The Corum Trail

Thoughts on The Old and New American West

[thecorumtrail]

Characters

At some point during the first week of being back in Knoxville, I made my way over to the North Knoxville branch library. I had not been inside the walls of the old library in over eight years. I guess I haven’t really been anywhere in Knoxville in over eight years. It is one thing to move to a new place where there isn't anything to match it up against, but it’s another thing to return to a place that you called home for over 20 years. It is the place where you were born and raised. I thought to myself three Christmases ago, while standing outside in the front yard of the home that I had spent my childhood days, that it was the last time that I would sleep under that roof. I think it’s natural to hate being wrong about things, but in this instance, I am glad that I was wrong about it: being the final night that I would lay my head down inside the walls of the old brown house on the hill. Being back inside of those walls has made my mind wander to things that I had long forgotten about. I suppose that we forget things over the years in order to make room for the new things. Just the other day I was at the top of the stairs, about to walk down to the basement to hop in the truck to go and grab some provisions, and could hear my brother say, “I can’t find my coat.” Obviously my brother, Kelly, wasn’t there, and his voice has deepened to a lower tone over the years - but it seemed so real. We would always hang our coats by the stairs in order to keep up with them, but needless to say: they didn’t always end up there. They would get carried back to a bedroom or left inside the car. I could not help but answer out loud to let Kelly know that his coat wasn’t here anymore.

Wikipedia describes “The Golden Hour” as the period shortly after sunrise or before sunset during which daylight is redder and softer than when the sun is higher in the sky. I have always associated “golden hour” more with the color gold and fond memories. It seems that, over 29 years of life, I find myself inside the North Knoxville Library just as the Golden Hour is approaching outside. The windows in the library sit just above the top of each book shelf that surround the indoor perimeter of the building. The final moments of sunlight creep through the windows to slumber inside the walls of the library, as if returning to its nighttime residence. I wouldn't blame the sunlight for wanting to stay here; it has always been a safe and inviting place.

When I was a kid, especially in the summer, I would load up on books about sharks and R. L. Stine's Goosebumps series. I would come out of the library carrying my weight in books. While we could not always convince Mom to take us to Blockbuster (the now-defunct video rental store), we could usually convince her on a trip to the library. I have not always been disciplined about reading, but I think that it is one of the most important things that you can spend your time doing. It is a really big deal that is often forgotten due to our “screen time” lives. I read to go places. I’ve traveled all over throughout the years to places that I have never been and might never see. I love characters. I think about the characters that I have interacted with in books over the years most days, if they left a lasting impression. Virgil Cole and Everett Hitch of the Appaloosa series by Robert B. Parker might as well be living in New Mexico currently. Anytime that I am out in Wyoming on The High Plains, I’m keeping an eye out for the high sheriff of Absaroka County, Walt Longmire. I figure that I owe the sheriff several Rainiers.

I’d ventured into the local branch to see if I could still get a library card. I was greeted by a familiar face at the desk: Tammy, a librarian, who's been at the branch for as far back as I can recall. She was kind and warm, just like I had remembered her to be. I assume that my question-asking tally exceeded its limit at some point over the years with her. I have requested some ancient western books and films over the years, but Tammy has never failed to come through for me on finding the material. What a big deal a librarian is: facilitators of great adventure and knowledge,  and possibly the most patient people walking the Earth. Tammy had a few questions for me and I explained to her that I'd moved back to Knoxville and wanted to activate a card again. She confirmed that my card was still active after all of these years. The way that we found record of it was the old address that was associated with it, the same address that I call home “again” now. I could not help but think on all of the books and films that would be on the history of that card. Various sharks, monsters, secret agents, and cowboys would make up most of it. I don’t think that Tammy recognized me, but I sure recognized her because she was important to me growing up, a character. She asked if I was looking for anything specifically, and I let her know that I was just going to browse the shelves and see if anything caught my eye.

