Mandy and I had the good fortune of flying down to Costa Rica to play in a beautiful wedding for some wonderful folks.  Check out the pics here.

 
       The best thing about travel is the people. This personal contact with weird, fascinating, freaky and often plain-old good folks sums up the on-the-road experience in endlessly diverse and unexpected ways.

They’re still out there, I promise: individuals who show a shocking amount of acceptance, decency and generosity when they could easily keep going about their day. We interact with them every day in our hometown of Flagstaff, Arizona, but find over and over that endless extensions of that very community exist all over the country.

During the past two summers, Dave McGraw and Crow Wing have traversed thousands of miles in our trusty touring machine, Henrietta, and two summers in a row we’ve had the huge pleasure of sharing shows with a band that completely blew us away from the very first note.

Portland, Oregon’s Dolorean have been playing music together for a decade, hanging out just below the mainstream surface, playing a distinctly mellow—and a little melancholy—brand of gently constructed country-folk-rock. In the summer of 2009, we played a show with Dolorean at one of our favorite venues in the West, Mississippi Studios. Having been somewhat randomly paired on a bill with them by the promoter, none of us had ever heard the of them. It was our first time playing in Portland as a band and life was sweet (except for the heinous stomach sickness that was going around, but we’ll save that for the book). We opened the show by playing a solid, respectable set and then the next band, Celilo, went on. Dolorean was the headliner of the night, and as the band casually sauntered up to the stage, PBR tallboys in hand, they glaringly stood out in hiptser Portland, oddly out of place with their simple niceness. They happily chatted with several friends as they made their way to the stage and then Dolorean calmly eased into an amazing performance that seemed absolutely effortless in its execution. Frontman Al James said very little between songs, and when he did it came out in an offhand, good-hearted mumble.

Thom, Andrew and I (Dave fell asleep in the van immediately after performing due to the aforementioned illness) stood there slackjawed as Dolorean’s music surrounded us. They had the undeniable, and unfakable confidence of a band that had been on the road a lot and had experienced ups and downs together through years. The music itself was good, but the way they played had a level of soul, earnestness and raw honesty rarely experienced live. I couldn’t even make out all the lyrics, but it didn’t matter. We knew what Al James was singing about, even if the words were obscured. There was a universal language Dolorean used that night—an emotional telepathy that rattled us all in the most beautiful ways possible.

After the show, we talked to the members of the band as we all loaded out our gear. To us, they had the eminence of Led Zeppelin circa 1975. We were in awe. But, they were kind, accepting and complimented our set nearly as much as we praised theirs. They had won instant fans in Dave McGraw and Crow Wing.

The next summer, we again had the honor of joining Dolorean at Mississippi Studios. Initially, the show was to be Al James playing solo right before us. But strangely, the whole band showed up with him and put on yet another amazing show. It was great to see them—the familiarity of growing friendships on the road makes the world seem much less lonely. And at the end of the night, knowing that we were on tour, Dolorean gave us their cut of the night’s money. It was a wonderful gesture from a band who knows the myriad challenges of the road.

So, it was with a sense of joy that I recently heard Dolorean’s most recent album reviewed (and raved about) on NPR’s “Fresh Air” by Ken Tucker—a huge breakthrough for any artist. Their record, The Unfazed, was released in January and it’s been attracting attention from all over the music world. The album, despite having nothing to do with us directly, produces a collective sense of pride and accomplishment in that ever-expanding community. Musicians, artists, fans, travelers … friends.

 

Hear Ken Tucker’s review of The Unfazed at www.npr.org/2011/02/24/133280627/dolorean-unfazed-by-lifes-challenges, and check out Dolorean at www.doloreanmusic.com.

Watch the full episode. See more American Experience.

The scoop on a very special early seated-listening show at Flagstaff's Green Room:

Some of you may recall that just over a year ago, Thom Lord and I acted as promoters and brought singer-songwriter Gregory Alan Isakov to town, and with the help of the Green Room transformed the back main stage area into a legitimate musical listening room. Having toured the country extensively this past year it really brought home the idea that while Flagstaff has serious music fans and enthusiastic supporters, we are admittedly lacking in small venues where folks can go, buy a drink, take a seat and REALLY LISTEN to music, without the distractions that come with typical bars. Such rooms are not only vital to the success of up-and-coming acoustic singer-songwriters and musicians, but to Flagstaff's culture itself! The owners of the Green Room share in this belief and have gone above and beyond to help us cultivate this type of musical experience.

