This recording, our ninth, coincides with the completion of our first quarter century of work together. While impossible to do justice to the many nurturers of our collaboration, we are comforted by knowing that you know who you are and we know who you are.
Thank you for your support over the past 25 years
Gordon Bok Ed Trickett Ann Mayo Muir
September 1998
Produced by Charlie Pilzer
Recorded and mixed by Heidi Gerger at Bias Recording Studio, Springfield, VA
Edited by Charlie Pilzer at Airshow Mastering, Springfield, VA
Mastered by David Glasser at Airshow Mastering, Boulder, CO
Graphic design by Tracy Pilzer
Photography by Neal Parent
Social and Culinary Support: Dina Birman
© (p) 1998 Timberhead Music
PO Box 840
Camden ME 04843
All rights reserved. Printed and Manufactured in the USA
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Words and Music: Helen Kivnick
Gary Garner once sent me a tape of songs he had sing (mostly a capella) that his wife Helen Kivnick had written. This poignant portrait was among them, and I set the accompaniment to it and brought it Ed and Ann. (GB) I've known Helen for almost 30 years now, and she continues to amaze me! (ET)
It's up and down the valley we go 12 months of the year
In chilling fog in winter and in summer hot and clear
We spend out days a 'laboring in the bounty of what grows
But a barren shack and an aching back is the night the migrant knows
We see the valley's beauty in the trees and on the ground
While almond blossoms dress the orchards white for miles around
And offer with their fragrance the promise of good yield
But we'll never taste of the nuts that fall, we'll be off to another field
We work among the peaches before the break of day
We stand on shaky ladders with out hands we feel our way
We see the dawn through branches as we watch the peaches glow
Though we choose the best and we load the rest, the worst is all we know
To pick the ripest plums we work among the angry bees
To reach the sweetest cherries we climb high into the trees
In vineyards our shears flash as we work two along the vines
Others eat the fruit we pick and we drink the cheap jug wine
It's up and down the valley all 12 months of the year
Burnt brown in summer's oven and chilled in winter drear
We live among the richest crops this country has to grow
Through our hands the valley's treasure, our nation's health and pleasure,
a taste not ours to know.
Words and Music: Judy Small
Sue Ribado taught me this song of a woman so busy surviving she never had a moment to question the difficult life she chose as the wife of a cocky (or cockatoo) farmer. (AMM)
My father was a cocky as his father was before him
And I married me a cocky nearly fifty years ago
And I've lived here on this station
and I've seen the seasons changing
From the drought round to the flooding
From the lambing to the wool
Chorus:
And there've been times when I wonder
if it all was worth the doing
And there've been times when I thought
this was the finest place there is
For though the life is never easy and
the hours are long and heavy
I'm quite contented nowadays to have
joined my life to his
Together through the thirties
while others' lives were broken
We worked from dawn to twilight
to hold on to what was ours
And at night we'd sit exhausted
and I'd stroke his dusty forehead
With him too tired to talk to me
and me to tired to care
Chorus
Instrumental
Then the children came unbidden
bringing laughter to the homestead
And I thank the lord my sons were young
too young for battle then
And I counted myself lucky to lose no one
close to family
Though my neighbors lost their only son
sold up and moved to town
Chorus
And the children have grown and
left me for careers in town and city
And I'm proud of them but sadly
for none chose station life
And now I smile to hear them talking
'bout the hard slog in the office
For when I think of working hard
I see a cocky and his wife
Chorus
Music: Bob Zentz
Two great tunes of semantic significance from Bob Zentz. (ET)
Words and Music: Jim Stewart and Gordon Bok
Jim Stewart of St John NB released his thundering great epic "The Marco Polo Suite" in 1992 about that famous ship from the same town. My wife Carol and I helped in the original production and recording and I helped with the assembly of this particular song. (GB)
We gathered the tamarack, oak, birch and pine
We took from the forest and took to the shore
And we gave her her strength and her breath and her line
With the skills we had learned from our fathers before
We worked in the rain and the heat and the cold
We cursed and rejoiced in our pride and our pain
And we never imagined our hands would grow old
And her like on the water we'd not see again
Chorus
We built this old ship with our sweat and endeavor
She ran with the wind and the wind set her free
And we once dared to dream she would sail on forever
But although she was ours she belonged to the sea
There's more in her making than canvas and wood
More in her leaving than going away
And maybe we loved her much more than we should
For a part of us left when she sailed from the bay
And will those that she carries to each far off place
Remember her song when the voyage is done
Will the empty horizon still carry a trace
When the rocks break her heart or she's too old to run
Chorus
Will there be a monument held by each wave
Will the gulls sing a dirge as they circle above
When the length of the sky at last marks her grave
Will her name be remembered with wonder and love
For they say that a new age soon will beset us
Their engines and boilers will soon rule the day
And the time will arrive when time will forget us
Like the sawdust around us we'll all blow away
Chorus
Words and Music: Dave Goulder
From our friend Dave Goulder comes this impish elaboration of an old expression. (ET)
Chorus:
Well be the summer may (can) come
and the summer may (can) go
And the pigs can see the wind
The autumn goose brings down the snow
And the pigs can see the wind
Me father used to say to me
as he locked 'em in the sty
They say that pigs can see the wind
and I'm going to tell you why
Chorus
There's some will chase the crafty fox
o'er valley, hill and dale
There are 30 hounds and 30 clowns
for one old fox's tail
Chorus
There's some will sit and fish the stream
in the howling wind and rain
They sling 'em back to come next day
and catch 'em all again
Chorus
There's some will fight in foreign wars
and meet a bloody end
And if you can see the sense in that
then pigs can see the wind
Chorus
Words: Henry Lawson; Music: Gerry Hallom
This poem is another from the great Australian bush poet Henry Lawson. Gerry Hallom, a British songmaker, set it to this lovely tune and sang it an Eisteddfod Festival where he and I found ourselves one year. The swagman's wandering life was not conducive to family-making, so if he wanted to marry he'd have to give it up – the bad and the good together.
