Hello from Room 625 at the Marriott in downtown Chattanooga, Tennessee. It’s early Friday afternoon, but I couldn’t tell the time when I woke up in complete darkness. Pull back the window drapes to a piercingly bright sun hovering over this corner of East Tennessee. A bustling Interstate 24 just across from the hotel property. Ancient foothills of Southern Appalachia cradling this city I’ve known for the better part of the last 20 years.
Last night was the International Bluegrass Music Association award show. The biggest night in all of bluegrass, where the marquee stars of the “high, lonesome sound” roll in from every direction to celebrate this past year and what’s come to fruition for all of the hard work, passion, and purpose of these musicians and their creativity. I’ve been coming to the IBMAs since 2014, that first time to cover Balsam Range winning “Entertainer of the Year” when the showcase was in Raleigh.
It is an absolute zoo of people, places, and things. And it remains so, thankfully. I’ve always flocked to scenes of melodic madness, these whirlwinds of humanity overtaking a city to uplift and expand this genre built of the ancient tones. For IBMAs, it’s hallways filled with musicians jamming, ballrooms showcasing the finest bluegrass acts on the planet, hearty late-night conversation and waxing poetic about music at the hotel lobby bars, early morning coffee and wondering what adventures are in store for the day.
The day before I left my humble abode apartment in Waynesville, I messaged a dear old friend, Jesse, who lives in Chattanooga if he’d like to have my extra press ticket to the IBMA award show on Thursday evening at the Soldiers & Sailors Memorial Auditorium. He immediately replied that he would go with me. Sold. My brother. The night of the awards, I exit the lobby of the Marriott and briskly walk towards the auditorium a few blocks away. Standing in front of the marquee for the venue was Jesse. Big smiles and a big bear hug.
The last time I saw him was exactly a year prior when I was in Chattanooga for the IBMAs, where we met up after the award show for drinks and conversation. That next morning in 2025, Jesse, his wife, Katie, and their five-year-old daughter met up with me for breakfast at the Waffle House near their home before I said goodbye, left the city, and headed over the state line back to Carolina. It always means a lot to me when I see those beloved faces.
You see, I first met Jesse when I was 22 years old (41 now). It was January 2008 and I was a rookie reporter (fresh out of college) for the Teton Valley News in Driggs, Idaho (backside of the Grand Teton Mountains). I worked in Driggs and lived in Victor (population around 800 folks at that time). Jesse’s roommate (and one of his oldest childhood friends) happened to be my co-worker on the newsstaff. Jesse was a couple years older than me. And we hit it off immediately, thick as thieves since day one. Kindred spirits, truly.
And we had a lot of adventures together when I lived out there. Skiing at Grand Targhee Resort in nearby Alta, Wyoming. Midnight shenanigans in Jackson Hole. Rock concerts across the state in Boise. Riverside swimming. Backcountry hiking. Late-night beverages at the Knotty Pine Supper Club in Victor. Too many memories to count or even remember, to be honest. The good life, you dig? Oh, and we even went to Burning Man in Nevada in August 2008 and experienced the absolute edge of the universe of art and humanity.
When the national economy tanked in September 2008, I went back to my native North Country of Upstate New York and hunkered down for better days. Jesse and his girlfriend (now wife), Katie, left the Rocky Mountains not long after and relocated to Chattanooga to start a new life, new chapter together. And I’d swing through a couple times a year whenever I was within vicinity of them while heading out west or back up the East Coast on some assignment.
We all were so young then, where it’s not until you get older when you realize how young you actually were (or currently are). I remember when they got engaged, and I fondly recall their wedding in downtown Chattanooga, a wild-n-out affair bridging two families of jovial characters from Southeastern Missouri and North Georgia. And then there was the day Jesse messaged me during the 2020 shutdown that he found out he was going to be a father.
Skip ahead to last week, Jesse and I wandering into the IBMA awards, grabbing some cold beers in the lobby, checking out the red carpet area, and finding our seats way down near the stage, the two of us surrounded by bluegrass royalty: Del McCoury, Sam Bush, Sierra Hull, Molly Tuttle, and so on. Perks of this journalism gig, eh? Another whirlwind evening of performances and accolades. Every so often, I’d turn and glance at Jesse, his face in awe of the spectacle unfolding in front of him. It felt great to create another moment with my friend. Afterwards, we moseyed to the Cherry Street Tavern for nightcaps.
Bellying up to the old bar counter, the place was somewhat empty, especially for nearing the midnight hour. No matter, it was ideal, just quiet enough to chat and not be screaming over loud jukebox music. We talked at-length about our hopes and dreams for the future, and what things may lie just beyond the impending horizon of the coming years. We talked about what it’s like for him being a father to this growing weed of a glorious child. We talked about nothing and everything, as all true friendships do while interacting.
Eventually, Jesse had to wander back home, a pleasant stroll back over the bridge, over the Tennessee River to his home. He had a long day tomorrow, an eight-hour or so drive with his wife and kid back to Missouri for a family funeral. Another big smile and another bear hug, both with gratitude and gusto for the moment at hand. I missed my friend. Until next time.
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.