"All that is must know its way back to the land before the treeline..."
Farming wasn’t in the original plans for the spring but it is how it was supposed to be.
I have found myself in the rare occasion of spending a day inside while at the farm as the forecast for rain delivered. Resisting any animosity towards it as we are well into seeding, it was welcomed as a day of odd jobs, album release administration, time with my son and now, writing. Often dedicated to a greater project either needing finished or freshly started, I’m creating more of a discipline to just write and lean into the randomness. A closer resemblance to the pages of thoughts on my legal pad that accompanies me in our John Deere 8200 as I’ve been planting grass seed and rolling land.
I missed both our first Christmas and Easter without Dad. As my family gathered back at the farm I spent December and January songwriting and helping out the head of a publishing company in Nashville. Then, over the Easter long weekend I was with Lachlan in Alberta, mixing his upcoming album at OCL studios before heading down to Bow Island as he played alongside our friends, Noeline Hofmann and Richard Inman. Returning home to put the crop in alongside my brother, Jarid; sister, Jody, and my mother feels like a reclamation of the holidays. And arguably more meaningful. I put the first seed in the ground and it just happened to be on the land directly behind Dad’s grave. Bittersweet doesn’t capture the emotional complexity of it all.
Farming wasn’t in the original plans for the spring but it is how it was supposed to be. Really, how could I expect any different - the universe will give you what you speak and my last three years have been immersed in writing, recording and performing an album of farming songs…it would only make sense that it would conspire to have me walk the walk instead of immediately tour the new record. With the launching of the label, getting the album out into the world and managing Lachlan (not to mention the radical life shift with parenting) I ran into some time constraints in the details of obtaining my American working visa. Lucky to have supportive and understanding promoters on the other end of the line, the rescheduling has begun.
I wake at 5:30 am. I put on the coffee, read meditations on the Aramaic words of Jesus, journal and attend to whatever pressing music career admin becomes the top of the list. By 7:00 I could be filling the semi with seed oats, moving augers to the field, treating wheat with nutrients, changing hydraulics, running for parts, loading fertilizer, planting grass seed, rolling land or picking rocks.
With the exception of my own breakfast, I’ve yet to make a meal. I’ve taken fewer things for granted more in my life than mom’s cooking. And if we are more than a mile away from the house, it’s coming to us. Dad would never eat on the go. The tractor would idle and he’d sit in the passenger seat of the suburban, us four kids, in the back, impatient. As I ate a bacon, cheese and tomato sandwich in the front of mom’s truck, I was him.
It has been a demanding couple weeks, mostly in time invested. A 12 hour day is the usual, an outlier being 16. If I can squeeze in a work-out, I do. My last jiu jitsu class sent me home with, what I’m wondering at this point is, a broken thumb. Definitely making manual labour a roulette for excruciating bursts of pain. An injury coming into the game.
And now, like a first intermission, it’s raining.
Howdy Readers,
I am going to be releasing a new series to paid subscribers that digs into the new album one track at a time. The backstories, connections to my childhood, real world intents, production decisions, and the interconnectedness. Paid subscribers have single-handedly assisted in allowing me to continue to create while developing avenues to bring the music I believe in to a larger audience. We have a lot on the go with the new label and your contribution to this Substack is what brings it all to life. Please consider an upgrade in your subscription. I’m creatively indebted. Thank you.
I was out picking rocks once and found a seeder shank boot and hoses still upright and I was like how is that even possible?
That second picture . . .