The port lights glow in the morning mist
That rolls from the water's brim
As over the railing we grasped his fist
'til the dark tides came between
We cheered the captain we cheered the crew
and out mates times out of mind
We cheered the land he was going to
and the land he had left behind
Chorus
For they marry and go and the world rolls back
They marry and vanish and die
But their spirits shall live on the outside track
long as the years go by
We roared lang syne as a last farewell
but my heart seemed out of joint
I well remember the hush that fell
as the steamer cleared the point
We drifted on home through the public bars
we were 10 times less by one
Who sailed out under the morning stars
and under the rising sun
Chorus
And one by one by two they've sailed
from the wharves since then
I've said goodbye to the best I knew
the last of the careless men
And I can't but think that the times we had
were the best times after all
As I turn aside with a lonely glass
and drink to the barroom wall
Chorus
Music: Traditional
Two fine tunes learned from friends in the heartland. Gaelic Farmer from good friends Cathy Barton and Dave Para in Boonville, Missouri, and Lady's Triumph from Phil Cooper and Margaret Nelson from the Chicago area through Lorraine Lee. (ET)
Words and Music: David Dodson
David was at a music party in Vermont on a highland farm. Above the farmhouse was a long field that ran up to the height of the land. One sunset, everyone went up to that field and sang hymns – the call-and-response kind. "I was impressed that everyone knew these hymns, and I wanted one of my own. You could see the mountains of New Hampshire and Vermont and Canada, and I thought that heaven would look like that…" (GB)
There is a land high on a hill
Where I am going there is a voice that calls to me
The air is sweet the grasses wave
The wind is blowing away up in the farthest field
Chorus
Walk with me and we will see the mystery revealed
When one day we wend our way up to the farthest field
The sun will rise the sun will set
Across the mountains and we will live with beauty there
The fragrant flowers the day and hours
Will not be counted and peaceful songs will fill the air
Chorus
I know one day I'll leave my home
Here in the valley and climb up to that field so fair
And when I'm called and counted in
The final tally I know that I will see you there
Chorus
Oh, my dear friend I truly love
To hear your voices alifted up in the radiant song
Though through the years we all have made
Our separate choices we've ended here where we belong
Chorus
Words and Music: Bob Franke
Through the eyes of love we become beautiful. My daughter Christina taught me this song. (AMM)
My coat is all tattered and word to shreds
my whiskers have wandered away
I picked up some dirt in some flower beds
I think that it's in there to stay
But deep in your eyes are a needle and thread
and a wonder that scrubs me so clean
I see in their mirror I'm beautiful
I pose and I laugh and I preen
My bottom's as stout as it's always been
maybe a little bit more
I never believed it was good for much
'cept keeping my ears off the floor
But then when you hold me and toss me high
I fly like the fleetest gazelle
And the joy that my dusty heart takes in your touch
is more than a rabbit can tell
My eyes are just buttons of two penny glass
they're either too brown or too green
One of them might not stay on too much longer
and there's plenty they've both never seen
But they see their way clear to a home in your heart
I live in the love that you feel
And there of all places a place of my own
where a velveteen rabbit is real
Words and Music: Bill Scott
Bill Scott, folklorist, poet, and author of books for children, was born in Bundaberg, Australia in 1923. He worked at many trades, including cane cutter, steam engine driver, miner, and publisher before becoming a professional writer in 1974. (GB)
When I was a young man I followed the gold
Down in a mineshaft all muddy and cold
Deep in the dark with the flickering light
And nary a nugget to gladden me sight
Chorus
And it's way aye now I am old
The mornings were silver the sunsets were gold
When I was a young man I followed the sea
Cold wet and shivering often I'd be
Rocked in the rigging or rolled down below
Or sweating me soul out where the gulf traders go
Chorus
And it's way aye now I am old
The oceans were sapphires the beaches were gold
Now I'm an old man I sit in the sun
Thinking and dreaming of the things that I've done
Remembering laughter forgetting the pain
And I'd go out and do it all over again
Chorus
And it's way aye lift it along
What good is your life if it isn't a song
Words and Music: Joan Sprung
Our old friend Joan Sprung sent this to me many years ago and it has told its truth in some odd places where English is spoken. To me it felt like Nova Scotia, but Joan told me she made it in my own waters. I think it has found a fine voice with Ann, (GB) You can hear Joan's singing of it on her Folk Legacy recording. (ET)
Chorus
The sun in the morning used to call me to the day
And the wind from the sea would blow my cares away
But I'll nevermore go down to watch the boats come in the bay
Watch the boats from the harbors of home
Just like it was yesterday I hear the church bells toll
And the time it takes forever and the hours slowly roll
