the ones who harmonize your world.

Peace Plains_72
Peace Plains drawn by Steve Einhorn

A newborn Christmas carol for you to sing along with us.

Wishing you peace on earth and goodwill to all, a merry and blessed holiday with heartfelt thanks ~ Kate & Steve

MARY’S BABY
Kate Power ©2014

Chorus
Come sing! Shepherds & kings,
Sing for the babe in the manger.
Peace and joy to bring, and
Bless you wherever you go.

Out in the wood on a wintry night,
The evening star shone so brightly, so bright;
And there in the manger, a baby boy born,
To Mary, a baby was born!

Out on the road, through the desert three kings,
Did ride with their eyes and their senses so keen,
For a sign of the King they were seeking, foreseen,
For a sign of the King forseen.

The cattle and horses, the piggies and sheep
All huddled up close for the Baby to keep,
Swaddled there in the arms of His Mother, asleep;
Swaddled there in her arms asleep.

Bridge
“Mary’s baby!”, the angels sing,
“Mary’s baby!”, Prince of Peace!”

Now Mother and baby are gone long ago,
This story is Older than Older than Old…
Still on every Christmas morning is told,
On Christmas morning is told.

That there in the wood on a wintry night
The evening star shone so brightly, so bright!
And there in a manger a baby boy born
To Mary a baby was born
Chorus

Come sing! Shepherds & kings,
Sing for the babe in the manger.
Peace and joy to bring, and
Bless you wherever you go.

Please join us for this special house concert on the farm with the music and harmonies of Kate & Steve on guitars, banjos and ukuleles. Kate & Steve have been featured on A Prairie Home Companion and won Music 2 Life at Kerrville Folk Festival for songs that make a difference. Hope to see you!

Kathleen~Cathleen

Kathleen~Cathleen

Kate here… Memorial Day ahead. The temperature belies Spring. I’m still in my black down jacket, ducking in and out of rain showers and errands today.  Now I get to settle in for the evening.

There are two things percolating I want to write about. One is about “the one thing” that strikes me on any given day. This is a theme that has been working at a slow boil on my back burner for months now. It will need its own page…

The other is the announcement of two new blogs: mothertone –  That’s me.  A me you might or might not know.  Either way, it’s a slice of life as I know it and a possible surprise to the unsuspecting friend, acquaintance, fan or customer. Blog “mothertone” speaks from my voice as a birthmother.  I’ve been in reunion with my forty-something daughter, Cathy, for twenty-two years now.

Cathy and I have been writing Kathleen~Cathleen for seven years.  It is a memoir from two perspectives, me the birthmother I am and she as the child-in-reunion she is. For seven years we have been brewing on the same chapters, designed to describe the turning points in our relationship.  We are committed to being in relationship for life. Kathleen~Cathleen explores the challenges inherent in a long term relationship-in-reunion.

Housed in the framework, the culture of our times, we found ourselves in an undiscovered place – a crossroads with no roadmap. There was no language, literally no words, to tell us what to call one another or how to introduce each other or carry on in society. Even today, there is still no word in the dictionary for what is only recently referred to as “birthmother.”  An ancient delivery system of child to an family, the word itself seems to have been banished from a designated definition, place or description in the book of words. No discussion can exist that uses a word that doesn’t exist.  A turning of the linguistic back created an invisible wall between what is and what is not to shield the saddest of separations in the family domain, that of child from mother and mother from the child.

Cathy and I are protective of the truth harboring our relationship.  Since the conception of our book in January 2004, we decided to write freely – together – but not to share our writing with one another until we were done.  We would leave the truth of our words to describe our mutual experiences and let them grow in a  garden of chapters, unaffected and uninterrupted by the gaze of birthmother on the words of her child and the child’s eyes on the mother’s as they attempt to describe the journey from and to each other from the inside out – a memoir in duet.

Kathleen~Cathleen.  Our names are just one of many synchronicities common in our story.  “At 18” opened in labor & delivery and was followed by an eighteen year-old girl calling the adoption agency to inquire after birth records only to find that her birthmother had called the same day.

From beginning to end, this story describes life-in-reunion in the long term – after the honeymoon glow grows dim and the shadow of loss comes to anchor in grief, and the journey through the uncharted rift of relinquishment-in-reunion that comes to roost in all the colors and shades of reconciliation.

Many drafts in, the beginning is finished and our friend and editor, Barbara, hand-delivered it in New York City on Mother’s Day, two weeks ago.  For the first time, eyes and hearts will take in both sides of what we’ve each written and they will decide what we’ve got here.

We think we know what we’ve got here.

We’d like to share it with you.

So now, we’ve started new blogs to begin to talk about it.

My daughter, Cathy’s (Cathleen) is ReunionEyes and mine (Kathleen) is mothertone – our side roads from the life and adventures of she, as mother of two young sons in Portland, Oregon and me on the maternal side of the singing, string-playing songwriter you’ve been running into over music all these years.

I know it’s on the personal side. That hasn’t stopped anybody from following the thread of our history over the years – the music, the art, the writing, the shop, the stories – it’s ALL been personal – all along.