I'm proud to announce to that we'll be bringing JT NERO & ALLISON RUSSELL (from the group PO'GIRL) to the Green Room for an early Tuesday night show on January 25th! If you missed the Po'Girl show at the Coconino Center for the Arts in June, then this is a great chance to catch them; if you were fortunate enough to see the show, I know you'll be coming back for this one! We played with these guys in Chicago this summer and will be joining them in Albuquerque as well. They are fantastic, to say the least. Local songstress, Mandy Ferrarini and I will be doing a duo opening set at 730pm sharp. Doors are at 7pm. Tickets went on sale today at Arizona Music Pro (122 E Rte 66) for $6 or you can get them at the door for $8. This is a steal, I promise. 21+.

Thanks for supporting independent music and Happy New Year.

Cheers,
Dave

     Growing up in the burbs of Denver, I recall going to my family doctor as a pre-teen and teenager for an annual physical and having to sit through what seemed to be endless obligatory lectures on safe sex and drug and alcohol abuse prevention. I'm sure this was an ordinary thing and I was certainly fortunate enough to have had a doctor that took the time to do this. However, this always came before the needed blood tests or immunizations that I'd be getting, and the long-winded "lessons" only proved to heighten and prolong my anticipation of the impending needle in my near future. I've outgrown my conscious fear of needles, I think, but somewhere in the not-so-deep coils of my brain, remains an irrational, unpredictable and uncontrollable, if not humorous anxiety when it comes to the environment of a doctor's office. I'm not afraid to go to the doctor and will readily do so when needed, but there is no telling how and when this subconscious anxiety will surface.
    
     I went to visit a Layrngologist (otherwise known as an ear, nose, and throat doc) in Flagstaff on Monday to have my larynx checked out. For those of you who were at the Denver show on December 10th you'll know exactly why. I fell victim to a winter cold while on tour this December and got laryngitis. No big deal, but it has been about a month since I have been able to sing and I've been going mad so it was time for a second visit. The doctor checked out my nose and throat with her little flashlight and thought everything looked fine. Perfect. I joked with her about if I begin to look a little pale, it's just because I get a little woozy sometimes etc... We laughed and I thought I was in the clear and that I'd be on my way. Nope. She then told me she would be right back with a camera to check out my larynx to make sure I didn't have any "polyps" or "nodules", which apparently was just the type of vocabulary to send me right into that pale, woozy, cold-sweating, faint, little not-so-happy place.  Before I knew it she was sticking a tube of numbing spray up my nose and down my throat so that I wouldn't be bothered by the camera, which was between the width of a pen and a garden hose. She immediately returned with that long, black, snake-like cable that seemed better suited for an old school VCR than my face. She began sliding it up my nose and I felt it begin to turn downward into my throat, all the while asking me to count to ten, which I later realized was to watch my vocal chords move. The last time a doctor asked me to count to ten was when he was putting me unconscious for my wisdom teeth extraction. It had the exact same effect. I counted, "one", "two", "thr..." and whispered, "I'm passing out." Like the rock star that I am, I narrowly averted slipping into complete darkness. She asked me if I just wanted to try medicine instead this week, I asked her to just give me five or ten minutes while I soaked my sweatshirt with sweat, and regained feeling in my fingers before coming back and trying again. She did, and I counted to ten with a smile on my face. Just a severely swollen epiglottis but nothing worse. More vocal rest, more herbal tea, and some new pharmaceuticals.
    
     Sorry to have had to cancel the Crow Wing show at Flag Brew this Friday. Doctors orders. Too much information? Welcome to my new blogging self. I'm trying, folks.
    
     I will be playing percussion with the Mandy Ferrarini Trio this Friday at Flag Brew in place of our beloved Crow Wing.
    