After searching through the fiction section, I naturally landed on a western. I took the hardback book with several miles on it up to the front to check out, and another character from my past was there: Michael, the other librarian at the branch, had started while I was in high school. He was just getting settled into the job when I left for Middle Tennessee. I recall Michael making several classic film suggestions that were wonderful when I had slipped into a Golden Era film phase. After Michael had checked the book out and handed me the due back receipt he said, “It has been awhile since you have been in.” I was taken aback in the best way; he remembered me. Michael had no way of knowing how out of place I had felt that last week with the move and all. He didn’t know that it had been a bit of an emotional drive back through the old neighborhood on my way to the library. He didn’t know how nice it felt to be recognized inside of a place that you've loved so much over the years.

Michael and I spoke on the passing of time and how long it had been. We briefly talked about things that had happened in life, a quick version of the last eight years. Tammy came up after Michael had made the connection of them knowing me and reintroduced herself. It was like running into two old friends from the past. I’ve seen other people over the last two weeks that I’ve not seen for sometime here in Knoxville: characters. I think we never know what impact, if any, that we have on those around us. I’m thankful for those who have come in and out of my life. They are all characters, and it is big story.

[thecorumtrail]

A Heavy Fog

“The way a man dies is less important than the way he lives.” Paladin (Have Gun Will Travel)

I write to you this time on a mostly sunny day here in Knoxville, TN. My time away from writing for The Corum Trail has been confusing and even frustrating. I have continued to think about the writing and what all I would and would not share with you about what has transpired in the last two months. Some of the things you can’t really share, I guess out of respect for others that are or were involved in your life. I just took the first sip of my Americano here at a local coffee shop and boy it’s good. Best one I have tasted in town thus far. It just so happens that it is the one that is located closest to the bunkhouse. I like naming things, I think that is my kid self still trying to make things cooler and have an imagination about things. Once I made it back from Wyoming to Nashville a lot happened and nothing happened it seems.

I really did not do much reflecting on my time in Wyoming once I got back to Nashville. I would even go as far to say that it really wasn’t talked about with anyone much. I would say that you the reader know more than most of those around me about the whole trip. I am not sure why that is? Seems like everyone is busy. Man oh man, busy is everywhere, although I would argue that we waste more time than we realize. I heard a pastor say the other day that we have an hour to bump around on facebook but can’t find time to pray? It is the first vocal amen I can remember saying in church in my entire life. I guess I was passionate about what the old boy was saying.

I feel like I am more or less writing this entry of the trail to “get off of the couch.” In the down time in between this entry and The Lodgepole Pine, I have put some unnecessary pressure on myself as a writer. I honestly think the bulk of that pressure comes from the content. The Corum Trail was originally an outlet for me to share about things both old and new in The American West and I think during my time in Wyoming it grew into a little more. All of the sudden it carried more weight to me and had more purpose. Now that my time on the High Plains is over for the foreseeable, I am left asking myself the question: “what does the trail look like now?”.

I had made the drive back in the old GMC in order to celebrate Christmas and attempt to get reacclimated briefly after the 40 day trip that was originally going to be two weeks. I have learned this much by the age of 29, life has a way of doing what it wants to do, regardless of what your plans are. I am not sure that realizing this at any age does you any favors as far as your wants and needs go, it’s just the way it is. When I had pulled out of South Dakota that morning around 5am, it was dark as night, hell it was night. So when pulling back into Nashville 13 hours later you begin to ask yourself: did I just drive all that? The starting while dark outside and ending while dark outside really throws you after that much time passes. On top of the travel I had plenty to think about, too much to think about honestly. It was a rare occurrence and none of my three roommates were at the house and all of the lights were out. It really was like entering some type of void. I don’t think I have really come back from that trip yet. No place feels like home at this point.

In one of those final days of the 40, David had come to me and asked if I wanted to play New Years Eve at the saloon there in Buffalo. I did some thinking on it and could not come up with how to make it work logistically and still get home for Christmas. David’s wife Jackie suggested that I just fly back to the Gillette airport from Nashville and that they would foot the bill for the ticket. My next thought was boy howdy. The plan was that I would come back out for a week, play and live at the hotel. This yet again was another moment of me pinching myself and asking: how is this all happening? Beyond it being a really wonderful opportunity, I was excited about packing a small bag and pretending that I was James Bond while bouncing back and forth between Tennessee and Wyoming like a real jet setter.