We just happen to be in a business that is about people, folks, community, music, harmony; and this is one of my stories about being a girl who came of age between two worlds and grew old(er) and wise(r) with some grit, salt, tears and laughter mixed in. It’s all in there.

If you prefer, you can stick with the music, the ukulele, the song-singing, the music calendar and not stop to worry yourself about the intrepid territory (did she say birthmother?) described there.

We’ve always been out, Cathy and me, but that’s a whisper in a noisy storm of unspoken stories shifting to be heard.  It’s been a very quiet theme all these years, decades, centuries – why yell about it now? Well, it’s too a quiet story to hold it back forever.  It may just be that the time has come to let this story out.

So this is just one way of talking about our story. Blogging from both sides is an interactive side-journal to writing the book.  The blog is one way for both of us to talk about our process and the things that we think about – inside and outside of our chapters.  We’ll write freely about mutual topics we choose. We won’t expose ourselves to each other’s views and answers to our questions in common just yet.  YOU, the reader will learn what we both think  – long before we do – and you’ll come to your own conclusions – a bit wiser than either of us. The story is bigger than the two of us put together. That’s why we decided to tell it.

Kathleen~Cathleen and the two collateral blogs are a social experiment between Cathy and me.  We have chosen to commit our experiences to words, in the hope that understanding for people affected by adoption, relinquishment and reunion, will grow and that they will be encouraged by what is possible.  Imagined or realized, reunion opens much more than a door to a greeting from a long lost relative.  It is a family claim.

Now, according to ground rules Cathy and I established for ourselves seven years ago, we are going to blog freely without visiting each other’s blogs or writing.  We are still deep in drafts of Kathleen~Cathleen. Our aim remains to remain in a free-zone from the influence of each other on our writing until we have completed the story.

Someday soon we will read it all and this part of our shared privacy protecting words and chapters will be finished and over.  Until then, we’ll keep doing what we’ve been doing for a long time now. It’s a safe way for us to tell the story. It gives us the room to breathe as we approach turning point chapters in our relationship and spit out the hard parts along with the rest, some in words that haven’t been said out loud before this.

So, I hereby invite you, dear reader, to witness a previously unexposed part of the life of Kate; the Kate you know and the Kate you don’t.  My blog at mothertone will reflect the dilemmas and victories of a birthmother-in-reunion. You are also invited to Cathy’s blog and thoughts from the world of an adoptee in longterm reunion at ReunionEyes.

We hope that our work on Kathleen~Cathleen will create a roadmap for anyone seeking reunion and that it will give them courage to seek what’s possible by reading our story.

We appreciate your comments as we bring our project, book and blogs into the world. Another birth of sorts – only this one belongs to the family of man – the story belongs to all of us.

Feel free to explore mothertone and ReunionEyes for a taste of what we’re up to and respond with anything you’d like to share.  This is an interactive effort that we hope will benefit anyone interested in understanding or pursuing reunion.

Harmony is no small gift. We appreciate that much of what is discussed on these blogs may come as a surprise to readers, even close family and friends.  Please bear with us as we allow the true discussion to cross the table – if not yet with each other, then with you. We appreciate the protection of our privacy as we begin to introduce our process of writing Kathleen~Cathleen and the variety of forms its effect may have take flight.

Thank you for the incredible support so many of you have given us over the years – in our music and art – as we continue to participate in the ongoing parables of Life we share, observe and sally through as a community in art, music, heart and soul.   – kate

Kate here … A year ago, on October 1, 2009 to be precise, Steve and I hit the road in “Modoc”, our Ford Econoline Airstream, to introduce our new book/cd and initiate non-musicians to singing and playing on ukuleles. Our van was stocked over the cab with boxes filled with the Ukalaliens Songbook, 26 extra ukuleles, our guitars, banjos and CD’s, as well as food and clothing for living on the road. It was a great experience.

We met good people in every town and experienced the nation from the perspective of two folksingers traveling through. West coast, east coast, the Rockies, the north, the south, the mid-west, floridian southeast, the southwest; we found ourselves falling in love with every flavor of place we traveled through. The advantage of a traveling life is that it moves you forward into new places, out from the familiar and into new ground. We turned thousands of people on to the joys of making music. The fun result of our mission to convert people to their musical sides has propelled us to destinations we would never have considered before. We have covered over 27,000 miles since that date a year ago. It has been (and continues to be) a true adventure every day. We came back with an expanded community around the country, a million stories, new songs and two new Ukalaliens DVD’s about to be released by Homespun in Woodstock. Our appetites were prime to continue what we had begun.

We also had developed new projects to work on. So many inspirations, so little time! So we needed a place to work off the road for a while.

After working around the country playing concerts, teaching and sharing ukes, we came back to Portland. Living in 72 square feet across that much open land over that much time shifted our points of reference, our relationship with nature and proximity to our work and play in the community. It was subtle but real. Our big Portland craftsman house felt cavernous on its noisy city corner. Living there for sixteen years had numbed our ears to the street sounds as we lived our day-to-day. Coming back to our old home with fresh ears and months on the open road, the city felt tighter with congestion and the house too big for us to use.