Though they tell me passing days will surely heal a wounded soul
My tears would fill the harbors of home
Chorus
Good sailors on the Mary Anne the finest pledged to me
He went under with the others when the boat went down at sea
And gone with him are all our dreams of happiness to be
Waiting for us in the harbors of home
Chorus
The ocean gives us fish and the fish it buys our bread
Strike a bargain with the devil so that all of us are fed
But nothing's given free and now our bonny boys are dead
All our young men from the harbors of home
Chorus
Music: Phil Cunningham
A lovely tune learned from Neal McMillan and written by one of the best. (ET)
Music: Traditional Words: John Austin Martin
In many places where ritual spring dances were done, women were a part of them, though when you think of the Morris you usually think of men dancing. I'm told there came a time when England's men were fighting on so many fronts around the world that women had to step in help remember and fill out the teams, to keep the tradition alive. (GB)
It's 50 long spingtimes since she was a bride
But still you may see her at each Whitsuntide
In a dress of white linen with ribbons of green
As green as her memories of loving
The feet that were nimble tread carefully now
As gentle a measure as age will allow
Through groves of white blossoms by fields of young corn
Where once she was pledged to her true love
The fields they stand empty, the hedges grow free
No young men to turn them or pastures go see
They are gone where the forests of oak trees before
Have gone to be wasted in battle
Down from the green farmlands and from their loved ones
Marched husbands and brothers and fathers and sons
There's a fine roll of honor where the maypole once stood
And the ladies go dancing at Whitsun
There's a straight row of houses in these latter days
All covering the downs where the sheep used to graze
There's a field of red poppies a wreath from the queen
But the ladies remember at Whitsun
And the ladies go dancing at Whitsun
Words and Music © 1985 Lois Lyman
Lois made this song for the cargo schooners that were beached in the river of Wiscasset Maine where she spent many days of her childhood clambering over their hulls. She taught me this song and we arranged it. Lois, her husband, and I recorded it together on my album "Schooners" and here t is in the original TBM version, with all our thanks. (GB)
Do you remember riding home before a dying summer breeze,
Your topsails gleaming golden, setting sun among the trees,
And the osprey wheeling slowly through the shadows by the shore,
Where the towering cliffs of granite plunge ten fathoms deep or more,
And the eddies swirl and flow down below.
You were solid-built of Douglas fir and oak and yellow pine,
Two hundred feet, sailed by a crew that numbered only nine,
Hauling lumber through your timberports, and dyewood from the south
Running home from Norfolk bringing coal to heat the north
And whatever they could stow down below.
For the winter is upon you now, and time is passing slow
And the tides ebb and flow down below.
You served them well for fifteen years, your canvass all unfurled
When New England sailing ships were found in ports around the world,
But spars gave way to smokestacks, clouds of white to black and grey,
There was nothing left for you to do but waste your time away.
And the rot was spreading slow, down below.
And the winter…
From Wiscasset to the China Lakes the Narrow Gauge did run,
To push it northward to Quebec was old Frank Winter's plan –
And schooners were to bring his cargoes in to meet the train,
When he found you idle on the dock, he brought you down to Maine
Where the tides ebb and flow down below.
You know he tried the best he could, by he just couldn't make it pay
So he ran you both aground, and turned around and walked away;
You've been waiting here for fifty years, but no one set you free,
Now you're broken down and dying, lying open to the sea,
And the tides ebb and flow down below.
And the winter…
Now the people come to stare at you with wonder in their eyes
For times have changed since men knew how to work a ship your size.
The seas you sailed are running black; in time we'll know our loss –
It's too late now for you, and is it too late now for us?
Can you teach what you know before you go?
And the winter is upon you now, and time is passing slow
And the tides ebb and flow down below.
Words: J.B. Goodenough Music: Gordon Bok
Judy Goodenough, whose three volumes of poetry were a tribute to a tough and wily mind, has given us many songs over the years. She sent these verses as additional thoughts to my song "hearth and Fire" (by my request). They seemed so unique and self-standing that I made this tune for them and made a chorus of the second verse. (GB)
Dark the sky, dark the land, dark the running sea
oh lay your hand upon my hand
and share the night with me
Chorus
To friends we had and foes we had and those that held us dear
We raise the glass to lad and lass at turning of the year
One more road, one more hill, one more stony shore
One more river to cross until
we're going home once more
Chorus
Fish for silver, dig for gold, so run the years away
And when we're weary, when we're old
we come back home to stay
Chorus
So friend or foe, we wish you ease
however far you roam
Who sail the seven salty seas
or walk the hills of home
Chorus