     Until next time, Dave

     My jeans are soaking wet from my ankles to my knees, and my boots are playfully slipping through the mud from an early winter snow melt.  It may be thirty-eight degrees and there is a steady wind from the south.  I'm walking a few miles into the forest behind my casita outside of Flagstaff, Arizona, and for the first time in a long while I am really home.

    I slept in my own bed last night and boiled water for tea on my own stove.  Inspired by the novelty of having my own kitchen over the weekend, I cooked Indian food, baked enchiladas, and even wrestled with some unruly omelets.  A neighbor welcomed me home with elk steaks and venison sausage from their fall's bounty, and I traded them oatmeal raisin cookies.  Having forgotten a necessary ingredient for Christmas dinner and not wanting to have to drive back to town to the grocery store I had just returned from, I walked next door to ask for an onion.  My friend and landlord put on his boots and jacket and led me to his garden, where he proceeded to clear away a few inches of snow with a shovel and dig up five yellow onions.  Of course, he didn't stop there and picked some green garlic from his greenhouse and gathered four eggs from his chicken coop.

    Needless to say, this is a dramatic change from the all-too-familiar florescent glow of interstate gas station mini-marts we have become so accustomed to on our tours.  2010 brought many changes, both personal and professional, and more miles than I can fathom (30,000?).  I played just shy of 100 shows from coast-to-coast and spent the bulk of the last six months on the road.

    It is nice to be home.

    I want to send out a most sincere THANK YOU to everyone that supported us in 2010.  Thanks to all of you who came to our shows (whether in theaters or coffee shops), to those who welcomed us into their homes, and to all of the talented and kind musicians we shared the journey with along the way.  I'd like to thank my brothers in Crow Wing, Thom, Andrew, and Ryan for their endless enthusiasm and creativity and for their steadfast companionship both on and off the stage.  Thank you to Mandy Ferrarini and my parents, Jack and Nancy for their unconditional love and inspiration.

    2011 is here and will undoubtedly bring great things (this is the first blog I've written in years, so, perhaps we're off to a decent start).  There are plans to get Crow Wing back into the studio to record new material, as well as play a two-night live album recording show in Flagstaff in the spring. I'll also start collaborating on a duo album with Mandy.  Good times and more music ahead...

    Happy New Year, folks!  Thanks for everything!

    Dave
   
    PS- For those of you around the country that still believe all of Arizona is warm all of the time, it got down to -18 degrees last night at the Flagstaff Airport.        

By Mandy Ferrarini

Soybeans and corn. Soybeans and corn. We’re somewhere in the middle of Ohio and I hear Angrew screeching in the front seat, “That’s all there is, soybeans and corn. Soybeans and corn.” It’s probably our 887th cornfield in this trip thus far, and in the back seat of Henrietta (a.k.a. the “burp cage” ¹ ) I am wondering how much longer this state of Ohio is going to last. Eventually, Ohio retreated from our windows, and we entered into the beginning of a beautiful Northeast experience for Dave McGraw and Crow Wing.

Once we finally scooted out of Ohio, I was amazed to see how gorgeous the rolling hills of Pennsylvania really were; this trip out to the Northeast was basically my first time out there, minus a field trip to D.C. in 8th grade. I had no idea that this part of the country was going to steal my heart so much, but I constantly found myself with my face pressed up against the window exclaiming, “Wow, look how pretty this is.” And what’s so cool about it is that it transforms from rolling green hills to a HUGE, and I mean HUGE, metropolis without even the blink of an eykkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
Oh, sorry, I just fell asleep holding down the ‘k’ in another cornfield filled area in middle of nowhere, Kansas. Seriously. Dave just got a picture of it, I think.

Anyways, our first northeastern stop was Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, where Crow Wing got their dive bar fix for the tour. Philly definitely charmed me with its steep winding streets and baseball-watchin-Philly-cheese-steak-eatin' crowds filling the bar scenes. We prowled the streets for a pre-show meal, and were advised by a local to eat at a pub around the corner, where bar food consisted of tasty vegetable wraps with goat cheese, salads with fresh mint and artichoke hearts, and of course, Philly cheese steaks. What a pleasant surprise to eat good bar food for once…no offense to Flagstaff, but bar food just isn’t good there.