The actual New Year's soiree was really something. The saloon was at capacity all night. I cannot recall a time when I had seen it so full, not even in the summer time. It was filled with the faces of those that I had gotten to know over the past month plus. I believe my favorite moment was when David and I played “Auld Lang Syne” and all joined in. It was like the scene from “It’s A Wonderful Life.” Earlier in the night, David and I had closed an earlier set with “Purple Rain” - a real acoustic bluegrass version of it - and the folks had really gotten in on that, so we rolled into that again and the dance floor piled up. I thought about a lot of things while strumming those chords to the old Prince tune. I thought about all of the change that had taken place while I was gone. I thought about how different Nashville would look to me post these trips. I thought about what in the hell the next step would be.

I’m still thinking about that next step.

[thecorumtrail]

The Lodgepole Pine

Thanksgiving in a saloon that is in a hotel that was established in 1880? You bet. I woke up on Thanksgiving morning this year in Wyoming. If you would have told me at Thanksgiving last year that this would be the case, I wouldn’t have believed you. I really would not have believed you if you told me that I was going to get to cut a Lodgepole Pine out of the Bighorn Mountains for that 1880s hotel lobby.

Thanksgiving at the saloon felt just as much like home to me as any other Thanksgiving. Of course the spread at The Virginian, which is next door to the Saloon, had all of the traditional “fixins.” There was turkey, ham, green bean casserole, fruit salad, and any kind of bread you would ever want, among other things. I do have to say that what I enjoyed most was the prime rib. Boy was it good! I reckon with most Thanksgivings that I have been a part of over the years, I don’t really think of prime rib as an option - but I am sure glad that it was this year. Jackie, David’s wife, was sweet and concerned that I was having my meal in the saloon and not in the restaurant. I explained to her what a big deal it was to me to sit and have my meal in a saloon that, in 1908, went from its rough barroom to one of the most elegant saloons in Wyoming. As I sat there and had some prime rib along with a cold Rainier, I could not help but think of all the cowboys, sheriffs, desperadoes, and common folks that had passed through there over all of the years. Another great part of sitting on the saloon side was David was doing the bartending all day - in order to let all of his employees off to be with there family and friends. I could go on and on about the multiple acts of kindness that I have seen him do over the years, but I figure that would about half embarrass him and to have someone go on and on about his kindness isn’t why he does it anyways. He just does it the right way.

As I finished up the corner on my third Rainier beer that afternoon and my second plate, David explained to me that he had marked several potential Christmas Trees up in the mountains and asked if I wanted to go up with him the next day and be the one to cut it down. I think David understands the importance of this town to me, so for him to offer up something like that meant the world to me. I humbly accepted. The next morning I woke up with the excitement of Christmas morning exactly a month early. I could not help but think about all of those Black Fridays spent at Target in the electronics department, working and having customers throw digital cameras and Game Boys at me. I couldn’t help but think of all of the people that would come into AT&T and bitch and moan about their cell phone problems when I knew that there were leftovers and family still in town at home. Lastly, I was grateful to not be writing up a ticket for an oil change on the day after a holiday when there are damn near 363 other days to get a oil change. I knew before I took the first sip of hot coffee here in the bunkhouse that morning, that it would be a day that I would never forget.

David picked me up just after I finished my usual breakfast of a few eggs and sausage, and we headed up 16 to enter into the Bighorns. The snow that we had had earlier in the week was still on and it laid so pretty. I asked David about his past experiences coming up into the mountain to cut down their tree, and he explained to me that, a week or so before Thanksgiving, he and his family come up and scout a few out. David explained that some folks over the years see the marked ones and will cut them down for themselves, knowing that someone else has already looked the tree over good. He explained to me how he used to mark the trees, versus how he does it now. He said that he hadn’t had one stolen since developing the new way to mark them. I want share how he goes about it, for fear of other Wyomingites possibly reading along, but trust me: it works. David told about where the trees were that they had marked earlier in the week, but figured we would keep it interesting and do a little looking for one in Crazy Woman Canyon.

Crazy Woman Canyon: unique, right? There are two different stories that I have heard from various sources on how Crazy Woman got its name. One story tells of an Indian woman who was banished from her tribe and was left there alone in the canyon. Over time, in the isolation, she lost her mind. The other story sounds more to me like something the white man came up with due to its content: a family of settlers were passing through the canyon, and a group of Indians scalped the husband in front of the wife. People that knew the family said that the wife lost her mind after the horrifying encounter. Now, are these fact or legend? I will leave that for you to decide.