So we sold it to a friend and looked for our next home base. Quality Folk remains an Oregonian business. We love Portland and the deep community and family we have there. Our history of the past several decades unfolded there. We also had family living in Olympia and decided we needed a smaller town to live in for a while. So we packed up our things and moved to a little cottage on Puget Sound. The air is salty here, reminding me of childhood mornings on Cape Cod, and has the feel of a fishing village peopled with environmentalists, “Greeners” and progressive folk. It’s a place to catch our breath and dive deeper into the work of a dozen projects, booking shows and scheduling workshops to travel to from here. Pacific Northwest, west coast, east coast and maybe the UK in 2011/2012 – booking takes time, too. If you contact us to book us, that’ll save time! Meanwhile, we travel to Oregon every week or so and operate our business there. We may move it out of Portland but it will remain in Oregon – in time we may be back!

Quality Folk, Ukalaliens and “community harmonizers” are three monikers we use to try to describe our work in the community, our role and mission to refresh the public’s memory for making music. High art, low art, folk art. At the heart of our delivery stands a pair of lifelong musicians with a hankering to share the pure joy of making music with the uninitiated. Making beautiful music does not need to be complicated to be good. Iconic artists are unique and gives us something to aspire to. In our concerts, we strive to share our best material in our best voices with our best instrumental abilities. In our workshops, we share how we began to make music so others can make their own way from there into their music. Music is personal and different for everybody. We like lighting the wick and getting people started. It’s a beginning and that’s often a memorable moment in a musical life – like a first kiss or first ride on a bike – you never forget the first time.

On the one hand, our songs and music are a byproduct of a life we’ve been expressing musically for years. Steve and I were each young players on the stage, starting out professionally in our early teen years. The satisfaction that has come from sharing that music comes from the song itself and the warm response of people who have been moved by it. It’s a natural act and very human. It connects us with people and communities everywhere. The enjoyment of the music itself sustains us even when circumstances don’t.

The irony of musicmaking is that, when all is said and done, if the world was suddenly unplugged and there were no stores or downloads to find it, it can still be had by picking up an instrument to play and opening our voice to sing. It’s natural.

Sometimes the singing comes all by itself and it’s enough without the addition of instruments. Songs and tunes start in the heart and come out in our throats and hands. Irish seanos singing is unaccompanied and revered for its purity. Gregorian singing is unaccompanied devotional singing that spurns egoic ornamentation. The pure drop in music is the music itself. The genesis of making music is a gift waiting inside each of us to be used. Our bodies and imagination tangle together in cahoots over notes that rise to become songs and compositions. It’s organic and is affected by mood, color, space and volume. We are naturally musical around babies and children and sing to them freely, making up lyrics about whatever it is we are doing with them. Learning to sing and play with each other as adults takes more trust. The work we’re doing with the Ukalaliens creates a safe haven for people to grow their musical sides. It seems to be working pretty well so far.

The mindset in our culture of exclusivity from people making music together began with the beginning of media. The minute sound could be captured, it became a substitute instead of an act and the line of demarcation was drawn between doing it ourselves and pressing a button.

In the old days, people gathered around the hearth and entertained themselves with songs, stories, recitations, poems and jokes. Years ago in the west of Ireland, I saw this in action and its inclusive nature rang a bell for me. Instead of being “special” enough to entertain, everyone had something to offer and was encouraged to share it with the circle of neighbors and strangers in the pub. The only thing you needed to be was willing. There was no talent meter. Honoring the song, the story, the poem or the joke lay in the act of sharing it. This revelation moved me to ponder.

There was no competition, thrashing, or dominating the group with volume. People actively LISTENED to not only the song but to each other as they harmonized, played and sang along. Without listening the song loses its beauty, momentum and prominence to the foibles of ego and frustrating mediocrity. Being from a large family, I was raised with egalitarian rules, the dominant one being that we were all of equal value and no one was better or worse than the other. In fact, we were in varied and different in our degrees of ability, talent and interest but when we sang and played together, it was to be harmoniously and the only way to accomplish that was to primarily LISTEN to each other and secondarily find our parts. We were taught to serve the song first and foremost. It wasn’t about us, it was about the song. That was lesson number one. Children of large families are very competitive by nature so this was a valuable lesson and it has helped me inside and outside of the music realm. Making music in a group is cooperative social action. The more beautiful it is, the more harmony is felt, not only in the music itself but inside the people who make it.


Kate here – Last week in September 2010. What an amazing week it was. We left Olympia for our first McMenamins run to sing our songs in Centralia & Edgefield and brought our Uke & Sing to the Kennedy School. My, that was fun! So fun, we’re going to do it again in October.

Then we went to the Oregon coast and taught our Ukalaliens I & II for Sitka at the Neskowin Valley School followed by a singalong that may be the best one we ever led. We’re going to bring what we learned to all of our upcoming sings and show people how to come together to make beautiful music.

