This must be the place: ‘All the summer, all of fall, trying to find my little all in all’
'Moving On' is a Larry McMurtry novel. Garret K. Woodward photo
It’s 12:23 a.m. and I can hear the tires from sporadic cars splashing through small puddles on nearby Walnut Street in downtown Waynesville. They say a big rainstorm is coming later today. For now, it’s another pull from the lukewarm Coors Light can.
Thoughts of what was, what is, and what might come to pass as the weather gets warmer, my soul restless and anxious to return to the open road.
The sounds of Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys spills slowly out of the stereo speakers. Right now, specifically, it’s the 1936 hit “Sitting on Top of the World.” I’ve always enjoyed the sounds of the “King of Western Swing,” and I’ve been on a deep dive of his music as of late, the melodies soothing what ails me from within my heat.
Maybe it’s all the Larry McMurtry books I’ve been consuming this spring (I’m currently tackling the 847-page epic “Moving On.” So far, so good.). Maybe it’s my endless daydreaming of the West, with a handful of trips and anchor points already plotted out on the far side of the Mississippi River. The summer can’t come soon enough.
Maybe so. But, that song sure does hit hard and pretty far down into the chambers of the beating muscle in my chest. Sip, sip the domestic beer. Kick my feet up on the old coffee table. A slight breeze causing the leaves and branches on the big maple tree hovering over my front porch to flutter in the ancient rhythms of nature and nurture.
I just realized that tomorrow is the 50th anniversary of the passing of Bob Wills. What a voice, what a legacy, eh? The music is as timeless as it can get. Here I sit, age 40, on May 12, 2025, blasting his melodies that conjure such imagery and emotions even today. Visions of women who’ve broken my heart, whose hearts I’ve broken. The circle of life. The spice of life. Love lost, love found. Rinse. Repeat.
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It’s not lost on me how poignant and serene those old cowboy tunes remain this far into the 21st century. Ol’ Waylon Jennings was absolutely correct when he sang, “It don’t matter who’s in Austin, Bob Wills is still the king.” Amen, my brother. Amen. More of that pedal steel, please. Keep it com’in, and don’t forget to tip your bartender.
Skip ahead to 5:16 p.m. During my gloriously sweaty jog around downtown, I was able to evade the downpour of the afternoon rainstorm hanging over Waynesville and greater Haywood County. By the time I hopped back onto my front porch, the clouds opened up, heavy raindrops obscuring the ancient ridges of the Blue Ridge Mountains cradling this community.
The sound of the raindrops splashing down to earth, to nearby mud puddles and paved parking lots is soothing to the eyes and the ears, so is the smell of wet grass and damp air. The air is warm enough to leave the front door open, only the screen door is needed at this juncture (my favorite kind of juncture for leisure). Thoughts of when I can finally go camping this spring, strike up the campfire, too.
Memorial Day is quickly appearing on the horizon, the “unofficial official” kickoff to the mischief, shenanigans and adventures that summer brings about like clockwork. Sunshine and cool waters to swim in. Pack the coolers and fill up the gas tank. Aim the nose of my rusty, musty ole reliable pickup truck to destinations unknown — the purpose always being to follow “the flow” on your journey.
Word on the street is there’s some great live bluegrass this evening at the 5 Walnut Wine Bar in downtown Asheville. The establishment is truly my most favorite place to hunker down and watch the world wander by the big front windows, which are sometimes open when the raindrops are too heavy, just light enough to create ambiance.
For now? More Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys echoing from the speakers. I can’t seem to shake his songs at the moment, the instruments and voices riding the same wavelength of my mindset at this very moment, and for many moments lately where I’ve found myself purposely lost in thought, purposely moving at my own pace.
And it’s been nice to kind of “slow down” a tad this spring. Sure, the news never (ever) stops and, yes, I tend to find myself spending many nights in hotel rooms or taking naps in truck stops across the country than actually sleeping in my quaint bed. And, yeah, that’ll probably be the case come summer, once again. But, to actually sit at my writing desk in my humble abode, to type wildly and listening to the rain has been cathartic for my body and soul.
To that point, though, I received a very welcomed message today from one our readers, a seemingly jovial fellow who checks out this here column each and every week. It meant a lot to hear from you, my friend, especially when you wrote such kind words: “What you talk about in your articles is spot on. If you make up your mind and a seed is planted, you can do about anything regardless of what someone else has to say. Take care and keep them coming.”
I suppose my rambling ways and words are able to make connections with others. That’s always been the point of this page, anyhow. It’s about nothing and everything and, hopefully, making sense somewhere in-between. Who cares if there’s a point to made, right? On a daily basis, most of us (probably all of us) find ourselves in a stream-of-consciousness thought process. That’s just how the human mind and endless subconscious works in real time, in real emotion.
I digress. It’s high time to clean myself up and motor over to Asheville. Catch some bluegrass. People watch from one of the wooden stools in front of the big windows. Maybe spark a conversation with a new friend. Maybe crack open that McMurtry book and push beyond my daily page quota, seeing as the weather is ideal for diving deep into Texas literature over a glass of wine.
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