We drove back into the canyon down some of the smaller hills on the route, but even in the 4-wheel drive, there was still some concern with all of the ice that was under the snow. There were several times that we thought we had found a winner, but upon close inspection it would be two trees that had grown side by side looking at one or another that was just too blame far off the road to cut it down and haul it back to the truck in any capacity. We turned back around, just shy of the first steep hill in the canyon, and struck off for where David had marked the original trees. We made the left turn out of the canyon and continued on, further into the Bighorns.

The place where the trees were marked were just off the shoulder of route 16. The park service will not let you cut trees down that are near the highway or within a certain footage of housing structures. We parked, hopped out of the truck, and made the hike back to the area. While David had marked several trees, I think by the time we had reached them, he knew the one that he was going with. His family had picked out a beautiful Lodgepole Pine that stood right at 16 feet tall. David instructed me on what to do to cut it down properly and how to not get one of us killed in the process. I laid into cutting it with all that I had. I had only cut down a small tree or two in my lifetime, this being the largest to date. With the help of David’s trusty Stihl chainsaw, I was able to get it cut down in just moments. It fell to the Earth that was laden with lush white snow, not knowing the joy that it would bring guest at the hotel and the folks that would gaze at its beauty over the next month.

We loaded the tree up and made our way back down the mountain. My cheeks were starting to hurt from all of the smiling that I had been doing. David and I got it prepped and put up in a stand that he had made out of a five-gallon bucket and some bricks. Never doubt a westerner and their ideas and or solutions. The tree was up and, from there, one of the staff members that decorates the tree most years would take care of the rest. A few days later the hotel would hold its annual Christmas program in the lobby with members from the community, both young and old. Needless to say, I was not going to miss the first chance for the old pine to shine.

I walked into the hotel lobby the night of the program to a packed house. It seemed as if all of the community was gathered there in that room. I was able to slip in behind the counter with one of the employees that I know there at the hotel who waved me over and kindly made room for me. She explained that it was the best view in the place. I made it as far as song two before I was overwhelmed with the joy that was being poured into me. I began to cry heavy tears thinking on a lot of things. I thought about Tennessee and my family. I thought about Eryn and our pup Layla. I thought about the four other guys that I do life with day in and day out there in the middle part of the state. I looked around and saw the peace on the faces of those that I do not know there in the lobby. I know that their stories are all different, all of our stories our. But in that moment, I couldn’t help but look on the beauty of the Lodgepole Pine that David and I had brought down from the mountain, and think about how grateful I was for these days in Wyoming that I have been blessed with.

[thecorumtrail]

Mountain Fresh Since 1878

“I’ll always be a Tennessean, but I’ll die in Wyoming.” Doug Brothers

When I got off of the exit here in Buffalo, Wyoming - over a week ago now - I really had no particular plan. I had felt so stirred up on the inside that I knew I had to get out of town for the foreseeable and go west. As you have learned by now, a huge piece of my heart is constantly nestled at the foot of the Bighorn Mountains. Buffalo, with a population of around 5000, is where that piece of heart lays. A reporter from the Buffalo Bulletin had asked me earlier in the week how I had come to know of the town. I shared with him that, back in 2012, I met Walt Longmire.

At the time, “Longmire” was about to premiere on A&E and while watching the finale of The History Channel’s “Hatfields & McCoys” miniseries, I recall seeing a trailer for it. I remember seeing Walt’s white and maroon Ford Bronco tearing across what was to be the High Plains of Wyoming. I would later find out that the show is filmed in New Mexico, in and around the Santa Fe area - a magical place in its own right. But what I remember most of all was the vastness of the land. I thought on it really hard the other day and tried to remember if I ever had the Wyoming bug before Longmire, and to the Sheriff’s credit, I believe it was solely him. I have since gone on to read all of the Walt Longmire novels (written by Craig Johnson), and enjoyed the show, which can be viewed in its entirety on Netflix. The Sheriff’s beverage of choice in both the novels and the television series is Rainier beer, so over the years upon arrival to town, I always stop in at Crazy Woman Liquors and pick up a twelve pack of cans (the only option). I normally drink it at the saloon here in town too, where you can have it in a glass bottle. Either way, it has always taste “mountain fresh since 1878,” and for me marks my return to The West.

