The charm and allure of bluegrass music resides in its seamless ability to have one foot in the sacred, traditional “high, lonesome sound” and the other in whatever progressive endeavors its musicians find themselves in — by chance or on purpose.

Hopping up on my truck tailgate one recent afternoon, fiddler/singer Jeremy Garrett gazed around the Spirit of the Suwannee Music Park in the rural countryside of Live Oak, Florida. His band — The Infamous Stringdusters — was headlining the Suwannee Spring Reunion that weekend, another feather in the cap of a celebrated acoustic act who this past January was awarded a Grammy Award for “Best Bluegrass Album.” 

A slight breeze awoke me from my slumber this past Saturday morning. Swaying in the hammock, I looked upward while the first sunshine of the day sprinkled through the branches all tangled high above. 

What started out simply as a creative outlet has now taken on a life of its own.

Based out of Jackson County, Ol’ Dirty Bathtub is a rollicking musical act, one where the lines between bluegrass, folk and Americana are blurred. Part mountain heritage, part blue-collar work ethic, part cosmic wanderlust, the quintet is currently in the process of releasing their debut album, “Pack Mule” (Bee Hive Records).

Many Fridays a small group of longtime Canton residents meet up informally at the town’s historical museum on Park Street as soon as it opens in the morning to peruse the artifacts and talk about the town’s tomorrow, the town’s today and the town’s yesterday.

As they do, they sometimes come to the topic of the historic Colonial Revival-style building located just across the street since 1932 — the aptly named Colonial Theater. 

In conversation, Art Garfunkel is as poignant and whimsical as his music. The strong, heartfelt emotion behind his thoughts and words swirl around both sides of the conversation. At 76, he’s still that kid wanting you to play in the sandbox with him. 

Sure, he was one half of Simon & Garfunkel, a cornerstone of American music, whose folk melodies will forever be played so long as raindrops fall outside your window or you’re in need of a backroad cruise on a lazy afternoon to clear your mind, ready to open yourself up to the possibilities of a new tomorrow. But, like his timeless music, the depths of Garfunkel have no accurate measure. 

As I awoke in my hammock, I could see the branches and leaves swaying above, sprinkling small bits of the early morning light down upon me. For a moment, I didn’t know if I was still dreaming. Heck, for two moments, I didn’t remember where I was. But, it soon dawned on me, I was back at Suwannee, this time for the “Spring Reunion.”

Literally and figuratively, the idea of “listening” is somewhat of a lost art in our digital world. When a voice begins to share a point-of-view, usually a louder voice interrupts with a “more important” counterpoint or immediate distain for the sentiment before the initial thought can place a period at the end of a full sentence. 

That, and many-a-time folks simply have forgotten what it means to listen with intent and purpose. It’s that fleeting moment where you’re soaking in the words, emotions and mannerisms of another human being, in a sincere effort to make sense of the world within your head and outside your front door.

Sitting in a chair on a front lawn late Sunday afternoon, the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains, a crisp air settling into the impending night. Just about a block down the hill from Main Street in Waynesville, a handful of folks gathered in front of the Twin Maples Farmhouse for an impromptu live performance. 

The further you meander down the road of life, the more you come to realize just how haphazardly bumpy and ever-rolling the trek actually is — and remains so — when push comes to shove.