John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads” resulted in a five-minute standing ovation at its premiere at The Cellar Door in Washington, D.C., one of the longest in the venue’s history (“Behind the music”).
The song was popular even in East and Southeast Asia, “Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoa River” being “almost heaven” anywhere someone is from.
Where home is.
And home for her is where silver-ribboned rivers wind their way through and are lost in the far reaching distances of dense green forests and smokey blue haze.
Where she’s from is described by romantics as the “Beautiful Daughter of the Stars.”
And she wants to take me there.
Where home is.
In the meantime, and for the last four months ever since we said “I do,” what she’s done is what love does. Every day she puts on the same paint-splattered clothes she wore the day before and we head out for more scrubbing, more painting, more fussing about the house we’re getting ready to sell.
But not before she photographs Mother Goose who she decorated with straw hat and ribbon to get her ready for spring.
Just days ago I honored her with executive painter status. She rolls along now in an executive chair painting the floor trim.
And recently we scrubbed the paint from off our hands, dressed more reasonably for the outing, and we headed out on the road to visit an oceanside town.
There she posed below the lantern of a sea captain who seemed to be watching for someone, holding out a light, showing the way.
Where home is.
Soon we’ll head out on the road again.
To where silver-ribboned rivers wind their way through and are lost in the far reaching distances of dense green forests and smokey blue haze.
Where home is.
Postscript – After reading this article I wrote about her, she responded, “Home is with you.”
I had a full-on flashback reading that. When I was a young soldier stationed in Korea, a couple of buddies and I were invited to a wealthy Korean businessman’s home in Seoul. We took the train south, and his chauffeur picked us up like we were visiting dignitaries. The dinner was incredible—formal, traditional, the kind of meal you don’t forget. But things got awkward fast.
None of us spoke Korean, and he didn’t speak English. I was already embarrassed because I had to take off my shoes, and both of my socks had gaping holes in them. Real classy first impression. After dinner, he had each of his kids sing a song a cappella—sweet, beautiful, totally unexpected. When they finished, he looked at me and pointed. I realized I was up next, like some contestant on Korea’s Got Talent.
Panic set in. The only song I could think of was Take Me Home, Country Roads, but I didn’t know the lyrics—at least, not all of them. So I made them up on the fly, mumbling something about mountains and Shenandoah rivers, just trying to get through it. I wish I remembered what I sang; I’m sure it was a disaster. But I got to the end, looked over, and pointed to the poor guy next to me like I was passing the world’s most awkward baton.
“To where silver-ribboned rivers wind their way through and are lost in the far reaching distances of dense green forests and smokey blue haze.”
Love this. Beautiful words and imagery.