The first day or two was all about settling in. I unpacked a few shirts, hung up my coats, and sat down to write about the 20-hour journey out here. I stopped in at the local IGA for some provisions, and got to talking with Dorthie at the register about some trails up in the Bighorn Mountains that I had not hiked yet, but needed to based on her suggestions. I continue to be amazed at the willingness of this town’s ability to welcome you in. I can honestly say that I have never met a stranger in Johnson County. Over the years of visiting several times, I have made some friends, and am sure to catch up with them whenever I am out.

A long-standing Thursday night tradition here in town is the Occidental Saloon Jam, hosted by David Stewart. David is a successful singer and songwriter with cuts in Nashville that range from Bluegrass to Country. I have gotten to know David over the years and he always welcomes me back with open arms. The last time that I was out, which was around two months ago, I was able to meet some Jam regulars. One of those regulars is a gentleman by the name of Doug Brothers. Doug actually grew up in Tennessee, and my Knoxville folks will recognize the Brothers name from Brothers Bedding, their family-owned business. I always enjoy seeing Doug; it is like visiting with a “good ole boy” from East Tennessee in the Cowboy State of Wyoming. I could go on about multiple folks and their stories. It is interesting only being away for a little over a week and feeling like you know the community that you are visiting more than community back home.

After the Jam on Thursday night, David and I got to catch up and talk about life and new tunes. He let me know that he had just gotten two cuts on Eddy Raven’s new bluegrass record and was going to be out of town Saturday and Sunday. David kindly asked if I would hold the fort down with some music in the saloon the nights that he would be gone. I was happy and honored to oblige. It was what he asked that followed that really caught me off guard. The Travel Channel had a crew coming through to film the town, and more specifically, the Occidental Hotel and Saloon. David said that they were going to be filming in the saloon Saturday morning and would I want to provide the music? I think I almost hopped up on the bar and did a little jig for joy. I humbly accepted.

I woke up Saturday morning and shaved the travel and first few days off of my face. I washed up and put on my best Wrangler snap and tucked my shirt in; I wanted to look presentable. I then hopped in the truck and made the short drive down to Main Street. When I opened the saloon door, you would have thought based on the crowd size that it was 8 pm and not 8 am: the crew had chosen the early call time due to the lighting in the saloon, and The Chamber Of Commerce had done a wonderful job of wrangling up some folks for hot coffee and bloody marys. I made my way up to the stage area and got situated. The director came up and gave me the lowdown on what was going on and how this would play out. The director wanted to know if I was comfortable being perched on the barstool and strumming a couple chords. I let her know that “it’s what I do.” She laughed, I signed the paperwork, and they got to it. It was wonderful to see a small portion of the folks of Buffalo having coffee and catching up with people they hadn’t seen in a week or two. There was nothing but smiles on people’s faces for as far as I could see.

The filming was over in what seemed like seconds. I reckon we must have all acted our part in one take. Maybe the Oscars will add a multiple supporting cast award and we’ll take the prize. I packed my things up and made my way over to the bar for some hot coffee. While standing there I got into a really good conversation with the President of the Chamber Of Commerce about his story, and how he and his wife came to live in Wyoming. He runs one of the only internet radio stations based out of Wyoming, and we got to talking about that and how I had come to know of Buffalo myself. I shared about meeting Walt Longmire some years ago and he mentioned that Craig Johnson (the author) was a buddy of his, and he had hosted him on his radio program several times. I explained to him what a big deal  the town of Buffalo has become over the years to me. Nearing the end of our conversation he told me, “It sounds to me like you need to move out here.” I smiled back and said, “Maybe so.”