The Uke & Sing! has brought about some real transformation for a lot of people and they keep thanking us for turning their musical buttons on. We are humbled by their enthusiasm and grateful for the good work that allows us to share our music and teach them how to make their own. It’s meaningful and a whole lot of fun to do. Sure, it’s a lot of schlepping, hauling and driving. We’re carrying dozens of extra ukes to share along with our banjos and guitars. It’s worth it. We hope we get to do this for a long time.

Over this next while, you’ll see us traveling closer to home in the Pacific Northwest. Come winter, we’ll bring the ukes to California and back. We’re looking for work in music stores, schools, libraries, arts organizations, retirement communities and house parties. We provide ukes, workshops and concerts filled with our music. If that sounds like something you would like to host or come to, be sure to let us know and we’ll see what we can do to get together.

Thanks for all the wonderful support you’ve shown us. We love you for it and will go the extra mile to come sing with you and for you.

This fall, we are happy to say that Homespun will release TWO DVD’s (downloadable) on our Ukalaliens I Method and Ukalaliens II with more technique & repertoire. Ukalaliens on Homespun. Yes! We may even be the first in the “Pick it Up & Play” series. We’ll let you know all about it. Meanwhile,m feel free to hit the “Homespun” button on our website homepage and meander around!

This week we are getting ready for the Olympia Artwalk with Steve’s sculptures in the great recycling gallery at Matter! and the Uke & Sing! series coming up and Arts NW conference in a couple of weeks.

Monday, October 4th at 7PM kicks off the 1st official “Uke & Sing!” at Yenney Music. Step right up! Folks can sign up for it online at our website under “Register for Events.” You can also just show up. The seats are limited to 30+ so don’t wait to get yours, just reserve your seat today! This is truly a great way to learn to play uke, to make music on any instrument, to sing and to harmonize. It gives everybody a chance to learn how to make beautiful music in a folk ensemble. Under the guidance of Steve & Kate and the simple methods of the Ukalaliens Songbook, a good time is absolutely guaranteed. Shy-friendly, beginner-to-pro friendly, all are welcome and invited to participate. Bring your instruments or just come! Absolutely no experience necessary. All experience welcome. Can’t wait to sing with you on Monday in Olympia!

While we were at the coast, we toured the Westwind Camp for the “Tunes in the Dunes” ukulele camp being planned for 9/23-9/25/2011. The beauty of the place! We took the little ferry across the Salmon River, walked on the beach to the trail up to the lodge and cabins. There was a nice amphitheatre and bonfire set up on the way. This uke camp is going to be fantastic so be sure to mark your calendars and stay tuned at www.sitkacenter.org.

Musically yours,
Kate

Kate here… a string of memories from June in New York and home again…

Annabelle - there's supper on the stove

Annabelle - there's supper on the stove...

Clouds grew fat and darkly grey, bursting at the brink in bulemic ruptures of rain that wrung its watery guts from the sky overhead. Wipers darted back and forth across a hundred and seventy-eight miles. We were driving from Manhattan to Caffe Lena in Saratoga Springs just north of Albany to share a show with musicians from the long ago east coast past. I hadn’t seen Walt Michael since “The Bottle Hill Boys” played in Long Valley when we were teenagers running around the hills of New Jersey. One of the fiddlers in Walt’s band was Evan Stover, another friend I hadn’t seen in twenty years.

Even in the rain Saratoga Springs is a pretty place. It’s raining hard, as hard as the day we were here in October. We pull into the parking lot next to Caffe Lena. Sarah Craig is inside, up the stairs, hanging up her slicker on a hook and greets us with hugs and a big smile. We are happy to be there. She gives us a key so we can come in and warm up while she’s out. We decide to go for a walk before we settle into the club.

There is a banner for the Art Fair across the main street and a stage with a canopy set up for a lineup of bands all day. Bluesy electric sounds from the stage party up the wet weather. Steve and I stop in at a small Thai restaurant for miso and spring rolls. After lunch we walk to the health food store, pick up a few things and then head back to Caffe Lena to get ready for the show.

Walt Michael and friends are loading in up the steps to the second floor back door into the club. Hammered dulcimer, fiddles, guitar, mandolin, banjo. We say hello and get reacquainted over details of friends in common and remedies for hand arthritis. Walt runs a highly respected music series in Maryland called “Common Ground of the Hill.” His sense of humor is dry and delivery warm. The music ahead is bound to be good.

After Joe sound checks us with the deft ear of a true pro, we fine tune and get ready. The house is full and the vibe is friendly. We open our set with the ukuleles and “My Love” and move through another half dozen songs or so. People listen here. It’s a good night to be here. We’re received warmly with smiles and nods. Then Walt takes the stage with his two fiddlers (Evan showed up just in time), dulcimer, banjo, mandolin and guitar. The sound is sublime, nice songs and I soak in the sounds of a sweet voice I hadn’t heard over forty years. We finished listening to his set and enjoyed a number of introductions and conversations with people in the audience during the break. Before the last set of the night, we packed our things and bid Sarah and Caffe Lena a warm adieu. We were bound for Woodstock where we would lay down our heads at the end of the day’s journey. The rain stopped as we got in the car and turned the ignition to head south.

