What is real life?  It almost certainly isn't selfies on social media.  It's definitely not our bloated POTUS's tweets.  I am a news junkie and it's rare that anything I hear in the media, other than the local weather, has any direct effect on me. Most of the time, we are unaware of the real things that occur right around us.

Yesterday, during dusk, I was walking around on our land among Joshua Trees and creosote.  It was a beautiful. The air was still and and it wasn't too chilly of an evening.  The new moon was two nights ago and now a thin crescent was in the western sky. I can't believe I have the fortune of living here.  It's a dream world.  But it's real.

As I gazed up at that crescent moon, I noticed that there were hundreds of moths flying fifteen to thirty feet above the ground in the calm air.  They were all flying in a single direction, to the north.  I stood there watching them and wondering, do they do this every night at this time of year?  How come I've never noticed them before? Where are they going?

I walked back up the land towards our little cabin, watching the moths.  Once I was on our patio, I noticed that all the moths were gathering in and around our palo verde tree.  There were hundreds, maybe thousands of them.  The palo verde was covered in moths, reminding me of the way Monarch butterflies take over cedar trees to winter near Monterey and Carmel. 


I've been seeing these moths around our patio for the last few weeks, but I had never witnessed them flying towards the tree or resting in it's branches.  Up to this time, the moths had just been pests flying around my head and taking the occasional swim in my wine glass.

This was real life....whatever these moths were doing.  It had been going on around me for sometime before I took notice.  The stillness out here, and me taking the evening off of looking at my phone or computer, gave me the opportunity to observe them....I was paying attention to real life.  My senses were picking up on the nature around me instead of being distracted by something arriving to my attention via satellite.


While you're here on this planet, don't forget to put your satellite connection down and soak up the realness around you.

I think this will be the last post in my Tour Reflections series....at least for the September 2017 run of shows.    Go to these links to see the first and second posts.

Almost always, Susan and I make an effort to take the back roads instead of interstates.  Traveling the interstates, everything is homogenized across the country.  Almost every single exit has the same restaurant chains; McDonald's, Burger King, Taco Bell and if it's an upscale exit, you might have Applebees.  There's nothing wrong with these restaurants.  Chains and franchises are an American approach to business.  For the founders and owners, they're the embodiment of the American Dream.


But homogenization via the interstates is counter to one core American value that I hold possibly in the highest esteem: individualism.  This country was partly founded on the idea that you could be different, a total outsider, and still be a part of the American fabric.  To find this unique quality, it seems to me, in both people and their businesses, you have to get away from the interstates and out onto the country roads and US highways that take you through small towns and scenic landscapes.  One of my life rules is, "Whenever possible, take the scenic route."


Between September 14 and 17, I played four shows back east in Washington D.C., Baltimore, Philadelphia and NYC.  On our way to the first show in D.C., while taking the back roads, we stopped in Lancaster, PA, for lunch and a beer at the local brewery.  We sat at the bar and talked beer with a couple of the employees and three other locals who joined us at the bar after we sat down.  As each person saddled up to the old oak bar, they said hello and joined in the conversation. We all discussed the beer menu, the Eagle Creek fire in the Columbia River Gorge that was currently burning, and what it was like to live in a desert.  One of the guys had spent a lot of time in New Mexico...and we were headed there the following week.  The conversation was engaging.  I felt proud to live in a country where you could show up at a place like this and get to know others who had just walked in the door.  It's the same reason I love hanging out at the one bar in my hometown, Landers Brew.


Less than a week later, Susan and I found ourselves in Albuquerque.  It was late, after the show, everything was closed and we were hungry.  Lucky for us, there was an all night Applebees across the street from our fleabag motel.  We sat at the bar and ordered food.  No one spoke to us and we spoke to nobody else.  The bartender was friendly and she definitely knew the locals, most of whom were coming in from late night shifts at the airport.  But the people at the bar didn't interact with one another...only with the bartender and other staff at the restaurant. 


What is it that makes a brewery in Lancaster and an Applebees in Albuquerque so different?  Is it because the former is unique? While the latter could be in anytown, USA?  Is it because Americans have become absorbed by their phones and are less connected to those around them?  Did we just get lucky in Lancaster and happened to pick a place with friendly patrons?  I didn't find Albuquerque to be an unfriendly town....actually, quite the opposite.  But what is it about some places that when you saddle up to the bar, you introduce yourself....In a chain, that's considered outright weird behavior.


Hanging out at Landers Brew, I came up with another rule, but I'm trying to figure out how to apply it to the homogenized, off the interstate, chain restaurants and bars. That rule is, "When you sit down at the bar, introduce yourself to everyone."  This rule works great at any desert dive, upscale micro brewery, or back country roadhouse.  It doesn't work out off the interstate....at least for the most part.  Maybe that's one of America's big problems.  Where the most populace is, there is also the least interaction between people.  We should change that.

This is the second post in my series of tour reflections. For the first one, go here. For the third one, go here. - Pat Kearns

I love trains.  I don't collect toy trains, I don't know the names and types of engines or cars.  For me, it's the romance.  It's the sound of the whistle, nowadays the horn, off in the distance.  It's witnessing a train navigate the Tehachapi Loop, one of the wonders of track engineering.  And it's the sound of the train rolling down the track and how it's permeated into the Rock and Roll, Folk and Blues music I love. Trains have stoked the fires of free wheeling spirits, my own included.


Watching trains brings me back to an older, slower time.  A time before Google.  A time before we had smart phones, and every answer was at our fingertips.  Watching a train cross a trestle, go through a pass, or even navigate the famous Tehachapi Loop takes some pause in these modern times.  But it's impressive how much is getting done, how many hundreds, even thousands of tons are passing by you, moving from one destination to another.


The opening track on my album, So Long City, is called When You're New to Town.  It opens with a train coming up the tracks, a couple of horn honks followed by the Doppler Effect of the passing engine.  I recorded it myself in the Columbia River Gorge.  To me, the sound of the train established movement, which is what that song is about at it's start....but by the end it's about trying to find roots.  These two elements play out inside my heart all the time.  I long for the road, but once I'm on it, I can't wait to get home.  That lonesome train whistle, or again these days a horn, perfectly captures that feeling for me.


I can't remember how we found this Navajo market off of I40.  I think Susan was driving. She probably saw a sign and pulled off.  Once we exited the interstate, we were in a much more interesting world.  It could have been an old section of Route 66.  It was at least an old country road.  The pavement was cracked but it ran straight both east and west as far as my eyes could see.  Power poles running parallel to the road gave the distance an even eerier and lonelier perspective. I stood out on the road with our dog, Paco, for about half an hour.  No other cars ever passed.  Susan was in the store shopping for moccasins.  After one quick spin through, I was bored.  But that empty road and the fantastic, "HERE IT IS" billboard on the other side, was drawing me in.  I took some pictures, but nothing seemed to completely capture the magnificence of this sign.  It was both ornate, for a billboard, and dilapidated like an old barn.  I stood there for a long time, taking it in.  I mellowed.


We crossed back over the road to the store's parking lot.  I thought about going back in the store to see what was taking Susan so long.  I looked one more time down the road to the west and to the east.  No one coming still.  But way off to the east, I saw it.  A train was lumbering down the tracks.  Here it is, for you.  I find this soothing to watch.  Take your time.  Watch a train.