I finished my coffee, said my goodbye-for-nows and made my way towards the saloon door. I was stopped by a man who looked to be around my age and asked, “So what’s going on?” I replied that I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. He then laughed, and explained that he was with the local paper, the Buffalo Bulletin. I introduced myself to him and explained that I had just read the last two editions front to back and that I was a fan of the paper. He seemed a little caught off guard by this, but was kind and said thank you. I told him that that was the best way to find out what is going on in a town around you, reading the paper, and that I thought a lot of people had forgotten that over the years. He asked me several questions, and I got to share with him about what the town meant to me, about the friends that I have made here, and what an impact The Sheriff of Absaroka County has had on me (which I explained was how I had come to know about the real county, Johnson County).

This past Wednesday, I made the walk down to the Kum & Go to pick up a gas station coffee and the new edition of the Buffalo Bulletin. Wouldn’t you know - there I was, with my cleanly-shaved face and my best Wrangler snap, tucked in of course. I had made the paper in a town that I think so much of. In the words of Walt Longmire, “boy howdy.”

[thecorumtrail]

The Journey To The High Plains

“Wyoming. It is a small town with long roads.” Fred Voyales

I write to you this week from the High Plains of Wyoming. I think the new-age type folk call it “my happy place,” and I could not agree more. The current view out of my window here at the bunkhouse is one of fresh snow - snow so clean that you would think this is the first time it had ever snowed. I would say the truck has a good 8 inches on it currently. You open up the door and it wants to fall in up to your ankles. Going to go on a little walk here shortly and see what I can see. The newest edition of the town's newspaper came out late yesterday afternoon and I may make the mile or so walk to the Kum & Go to pick one up. I read the newspaper out here more often than I do in my own town. I tend to fall in love with places, as it was so fittingly pointed out to me this week. Since returning from out west about two months ago, and all the changes that have come along with life as of late, I have been unable to shake the feeling that I was supposed to be back out here. So, for the foreseeable, that is exactly what I am going to do.

Sunday morning was when it really took hold of me; I was beginning to have a hard time holding back the urge to leave town (Nashville). It had gone from a subtle emotion and a conversation piece to, “I have got to do something about this in order to move forward in life.” I felt as if I could not get another minute of work done in Nashville, TN unless I made the journey. For the most part I am a fairly practical person. I am a lot like my Dad in many ways, and that is not a bad thing. However, I will tell you that I don’t think Dad would have advised cutting out across the country in an old GMC that has 195,000 plus on it. Maybe that is not a wise move, but I came to the realization that the truck will either get there or it won’t. It made me think of how I approach flying. When I get on a plane, I just come to the realization that this thing either gets to where I am going safe and sound or it doesn’t. With that outlook at least I am not disappointed.

The next roadblock I had to conquer besides travel was lodging. Of course you could always camp, but with what I am currently looking out at I don’t think it would have been ideal. I would say I made the right call in hindsight. I have a couple of places I like to stay while out this way and had one particular place in mind if the cost and availability worked out. I was nervous for some reason to call and inquire about a “deal” or options on staying at this place. I believe this is one reason I would not be a good salesperson; I don’t much like pushing anything on anyone. Not to my surprise, though, George - the owner and proprietor of the Z Bar Motel - was most helpful, and had a room for me. The room even has a full kitchen in it, so I have not missed a plate of eggs yet. I got to know the owner a little more and that made me very happy. He was the same person that I had spoken with and dealt with the few times before. In a place that you love so much, I think it only natural for you to want to know the folks that do day in and day out in that place.

The drive from my doorstep to where I was getting to is roughly 21 hours and 1,466 miles. In my 29 years on this Earth, I have never driven that length of road before. With the help of a friend whose family lives just outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota, I was able to cut the trip into two: the first leg being 13 hours, and the final, 8. So on Monday morning around 6 am, I filled up my Stanley with the hottest and strongest coffee I could make, and I headed out. That first 13 hours was daunting. I know that it is just driving, but you do not realize all of the senses that you are using for such a prolonged period of time. By the time I arrived in South Dakota, I down right had a stench about me. The hot meal and shower that was provided by the Olson family did wonders for me. Needless to say, when my head hit the pillow, that was all she wrote that day.