By noon the next day, we were due at the Strawberry Festival by the train station in Beacon, New York to play a set and see Pete Seeger. These little festivals on the Hudson raise money to maintain the fleet of river sloops that go up and down the Hudson teaching river ecology, grandfathered by the Sloop Clearwater, the first. Free rides all day on the Sloop Woody Guthrie, maybe we’d get to go on it this time. The weather was overcast and holding.

We were meeting our friends, Tara and Diane from Bellingham’s Cabin Fever NW, who were also on the docket to play. The festival was free to the public and bigger than the Corn or Pumpkin Festival. A good feeling was in the air.

Before long, word that “Pete’s here” began to float. We catch sight of him unbuckling his banjo from its case at the bottom of the hill that served as stage. He unfolds to full height with his “anti-terrorism” banjo head tucked under his arm. His face is as pink as his eyes are blue. His face looks up with focus as he begins to sing. It’s always worth crossing the country just to hear and sing with Pete Seeger this close up. A smile starts spreading across the crowd and every voices lift and rise to harmonize with his at every “Turn, Turn, Turn.” This is the bliss moment. Pete Seeger is alive and well, singing his songs with the same strong heart rich with humanity he has pumped through them for more than sixty years. He is the grandfather of the music we sing and write along the same vein. “Though it’s darkest before the dawn” leaves a string of hope tying between all us strangers and friends there that day. We are grateful to hear his song. My friend Nancy, who booked us to play the last set of the day, weaves me through the crowd to wait at the bottom of the hill with my banjo. I want to ask Pete to sign my banjo head. I feel about twelve years old and grin as I wait. Pete and I have the same conversation every time. I introduce myself and he sort of knows who I am. “Travis John” is the common denominator between us. We have a good long look eye-to-eye that covers miles of uncharted territory and then I ask him if he’d sign my banjo. He takes my sharpie and applies his moniker to a cozy spot near the rim below the back of the bridge. I take it back, receiving the blessing that comes his signature with pride and joy.

The Cabin Fever girls step to the top of the hill to roll out their songs like seasoned bakers rolling out pie dough just waiting to be filled with the ingredients for harmony. How could we help but sing? We joke with them later that now they can say that Pete Seeger opened for them and we all have a good laugh. They have just released their latest recording and an entourage of family and friends joined them for the day. They sound warm and the crowd loves them as much as we do. They leave the hill happy and full.

Darkening cloud cover grows ominous as the next band takes the hilltop. The music is good but the weather is up. We check in with Nancy at the sound booth. She jokes that we brought the rain. In fact, it has rained every time we’ve played for her. We were optimistic this time but for naught. We’re up to play next but her eyebrows scurry between yes and no as clouds try to hold back the drops of rain that begin to sputter from overhead. By the time the band is packing it in, cold wet rain sweeps the crowd up from the grass heading for cover and their cars. Our set, the last of the day, is canceled on the spot. Vendors gather their wares and everything wired is unplugged and rolled up. We pick up our instrument cases by their handles and straps and chalk it up to fate. We didn’t get to play but we enjoyed our moments with Pete and our friends. I was silently happy that no one I knew had driven a long distance to hear us that day but one – and she lived in Brooklyn and would come out to hear us there at Roots.

We broke out our instruments and sang a few songs with our friends in the bar of the restaurant we settled in to for dinner. After cheery farewells, we headed back to Woodstock to sleep and prepare.

In a couple of days, we would be working with Happy Traum to create a couple of instructional Ukalaliens DVDs for Homespun in Woodstock. Though we had taught hundreds of people our method live, performing the Ukalaliens Workshop on camera was a new experience for us. We met Happy and Jane for dinner to talk about details for the following day. Next morning, we arrived at the studio and after introductions got to work. It was a three-camera shoot. The one in the middle was “our student” – the one we would have eye contact with. The other two cameras had angles on Steve and me, our hands when we played and our faces when we spoke.

We would try to duplicate our Ukalaliens Workshop and what we do live on camera. Homespun videos are not scripted so the teaching is as close to a live experience as it gets. Since there are two of us, Steve and I have a few years of practice trying not to interrupt each other or cross talk when teaching. We have a simultaneous pace of speaking and listening, adding to thoughts and demonstrating each point. In live Ukalaliens Workshops, we try to maintain a linear track for the new student to follow that will be helpful and not confusing. This is a challenge for a single teacher with a single student. Two teachers teaching in tandem with multiple beginning students have the potential to wreak havoc but we try hard to keep the information flow steady and digestible.

One of the main things we try to do is to give the student a sense of accomplishment by teaching them their first few chords and showing them how that turns into songs they already know. Before long, they are singing and playing on “You Are My Sunshine”, “Home on the Range”. By the time we get to “Crawdad Hole” and “Shady Grove”, they start getting the hang of it and can use what we show them to figure out other songs they like, using the Number System and chord groups in the Ukalaliens Songbook.