With full bellies, back we headed to the bar where we were playing, and waited patiently for our turn to rock Philly’s socks off. That night we were scheduled with two other bands and, uniquely enough, a comedian who filled the silence between band switchovers. Oh, boy, did he fill the silence. I don't think I can repeat a single joke, because there may be children or other wholesome persons reading this. As you can imagine, it was an...interesting...fit with three folk-rock bands. But unexpected surprises are what the road is all about; they're never something you can truly prepare for, but that’s what makes it such a thrilling ride.

We had a great time playin' that night in the little dive bar on a small street corner of Philly, and in our crowd was one of my dear friends, Ailsa, who rallied five fun friends from Philly to come dance to some sweet Southwest tunes. Ailsa took in Crow Wing with open arms to her mom’s beautiful home just south of the city, and we thank her so much for having us. It’s hard to explain the sense of comfort that staying in a warm home brings after spending numerous nights in Motel 6's, especially an amazing house like that one, with such an amazing friend. This house is a classic Pennsylvania home built in the late 1800s, with character seeping out of every centimeter inside and out. We soaked up every outdoor second that we could in her massive and gorgeous backyard, picking some fresh raspberries and kicking back with a little bourbon by the fire. Man, life on the road is rough.

The next morning we awoke to some Northwest style rain, which we greeted with great pleasure. Crow Wing got super lucky with the weather we experienced in our northeastern bout; not a day even attempted to feel hot, and gentle sprinkles gave Henrietta a daily washing. Off we did roll to Ithaca, New York, where Dave McGraw and Crow Wing played their first coffee shop ever as a full band, surrounded by a crowd of loving family and friends. I feel like I’ve become repetitive in these blogs talking about loving family and friends in the audiences, but it’s true, we have been blessed to be surrounded at almost every performance by such wonderful folks. So, thank you all a million times for supporting us. If any of you haven’t been to Ithaca, and are considering it, I say do it. It’s a colorful, quaint town, and if you can make it into “The Shop” while you are there, it's worth the effort. According to Andrew, Crow Wing’s resident coffee connoisseur, it’s the best coffee he had all tour. We all had a great caffeinated set there at “The Shop,” where the tempo was maybe a little faster than normal, but luckily Andrew kept an eye on it and slowed the cappuccino pace down whenever necessary.

Thom's kind friends Yamin and Diane opened their doors to us for a delightful night of delicious homemade lasagna and comfortable, much needed Z's (the 2 previous nights consisted of a total of 6 hours of sleep). With the hectic streets of Manhattan awaiting our arrival the next day, Crow Wing was in dire need of more than 4 hours of sleep that night. Thank you, Yamin & Diane, for helping us recharge our minds and spirits within the beautiful confines of your home.

Next time: A Day in the Life of Dave McGraw and Crow Wing

______________________

¹ I burped ONCE, and nobody seemed to forget it, so now whenever I am acting up, the boys send me to my burp cage in the back seat. [Editor's note: It was WAY more than once.] That’s where all of this fun blogging occurs from, though, so I guess we're all in the burp cage together...muhaha...

By Mandy Ferrarini

Pizza, hot dogs, Italian beef sandwiches, blues music, Da Bears, and... did I say pizza yet? These are just a few reasons why I love Chicago, my pre-Flagstaff home. Occasionally I find myself in the back of a cab in downtown Chicago, sweaty palms clinging to the sticky leather seats, wondering if the cab driver is just crazy, or if I’ve been away from this city for too damn long. It brings me some inexplicable sense of comfort when I am worrying for my life in the back of a cab, with some false sense of reassurance like, “Oh, don’t worry, Mandy, these guys know what they’re doing.” When really, they’re just part of this game we call living in the concrete jungle, and they’re just dancing at extra high speeds with a little bit more cojones behind the wheel than a small-mountain-town girl such as myself.

