In These Parts
(Nat Keefe, Spring 1995)


They grew their own food
And they strung their own guitars
And they made a house of boughs with their own hands
This was where the family would gather
When spirits were high or low
To pick and sang and laugh and howl and dance
But no one else was in on their circle
Papa chased away intruders with a gun
And swear at his top voice, by God he had no choice
But In These Parts, that’s how music’s done

I became enamoured of the youngest
And topped out at the State Park boundary
She said “This is where you stay and I go on,”
Walking back to town I felt the tingle of delight
Of a cool breeze, a mountain top, a granite chair
I was on the edge of something out of my control
With the wind of intrigue, blowing through my hair
In the distance I heard their hollar
My it sounds like they’re having fun
But I guess I’ll never see, even if she is meant for me
In These Parts, how music’s done

On the day she took my hand and led me up the hill
She said I’ll tkae you to the house, but there’s two things still
First, you’ve got to love me, fiddle, family and all
Second, you’ll take a walk with my pa

He took me to a Rocky Top, held my head by my hair of the ledge
The distant mist of a passing storm, drifted just past the edge
He gave me a satchel of ten white stones and said that you’ll see soon
Why Eros gave them such a sack with stones as white as the moon
You are blood, you are family, you are father, you are kin
We respect you, and we love you, and we need a mandolin—

That night I went to hoot and hollar, in the pine-bough shack that I had won
I felt like I’d been playing for a thousand country years,
Now the family, the jam and I are one
Now I know the way, that down-home people play
In These Parts, when music’s done