All of this sounds easy, right? Guess again. Teaching live is easier. I’ve always been camera shy to begin with. Steve was natural. I tried to follow his lead. Jesse, the labrador at the camera woman’s feet, decided he liked me and every once in a while he would uncurl, get up and come over to where I sat for a pat on the head. Jesse, a very sweet dog, was the kind you would want if you were going to have a dog. “Stop camera” quietly followed Jesse’s wagging tail as Cambiz and Liz turned their camera’s off to get the dog back to his comfort spot after our brief encounters. The interruption helped humanize the studio feel of what we were doing and started to help me relax into the role.

Eight hours later, we wrapped. There was enough material for the method DVD and another one for repertoire and technique. By the time we were done, we were warmed up and ready to roll. Isn’t that the way? Whatever they edit it down to, Ukalaliens I & II on Homespun will have some of the flavor of doing this for the first time. For all those brand new players we’re teaching out there, hopefully, this will prove to be a good thing. Kudos to Happy, Jane, Cambiz and Liz for handling us like pros. Homespun was a great experience.

We celebrated by going to Lucky Chocolates in Saugerties the next day. Rae Steng, the owner, is one of the finest of chocolatiers in the world. To taste a Lucky Chocolate is to have the edge of heaven melt on your lips. Her imagination runs so far beyond borders of convention that diving into her sample tray on the counter is reminiscent of a trip to Ripley’s Believe It or Not without the scary side. Scintillating yes, the air thickens with intrique as we examine the chocolate glitterati fetching our taste buds from afar. “Hmm, this looks nice.” Only to discover that bacon actually IS sumptuous with chocolate. So are potato chips. Is there anything that wouldn’t taste good with this chocolate? I doubt it.

We spend the next couple of days in Woodstock. The house on loan to us belongs to Steve’s sister. It’s a great old place next to a barn off the main road. Michael Lang planned Woodstock in this house. There are two Adirondack chairs perched at the rim of the woods overlooking the creek. Trees and green meadows create a pastoral view of the golf course across the creek, interrupted only occasionally by a random golfer or deer. At night the fireflies blip on and off like wraiths in the know. We miss lightning bugs in the west. They appear more magical with every visit. The air is warm and muggy. Mosquitoes and poison ivy compete for skin. I’m scratching to keep my spot in the chair because at this moment there is no where else I would rather be than here. Steve and I smile at each other and feel the love, luck and toil that has brought us to this place in time.

Perspective rides piggyback on the second hand moving clockwise across the face of Life, shifting by degree with each second. I was fifteen when I first started coming to Woodstock. I’m almost sixty now.

A couple of days later, we got to sing on sacred ground. For those of you acquainted with Steve’s “Old Barbershop” song that details some of the aspects of his life at age 12 in 1962, you’ll appreciate the background of our next gig.

Steve went to Camp High Valley in Clinton Corners, New York, for a couple of summers in his adolescence. At age eleven and twelve, Steve learned how to play his first chords to folk songs on a guitar, how to swing on a rope in the barn, how to skinny-dip in a refreshing pond at night and swim to the raft in the middle, try his first kiss on a girl (just practicing) and he caught enough bass to feed the whole camp by summer’s end. Camp High Valley was Steve’s initiation into manhood and the world outside of family. Camp High Valley was the setting for his first true adventure in country life. I have heard innumerable tales about those days in the life of this young camper and they were always delivered with special tones of respect with the fondest of memories for its founders, Olga & Julian Smythe. Steve and I even went to the camp a few years ago and visited Olga, then at the wizened age of 91, who walked over to leave the last two peaches from the old peach tree on our car hood as Steve brought me down memory lane by the pond and in the barn and around the grounds. The two hard pits from those juicy ripe peaches are still tucked in with our things and may well find themselves dug into new ground soon to see if life stills spurs from inside. But that’s getting ahead of the story…

A few months ago, Steve casually googled Olga Smythe to see if she was still on the planet or if he could find a reference to her. The listing that came up was an essay by her daughter-in-law, Elizabeth Cunningham, who had married Olga’s son, Douglas. A younger Douglas was there at camp when Steve was there. Steve wrote an email to Elizabeth to introduce himself and gave her a little background on his High Valley days and inquired about Olga. Elizabeth wrote back a friendly email and brought him up to date on High Valley and Olga’s health and her current transition from independent living to an assisted living in nearby Rosendale. Excitedly, Steve showed me the email and something registered when I read the signature at the bottom. “Is this the author, Elizabeth Cunningham?” Not knowing the answer, Steve prompted me to ask so I wrote her a quick note.

I had remembered seeing the book “The Passion of Mary Magdalen” in an airport bookstore a few years ago. The painting used for the cover was beautiful (Mary Magdalen in a Grotto by Jules Joseph LeFevre c. 1876 – oil on canvas). The book was perched at a forty-five degree angle facing Dan Brown’s “DaVinci Code” and the reviewer’s quote under her historic fiction made reference to the saucy, sexy and controversial take on the New Testament through the eyes of this Celtic-born Mary Magdalen. Naturally, I was intrigued. Ever since that first encounter in the window, I intended to buy and read this tale by Elizabeth Cunningham. Life being what it was, I never got around to it. Now, here she was. Her prompt reply said yes. She was the author and book I recognized was the second, the middle of three books in The Maeve Chronicles.

