Mmmmm. Ham.
I've mentioned that before I moved to New Hampshire I made
frequent trips there to play music and visit with my music
friends. One such trip was on Memorial Day weekend a year or
two before I moved.
There was a "Dawn Dance" in Brattleboro that weekend. They
have them pretty much every time there's a holiday weekend.
I played at this one. I don't recall the details but the
dance went all night, as the name implies, and I think I
played at like two A.M. or something.
Anyhow when the sun came up a bunch of us crashed at someone's
house in Brattleboro. The day after the all-night dance is
always a lost cause. But we had decided that the Monday night
dance in Nelson would be worth waking up for. I'm not sure
I'd ever been but I had heard of it.
The Monday night dance is a casual affair. Anyone who shows
up can play or call so you never know what to expect. You
can play a set then have the rest of the evening to dance or
just listen. Pete Jung and I lit out for Nelson. Our plan
was to get over there, grab a quick bite, and enjoy the dance.
Whenever I tell people about this, anyone who has ever been
to Nelson gets a huge laugh out of the "grab a quick bite"
part. Nelson is... I don't think "rural" is a strong enough
word. It's like ninety percent forest. The town center consists
of a church, a library, and the town hall. That's about it.
When Pete and I figured this out, we were starving and we
had no idea which direction would get us to a place where
there was anything. If we went back the way we came, civilization
was about a half hour's drive away. There were maybe three
roads going away from the center of town. Which of them would
take us to food? We had no idea. We sat in Pete's car, both
of us starving, trying to figure out what would be our best
move when...
Pete said, "Hey, look over there!" Next to the town hall was
a red brick building, I think it's a town office. There was
a hand lettered sign next to it:
Ham Dinner. Monday Night. 6:00 P.M.
The timing was lucky, life-saving, and bizarrely improbable.
We laughed out loud for a minute before we ambled over to
see if it was for real.
It was closer to eight P.M. by now but worth a look because,
food. What we found inside looked like a Norman Rockwell
print. There were several generations of Nelsonians. Little
kids running around, parents watching them, grandparents too.
There was a picked-over buffet table which was being cleared
already, and several dining tables.
Clean-up was in progress but a generous donation to the basket
beside the door got us each a plate of basically table scraps.
But it was good and it surely got us through the night. I may
or may not have muttered something about "always relying on the
kindness of strangers." Eyewitness accounts vary.
The dance was fun, too.
True story.
Suggested reading:
My First Time at Greenfield
In which I find a new home. Metaphorically speaking.
I Can Quit Whenever I Want To
In which I kick the coffee habit. Until about lunch time.
Full Moon Over Peterborough
In which Bob shows the dancers what he's made of.
Perhaps Samuel Butler was right
In which I learn that "on the job training" is not always the best choice.
Friends, Romans, Countrymen... Grab yer partners!
Caller Bernie Chalk came not to bury Caesar but to do-si-do with him.
Some experience required.
You never forget your first time.
Time Travel!
Return to those days of yesteryear
The $20 Fiddle Tune
We're not in it for the money, but neither do we turn it down.
Is That Guy Okay?
A case of mistaken identity.
Every Fiddle Has a Story...
... but they can't talk.
Mmm, Ham...
In which Pete and I rely on the kindness of strangers.
Not Sure Who Won But I Can Tell You Who Lost
In which I wind up with farm fresh historically accurate Colonial-era egg on my face.
Happy New Year
In which the New Year creeps in on little cat feet.