Rain on a Tin Roof

Tonight was a barn concert out on this beautiful Hillsborough farm.

We showed up as the crowd was gathering.  There were people sitting in armchairs in flat bed trucks, and having picnics on quilts, and playing lawn games.

We adopted this dog, or this dog adopted us, because we had salami and cheese and bourbon cherries. (We did not give the dog any bourbon cherries.)

I almost moved into this while nobody was looking:

Oh, I want one so badly.  But more than the airstream, I want the place to park it by a river, and a long stretch of time (or maybe lots of little short stretches of time) to stay there, away from my 8-to-5 routine.  Between this dog with the muppet face and the airstream and the fields at sunset, I was filled up with wanting things, even before the dobro came out, and then I wanted that, too.

That’s Phil Cook under the shelter, playing for the crowd.  It’s just remarkable to me how, every time he plays, the crowd falls silent, spellbound, within seconds.  Tonight was the third time I’ve seen it happen: we went from rowdy lawn games and farm chatter and talk around the grill to hushed awe, almost from the first note.  I’m delighted to hear him play anything, but it’s the dobro I came to hear, and he’s a master.

There were a couple of other bands, but he’s the one I drove an hour out to this Hillsborough farm to hear.  When he was done, we had more bourbon cherries (we had to name them “firestarters”) and mini fried green tomato blt’s and hearts of palm dip, and enjoyed the sunset.  Enjoyed it, until the sky did this:

and then we all gathered our things and headed into the barn.  We climbed the stairs and waited for the storm in the hay loft, and it was maybe the most beautiful sky I saw all summer.  We watched it come our way for an hour, with the big loft doors open, and then the wind kicked up and the rain started.  It fell hard on the barn’s tin roof, and we made friends and listened to the racket and enjoyed the sudden breeze.

Things took a turn south when some shirtless guys took over the drum set downstairs, and drowned out the sound of the September rain on the tin roof, and a whole bunch of barefoot people in kerchiefs started pogo dancing and tribal dancing to the endless drum solos.  I considered running out into the tempest and just taking my chance with the lightning, the only other option being more drum solo.  (I have a low tolerance for drum solos.)  In the end, though, we stuck it out until the rain stopped. We left a crowd of happy people pogo-ing in the barn under the fairy lights, and wound our way home on country roads.

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