When Dave McGraw and Crow Wing cruised into Chicago that Sunday afternoon (well, not really cruised, more like sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic), there was a great sense of anticipation amongst the entire group. I think I speak for everyone when I say that Chicago was one of the most highly anticipated shows of the Crow Wing’s August 2010 tour. Not only because this show was in such an infamously prominent music town, but also because we were going to be playing at such an awesome venue, opening up for an awesome Chicago band, being surrounded by hundreds of awesome Chicagoans in the crowd. And all of this joy was nearly stripped straight from my hands, almost literally, by a filthy, evil, teeny Deerfield yellow jacket.

For those of you who are familiar with Deerfield, Illinois, you know that there are just a couple famous things about this quaint North Shore suburb. One of them is the Walgreens factory, and the second one is “the Tunnel”. The Tunnel is an exit ramp tunnel that was built in the year 2000, which takes you from 94 West to Deerfield Road. This lovely tunnel became a central point for entertainment for my high school friends and me on many boring Friday and Saturday Deerfield nights. How can a tunnel be entertaining? Needless to say, Deerfield nightlife was far from compelling, and my friends and I were extremely creative and colorful individuals (trust me, you should have seen the colors on our patchwork skirts). With just the right tunnel song, and the windows down all the way, if you stick your head out the window just enough to let your three-foot-long hippy hairdo tangle in the wind, the Tunnel can be the recipe for complete bliss for a bliss-starved sixteen-year-old stuck in the suburbs.

After we survived the five o’clock downtown traffic and skidded to the northern suburbs, I picked up the phone and dialed my favorite pizza joint’s number (which I still have memorized; thank you, Il-Forno’s), and decided that it would only be appropriate to share the Tunnel with these Crow Wing fellas. So, I picked a good tunnel song,“Paradise City” (I know, it’s too good), we rolled down Henrietta’s windows and zoomed through my high school memories at full speed. After our thrilling tunnel run, we jumped onto Deerfield Road, and the familiar smells, sights and sounds of home abounded. I was just finishing saying to the boys, “So, now you know what I did in high school, and now you’ll understand why I had so much free time to practice guitar--”, when all of a sudden, it felt like a friendly Deerfield birdy dropped a little friendly turdy through the window and into my not-so-long-now hairdo.

I turned around and asked Dave, “Is there bird shit in my hair?” I ran my hand through my locks, and felt a not-so-friendly evil buzzing creature sting my right index finger, 4 days before the most important musical performance of my life. I would much rather have opted for the bird shit.

Now, when I reflect on it, the irony of the situation is exceptionally laughable, but at the time, after multiple doses of Wal-a-tin and Benadryl (which I learned is very FUN), one useless visit to the walk-in clinic, and six suburban Walgreens visits in 24 hours, I was about ready to cut my finger off. It started as just an extremely painful and swollen finger, and then spread to my whole hand; the same hand that was supposed to be able to hold a pick on Thursday on stage at one of Chicago’s premier music venues. Thank you to all of you friends and family who tolerated my overly stressed, crabby and drowsy behavior throughout those few days. But my biggest thank you goes out to Dr. Lu (and my mom, for scheduling the appointment), who is the physician who prescribed me to a high dose of steroids and antibiotics, which by show time on Thursday shrunk my hand to its almost normal size.

Ok, I’m supposed to be blogging right now about our awesome experience in Chicago. Sorry for the detour…

I warned Dave when we booked this tour that I was going to need just enough time in Chicago to see Granny and eat pizza, and it turned out to be our longest stop on the tour. Thanks, Dave. From Sunday to Friday we all were able to spend some quality time with family and friends, eat delicious cuisine, and experience some of the amazing entertainment and activity that the Windy City has to offer. Thom scooted off to Indiana to have some genuine family time in South Bend, while Andrew, myself and Dave soaked up D-town for all it was worth: visits to famous Chicago museums, to a jaunt on the Metra to a My Morning Jacket show at Northerly Island with Crow Wing supporter Tosch, to a $75 trip to Rosewood Beach (damn, you Highland Park Police, for ticketing my mom’s car). The pizza was more delicious than ever, and the visits with my Granny Pearl were more irreplaceable than ever. Just like Dave’s grandma Dorothy, Pearl is a huge advocate for our music; to be able to sit down in her cozy living room of her quiet apartment and fill the air with a few lively moments of music brings me so much joy, and makes this entire tour worth it for just that one look of contentment on her loving and smiling face. A few more acoustic versions of Mandy/Crow Wing tunes were performed on the back porch of my parent’s house for loving family members' ears, and Dave’s brand spankin' new djembe arrived at our doorstep just in time to be played on stage that next night. Big thanks to Mom and George for opening your home to us, as always, and for being such awesome musical cheerleaders since day one.

