I don’t usually blog about shows at private residences, but although this one happened at a private residence, our hosts invited a bunch of neighbors over. In other words, I deem it public enough to talk about it.

As I mentioned in the Black Fly Ball post, we arrived at the height of blueberry season, and I expected the sleeping bags of itinerant blueberry pickers to be strewn about the grounds of Cherryfield. But as I also mentioned, most blueberries are harvested by machine these days. Our hosts were initially drawn to Cherryfield in the days of manual picking, but have since stayed because this part of Maine is especially beautiful.

Our hosts, Jill and Steve, had amazingly opened their home to us as mere friends of a friend, without so much as knowing what we looked like. We arrived well after midnight, and were still welcomed like old friends. The next morning, we were treated to an amazing breakfast featuring eggs from their crew of about 10 chickens, plus oatmeal, bacon, pancakes, anything you could think of for breakfast. And it was all delicious!

Alas, they had been unable to attend the Black Fly Ball, but were curious about my one man band contraption. Fortified by one of the all-time best breakfasts, I offered to play a few songs, and they politely allowed it. Jill phoned some neighbors, and soon I had an audience of nearly ten–not even including chickens!

They set up a wooden platform (a flat surface is good for managing heel-drum distances) and we propped a large cutout of Maine behind it. I then commenced to play. It was a little weird playing my songs of nihilism and alienation in this lush and loving environment, but I did it anyway. The audience “got” it in the best way: appreciating the sentiments without being freaked out by them.

Like everywhere this week, it was quite warm in Maine. So I didn’t play too long, but was happy to play the song I’d written for the blueberry pickers one last time. After the show, we all made our way to a nearby creek for a cool-down before heading back on the road for Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

On a personal note: Jill, Steve, if you happen to see this, thanks once again for being such generous and welcoming hosts. Our swing through Maine was a tour highlight, in no small part because of you.

(No map, because this is a private residence, but I still want you to see the peaceful, beautiful environs in which I played.)