Now we both had something to be excited about. I wrote her back, a longer note this time. I’d been working on a book for the past six years, a shared project and was in search for an editor. Though the ingredients were different, fiction vs. memoir, we shared some theme and I was eager to learn more about her. I began searching for her books in stores while we were out on the road and found a fresh copy of “The Passion of Mary Magdalen” in a little bookstore in eastern Oregon last summer. I carried it home and it sat waiting until we got home just before Christmas.

By this time, we had tenants living in the main house and had moved into the small basement apartment. There was a great deal of work ahead of us. We had decided to sell our house and home of sixteen years. It was time to walk the talk and take our downsizing to the next level. It was Christmas but this time our living space was small and awkward and there was not much room for entertainment. Our kids, all grown now between 21 to 38 years old, had their own itineraries and were in their respective homes hosting holidays of their own. The flu took me out of commission from Christmas Eve through New Year’s Day. It was on Christmas Eve that I opened the book and began to read the story that Elizabeth Cunningham had written.

Within minutes I was hooked. “This is a REAL story!” I remember saying to myself. She had me in the nooks and crannies of history, mythology and theology with one of the most entertaining story lines I had read in years. I became so engrossed in the tale, I wrote her a quick email to thank her for my Christmas story – for that, indeed, is what it was. It was a gift. I savored the new light on the old parables, characters and events of the life born and celebrated, even as I sneezed and sipped tea in my bed thousands of years later pondering the same set of tales. Even though I started with the middle book, my imagination reveled in its saucy clutches until the very end. I forced myself to slow down near the end so I could stay in the story as long as possible. Sighing a deep sigh of satisfaction when I closed the book, I piped, “THAT was a good story!” Now I’m on to the first book and have the third to finish the epic tale. It’s delicious, fun, thoughtful, intelligent, modern and ancient. The best of all worlds for a mighty read. Elizabeth Cunningham is no slouch.

Inevitably, Elizabeth and I became pen pals of the modern sort. I got on her news list, she hopped on mine. When it was clear we would be coming back to New York this summer, she invited us to High Valley to share a hike and a meal. When she learned we were looking for a host for a concert that evening and she responded with “Why don’t you do it here?” and that’s just what we did.

The day we met Elizabeth and Douglas at High Valley Center (as it’s now called), was a hot summer afternoon. Within minutes of approaching the pond, we peeled our clothes and dove in. We swam in mythic waters of the legendary lake from Steve’s past, spring-fed and brimming with fish, shy snapping turtles who rested on the soft bottom as dragonflies buzzed the surface from the verdant air above. The ever present raft was anchored where it always was. The ladder on its side had lost wood like missing teeth to age. Elizabeth swam the perimeter of the lake with strokes like clockwork as Steve’s chased his memories across the length back and forth. I swam short of halfway and climbed up onto the raft, sat in the sun and then jumped back into the water’s irresistible embrace. The temperature was marvelously warm, uncommon to us northwesterners. Beautiful!

One story after another followed around the circle. We were joined by another resident, Debbie Stone, who had been a counselor when Steve was there and taught with Olga all those years. As if by magic, a gorgeous grilled salmon, salad and wine appeared and we filled up on food, stories and good cheer out amongst the trees and friends. It was good to be alive in that moment with these people. We feel a part of an ever expanding community that includes people and places from our past growing into the center of our life in the present and revitalizing their place in our future together. We truly are part of an amazing tribe in our generation. We are grateful.

With bellies, minds and hearts satisfied, we went back to the barn with our instruments to play for any and all comers. The barn was one of the places Steve would recall most often. His voice always took on a special tone when he spoke of it. Now we were going to make music in it. People arrived and took their places ready for songs and stories. It was a beautiful night to sing in the barn. The setting was far too intimate to stand so we sat with our instruments as we would in our home to sing as we would sing to family and our neighbors. It was a night of filial friendship in music.

We headed to Manhattan for the next few days. We would spend time with Steve’s parents, Anne and Marvin. They were recently awarded recognition for their lifetime achievement in the theatre and dramatic arts in New York City by having a school named after them. The Marvin & Anne Einhorn School of Performing Arts (ESPA) was established by Primary Stages in honor of their personal contribution of talent, work and effort on behalf of Primary Stages and the theatre-at-large. The school hosts a full roster of teachers, classes and workshops for devotees of the acting trade. Anne and Marvin (87 and nearly 90 years old) go to work at Primary Stages five days out of seven. It’s Anne’s voice you hear first when you dial the number, “Primary Stages.” Her voice contains every aspect great actresses strive for: color, flavor and depth, sounding both interesting and interested, intriguing the listener to reveal itself. She could be hired by kings to answer the phone just because she sounds so amazing. That’s just the beginning. Writing about Anne and Marvin is a fat juicy book, not one short paragraph, but suffice it to say that our time in their company is in a category all its own and is never enough. We four enjoy each other with no shortage of things to say, muse about, or play off each other. Marvin has played the fiddle since before his cowboy band days in the 30’s. When he takes out his fiddle and he and Steve begin to play, it’s such a sweet sound that it’s not long before the banjo finds its way out in my hands and we’re playing everything we can think just for the pure joy of playing together. This is among of short list of favorite things to do and continues to ring for weeks ever after in the happy resting places inside of each of us made especially for memories like these.