Thursday night arrived, and Dave McGraw and Crow Wing found themselves stepping their crow feet into one of the coolest musical nooks in Chicago that I have ever seen. When you walk in the front door of The Hideout, the walls are littered with pictures of past performers in the venue, branching anywhere from Andrew Bird to The Swell Season and Neko Case. Let me take a minute to send great appreciation to JT Nero of JT & The Clouds for putting together this special night for us; what a pleasure it was to share the stage with his killer band that night. If you haven’t heard of JT & The Clouds, you owe it to yourself to check them out (www.jtandtheclouds.com), because they rock. As does his lovely female vocalist’s other band, Po Girl (www.pogirl.net). Thank you, too, Alison, for your amazing soul and for your kind words. We look forward to sharing the stage with you all again very soon.

Now here come more thank you’s. I can’t begin to thank all of our family and friends for coming out that night to support our music. It felt so good to get up on that stage for my opening set and look out at so many familiar joyful faces---I am so blessed to know all of you. It was such a blast to share my craft for the first time with so many fans that have been by my side since the very beginning. I had such a ball playing both sets, especially when Dave brought his new djembe (now referred to as the Goat) on stage and shook the walls with that beautiful beast. Something extremely exciting about touring the country with this band is their ability to carry the essence of the Southwest straight to the stage; whether it is through songs written about the unfortunate happenings of Mexican drug cartels or Dave’s experiences chasing birds throughout the sandy ranchos of Chihuahua. Crow Wing flew high that night on that beautiful Hideout stage, to the point where during the last song (Crow Wing River), my Nalgene flew off my amp and spilled water all over my pedal board. I looked at Dave wondering what to do, and he gave me a big grin that implied, “Yea, that’s rock and roll baby.” The boys and I grew another unique version of “Seed of a Pine” with special guest JT, who sang some sweet harmonies with us--- it’s moments like those, where I look around the stage at Dave, Thom, and Andrew, and I float up out of myself and say, “Yes.” We’ve done it… we are on the road, sharing our music with family and friends and strangers alike, with smiles swollen from joy, and hands healed from the wrath of filthy, teeny Deerfield yellow jackets.

By Mandy Ferrarini

“Everybody come on in, you can taste a little of the summer… my grandma put it all in jars.”---Greg Brown

Grandparents are true gifts in our lives. Their words constantly heartfelt, their stories a gentle and constant symphony of truth to our wide and bright young eyes. Dave McGraw & Crow Wing was lucky enough to enter into a chapter of family history this past week in Sherman, Texas, where a lovely lady named Dorothy Foster opened the doors to a vast cavity of vivid memories to share with these four youngsters on a hot August afternoon. Dorothy’s quaint white house was strewn with antique china and old photographs of smiling family faces; I could have sworn that I heard a continuous whisper of untold narratives behind each corner of every room.

Our visit to Sherman, Texas was brief but took us straight to the heart of the American South… where sneaky chiggers are nestled in thick grass waiting to hurl themselves into sweet northerners’ ankles, and where churches, without a doubt, outnumber Starbucks. Crow Wing jumped in head first with a lunch at the “Glory to God Café”, one of Dorothy’s favorite hot spots in Sherman. We knew that this lunch was going to be a memorable and “bloggable” experience simply by the name of this place, but I think we were all floored with how much heart their was inside of this small café. A preacher and his family run the restaurant, and they had just decided that morning that they were going to have to close it down because they could not longer afford it. The kind daughter prepared us plates of candied yams, fried okra, green beans, southern style mac & cheese, and a fried catfish sandwich. Everything tasted like it was on sugar-butter steroids, but in a good way… let’s just say that southern food does NOT lack flavor. It was a very real and very heavy experience to be inside of an establishment that had been such an important part of Dorothy’s community and to watch it prepare itself for its final days. I realize more and more that these “real” experiences are why we are on the road. There is so much to see in this world, let alone in this country, but we are just trying to do our part to follow our hearts, and share real experiences with real people.

