Speaking of guitars, I have to tell the story of my father's birthday present to my mother in early 1946 (I was pretty small back then). As background, my parents (my father was a university professor and my mother a professional pianist) decided in 1945 to chuck everything, come out west, buy horses in Jackson, WY and pack down to New Mexico. We got as far as northeastern Utah, where we were invited to stay for the winter in a cabin 25 miles from town, accessible only by horseback or wagon (eventually Jeeps got in, but not while we were there). Anyway, Mom was missing her music, so on one of the trips to town Dad traded for a used guitar. There being no other place to carry it, he lashed it to the top of the pack horse's pack. That worked out fine until the horse slid off the steep icy trail and landed on its back. Fortunately, the horse was OK. The guitar, though, was simply a collection of tiny pieces, far beyond repair.

One thing I should have mentioned--if those camping near you want to join the jam session, and nobody objects, the more the merrier! Sometimes even if I want my sleep, the music can be worth listening to. I was at the 150th anniversary re-enactment of Gettysburg last summer. (No, not a backpack, just 10,000 people sleeping in 19th century tents, wearing 19th century clothes and indulging in lots of black powder smoke and noise.) Shortly after "Taps" one night, some of the guys near my tent decided to start a songfest (Civil War period songs, of course). I was tempted to go say something, but their voices were so good that I just listened with great pleasure until midnight, when they finally broke up. Some things are more important than sleep!

So just be sure, if you're near others, that they're willing!

Edited by OregonMouse (01/06/14 04:38 PM)
May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view--E. Abbey