We arrived at Anne and Marv’s apartment on West 79th Street between Columbus and Amsterdam just around the corner from where Anne was born. Anne & Marv know the neighborhood inside and out and walk, bus or subway everywhere they need to go. They booked a reservation at an italian restaurant a block away where we would meet their friends, Biff and Lisette, for dinner.

Biff Liff and his wife Lisette, are an elegant and earthy pair, intelligent and fun. Biff, whom his wife calls Samuel, is Marvin’s oldest friend. The expression of love between the two men is palpable as they greet one another with tender hugs and sit down to the table. Annie is a young girl when they are all together. Biff’s face is like the head of a golden eagle, craggy with age that still cannot hide the handsome warrior behind the lines. His life’s work with the William Morris Agency has brought many stars to the footlights. In 1962, Biff was the Production Stage Manager for My Fair Lady on Broadway. He recalled bringing a young Steve to watch the play from the top step of a prop backstage that he would abdicate on cue to be rolled onstage for the second act. Biff’s deep, rich voice would make a good “God” in Cecil B. DeMills’ “Ten Comandments.” His laughter echoes, a depthfinder sounding immense enjoyment for life and fills the room. Lizette, playwright and voice actress, looks over at him and pats his broad hand gently. The soft way she calls him Samuel has the ring of a favorite secret. We all know him as the Biff we roar with, laughing over stories that turn up the twinkle in Marvin’s eyes to high as details pour out across the table, a cornucopia of memories. Lizette’s porcelain cheeks stage the loveliest of brown eyes. We lean close in to listen to her soft melodious South African voice describe the trip they are planning to take on a barge down the canals of France. Nimble and astute, the breadth of conversation expands from the past to the future and we sit in the middle, taking each other in like exotic spices over a sumptuous meal.

Biff hears a musical in the songs we write. He planted the idea when we sang for him last Fall. Our old friend and improv director, Scott Kelman, saw a play in our music when he was alive and at his urging, we met with him several times a few years ago to throw ideas around and tease the storyline waiting there into action. Scott died as we wintered through a writer’s residency in Wallowa County in eastern Oregon. We carry the ideas we had and hope someday to manifest a piece in tribute to our friendship and an adventure we have yet to explore. Now Biff reminds Steve that we need to write the musical and the idea is back on the table. In our minds, we want Biff to mentor us off the training wheels and wonder if we, a couple of folksinging songwriters can do what he suggests. What is folk music, after all, but slices of life in words and music? Biff inspires us once again to try something bigger based on what we know so well. This is how we grow, learn from the elders we love as they lead with our hearts.

Mid-week we headed for Brooklyn to play a songwriter round at Roots Cafe. One of the owners, Ryan Lamm, has an amazing weekly night for songwriters to share their songs. Ryan’s father bought him his first guitar from Steve at Artichoke Music in Portland, Oregon when Ryan was younger and a lot shorter than he is now. His father,Greg, is a pastor at George Fox University and would come into the store bearing news of family, friends, and sometimes raunchy jokes. When Ryan learned we were coming to Brooklyn, he invited us to come play the songwriter’s night at Roots. What a great evening it turned out to be! The five other songwriters were incredible, interesting and very good at their craft. We were the “ould ones” in this setting and it was an honor to be given a place at the table. Ryan had us open and close the night with a set. When the last songwriter (Jimmy Stewart from the band Clinkerfield in Australia) wrapped up his set with “and now we’d like to hear more from Ma & Pa” we grinned and took it as a compliment. The caliber of talent on the street today is higher than it’s ever been and we relish having a place to share our songs and to listen and witness the songs of others. It is a way to share life as we know it, a gift we can participate in and deliver. Family members and friends came to hear the songs in Brooklyn that night, including my brother Mike who gave us a ride back to Manhattan afterward and a chance to philosophize over the music and life as we always did in the past.

By the time we said goodbye to the northeast to return to the northwest, our appetites were filled and we were ready for the next step. We would get on a plane in Newark, New Jersey at six in the morning and arrive non-stop in Portland by ten AM. From gathering our instruments and luggage, we would go to northeast Portland, pick up our RV, bring it to the U-Haul, install a hitch and pick up a trailer and go pack up most of the rest of our belongings from the Mason Street house. We had lived well in Portland for over thirty years. The business of Quality Folk would remain in Portland as we moved our residence to a smaller community. The next morning we had a three car, two trailer caravan to Olympia, Washington, one hundred miles north of Portland.

We were moving home.