Before we departed from this small Texas town, Crow Wing serenaded Dorothy with their version of the Sherman Living Room Sessions, which entailed almost an hour’s worth of acoustic melodies and rhythms. Thom, Dave and myself all fiddled on guitars (I periodically jumped over to the perfectly tuned piano and tried to keep up) and Andrew singing and tapping on whatever he could get his hands on. Throughout the whole day we spent in Sherman I couldn’t seem to kick “Seed of a Pine” out of my mind, whose lyrics include lines such as, “great grandmother would have surely known” and “hope is believing in the seed of a pine.” We began our mini concert with that song, and the silence steeped with photographs was soon covered in Dave’s voice, singing words of all he knew and loved to his smiling grandmother. What a joy it is to share our music with the people that we love.

We pushed out of Sherman with Henrietta properly lubed from a cheap/fast oil change and northward Crow Wing flew bound for a recently drenched Iowa City, IA. Angrew (whom I will explain later) made one of his first experiences of the trip thus far when he took the wheel right outside of Des Moines, Iowa. As most of you probably know, Iowa experienced a devastating amount of flooding within the last week or so, and we got to see some of it firsthand in a 2 hour traffic pile that was caused by this flooding. Rivers flooded over their banks and just barely missed the highway by about 20 yards… this being said, the second that Andrew got behind the wheel he claims to have been “hosed” because he was the unfortunate one who had to drive us through the entire hot traffic jam. Originally, Andrew jumped behind the wheel and our friendly GPS Karen recommended an alternate route for Henrietta, which we gladly attempted to follow. This alternate route led Henrietta to her first encounter with a dirt road next to some very well watered corn fields, but little did Karen know that almost all of these back roads were washed out from the flood, so Andrew was forced to turn Crow Wing back around to the bumper to bumper traffic filled highway.

What’s that you say? Who is Angrew? Well, Angrew is the slightly angrier version of Andrew, who occasionally makes appearances under frustrating circumstances most commonly en route to a show when the traffic or the coffee isn’t quite right. When Angrew shows up, Crow Wing is always understanding of his needs, and knows that eventually Andrew will reappear once the circumstances improve, and truly we all just need to get a little angry sometimes, so we thank Andrew for having the courage to name his angry side and have it sound so catchy and clever. Mangry or Thomgry or Davegry just doesn’t sound as good. Andrew resurfaced once the road cleared up, and we arrived in Iowa City to be pleasantly surprised by a lively town and a lively performance that evening at the Iowa City Yacht Club. The Yacht Club seems to have nothing to do with boats just like the Walnut Room seems to have nothing to do with walnuts, but we still enjoyed hammering out some solid tunes in a dark basement for a loving crowd of Iowa City fans. This show exceeded all of our expectations with crowd receptivity and Crow Wing definitely had a downright fun evening in that Big Ten town. Thanks to all of our new Iowa City fans who came out and supported with joyful openness to our Southwest twang.

The world became smaller for me once more that night when the bartender at the Yacht Club asked me who I was and then informed me that we went to high school together. I think I’m learning through this tour that the world is small, and we are all always closer than we think we are to each other. It’s taking that extra step to go see the world that helps us to reach some sense of understanding for what the hell we are doing on this crazy planet. I guess then a small advantage that we have on our elders or our grandparents is our ability to go out and stretch our crow wings and see so much of this lovely painted earth, whether it may be by plane, train, or Henrietta—but in doing so we can’t forget our sense of home, and how important that is as well. Home…where our antique china sits and waits to be used, where an old pecan tree grips tight to the hot summer earth, where a grandmother waits patiently for her afternoon nap to pass so she can watch her grandson shine brightly through song. Where pictures tell stories which words may not understand, and where memories grow like weeds fed only by love.