Del McCoury, a Hootenanny and rebirth by fire...

Our stop in Jackson Hole, Wyoming was the result of a very timely phone call from our booking agent, Mary, to the promoter of The Mangy Moose Bar and Grill. Mary was trying to fill in the blanks between our show in Salt Lake City on Saturday night and a bar show in Big Sky, Wyoming on Wednesday. As luck would have it, Jackson Hole was not only on the way, but was also welcoming bluegrass superstars Del McCoury and the Boys for a one night show on Sunday. I'm not sure what Mary said, but she was able to stick her foot in the door again enough to get us a 20 minute opening slot. Now folks, this is big time for us! The Del McCoury Band is one of the best and most successful bands out there right now and an opening slot for them in an almost sold out venue is HUGE. I think we were all a little nervous but excited when we pulled into the parking lot next to Del's bus. We were only there for a few minutes when Rob McCoury, Del's son and banjoist in the band, came out and asked us if we had any wrenches on board. He was trying to fix something and lacked the proper tools. Ike and I opened up the lower storage of The Chief and after a little digging through our combined but disorganized tool collection, we produced the 1/2" open end wrench that he needed. Rob disappeared back into the bus and we all congratulated ourselves on having the right tool for the job for once. A few hours later, we were onstage in front of a packed house of people who had no idea who we were- but were quickly going to find out. Once again, Betse smacked everybody upside the head with a hot opening fiddle tune and from then on, we were a smash. We fulfilled our obligation to pump up the crowd, got an encore and quickly made way for the pros to step up and do their thing. We took turns outside the club watching our CD table so that we could all get a chance to watch Del and the boys absolutely kill the crowd. My impression of them was this: They are so incredibly talented and are so in tune with each other during their shows that they can actually relax and have fun. Del smiled throughout the performance and each member got a chance to shine as they worked their two-microphone set up with precision unmatched. After the show, I momentarily went into obsessed fan mode and got my crappiest cowboy hat signed by both Rob and Ronnie McCoury. Del had disappeared back to their bus immediately after the show, but I was glad to get a chance to talk to his sons and trade a few stories of road weariness before leaving for the night. Both Ike and Betse had been approached by a nice couple after the show who invited us to a Hootenanny the next night at the Snow King resort. This weekly Monday night amateur acoustic music show is the Jackson Hole equivalent of our own Rural Grit Happy Hour although it attracts a much older crowd. I spoke to one of the founders of the Hoot and he told me that this was their 522nd consecutive performance. We were honored to be a part of it and played a quick 30 minutes to the very attentive and enthusiastic audience. Nate's girlfriend Melissa had joined us on Saturday in Salt Lake and now that we were finished with our playing obligations, the two took off for a couple of days of hiking and time with each other. Betse, Ike and I drove the next morning past the amazing Grand Teton Mountains and through Yellowstone National Park to get to a radio performance in Bozeman, Montana. As I drove the Yellowstone leg of the trip, we quickly began seeing the results of the fires that raged through the park several summers ago. Whole mountain ridges and their valleys were stripped bare of tall trees leaving only perfectly straight, but quite dead poles twenty to thirty feet tall in every direction. Although the park's forest was decimated by these fires, we were awed by the sea of three and four feet tall pines that literally covered these mountains like a fake grass carpet outside an RV at a bluegrass festival. Obviously, the mountains of Yellowstone are going to be just fine. It's just going to take about 20 years for these little guys to reach the height of their crispy cousins. It made me reflect on the old saying that "God never closes a door without opening a window". The mature trees of these magnificent forests might have met an untimely death, but their loss cleared the way for the next generation. Now that I think of it, it could be a metaphor for what we are doing with our music. Although Roy Acuff, Bill Monroe, Jim McReynolds, June Carter and Johnny Cash and many of the other mothers and fathers of traditional music may have left our world in the last few years, hopefully in their void there will be scrappy little three and four foot trees like us to take their place and continue in their honor. That's kind of fun to think about isn't it?