I woke up Tuesday morning to a beautiful sunrise, and land that laid as pretty as any I have ever seen. I was truly in awe of God’s magnificent work and was reminded that he was and is with me on this journey. I would go as far to say that it was The Lord doing all of that stirring inside of me over the last two months and me making the trip out here is an attempt to listen to him. The 8-hour trip was a little more eventful than those first 13: I made a stop in Wall Drug, which will be a separate post on its own, and a return visit to Devils Tower. I was not going to stop at Devils Tower again, since I had just been there two months prior, but something was telling me to make the return visit. I also wanted to have a cold beer at the Ponderosa Cafe, which is situated by the tower in nearby Hulett, WY. The town of Hulett is only around 556 acres in size, with a population of around 550. I pulled into what is the downtown area of Hulett as the sun was thinking about going to sleep, and had a fine porter beer while I visited with the bartender. The Ponderosa Cafe is home to the only pool table in town. Two other local fellas were having cigarettes, drinking beer, and solving the world's problems like most of us do in the bar rooms. While talking with the bartender, I told him what a special time it was for me the last time I visited the tower, and he suggested that I go up there at night, explaining what a different experience it was. I followed his lead on it and made the short drive over to the park entrance, where there was not a soul or any sign of life around. There is an indescribable reverence that surrounds that area of land. For many Indians it is still a sacred ground, and throughout the area there are prayer ribbons tied around trees. Without knowing, I had also come to pray and give thanks to The Lord for what he has been doing in my life.

There is a trail that circles the tower, and in one particular spot it looks out onto what is called “Cattlemans Heaven.” This was the place where I decided that, when I got back to Tennessee two months ago, that I needed to quit my job and make some changes in my life. I felt like I needed to pursue some things that I had thought on for some time. After parking my car it was practically dark, and I happened to have a flashlight with me. I made the short walk up to the tower via the trail head and thought to myself “great - I have done it and now it is time to go.” I started to turn around and literally could not make the walk back to the car. I felt like I needed to walk out to the exact place where those decisions and peace had come to be the first time. It was a little eerie being up there with no one around, and especially with night coming on. I got over myself and what fear I did have about circling on around to Cattlemans Heaven and did it. I am glad that I did. From that vantage point, I was able to catch the final seconds of the sun setting and can now forever say that I have seen the sunset, and night begin, at Devils Tower.

The words that I continued to hear in that very spot two months ago while praying were “a step in faith, a step in faith.” For me that is what stopping the “9 to 5” structure was about, and beginning to write and play guitar again. That said, I feel as though “a step in faith” is what has brought me back to the High Plains for the foreseeable.

[thecorumtrail]

The Racks At Pellissippi

“Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway.” John Wayne

At different times in my life I have done a better job at living out the words up top. I remember the first time that I saw this quote. I was out on a date and trying out Ted’s Montana grill for the very first time here in Nashville, Tennessee. I had heard about it having a western flair to the interior and the feeling of a nicer saloon from years back on the inside. The quote was high on the wall above me in the booth that I sat in to have my first bison burger. I don’t recall seeing it until the end of the meal after paying our tab. It is probably a good thing that I did not see it until then because it is all I would have talked about the rest of the time. Beating a John Wayne quote to death with a gal you have taken out for dinner is most likely not the best move. I share this with you because words throughout my life have had a real impact on me. In my opinion the words that surround the western genre in all avenues such as film, books, and music are some of the strongest going. I wanted to share with you this time about the first western book I read and how, upon looking back on it, it found me.

I was going to a community college in the western part of Knoxville back in 2008. My welcome was for sure worn out based on the amount of time that I had spent there, if you catch my drift. Now in 2007, I had seen the remake of “3:10 to Yuma,” and that had unearthed something in me. In fact, that year Santa Claus brought me my first pair of boots and I have worn nothing else since. That would also explain the lower back pain throughout the years, but hey - I would not have it any other way. Now in that year of 2008, that is when things really took hold of me. I have mentioned the film, “Appaloosa,” here on the trail before, which came out almost exactly a year later. I don’t recall what western films were consumed from the film in 2007 to the film in 2008, but I recall most from Appaloosa on. I feel so passionately about that film, and those characters that were created by Robert B. Parker, that I could literally write a post around that whole experience that September every week now.

After Appaloosa, all I wanted to do was study the west and aggravate my history teachers for book suggestions so I could grow my knowledge of the land west of the Mississippi. I had gotten out of my first class on a cool Autumn morning there at the college and had a short break in between classes. Those days I was getting over to the library to read and research as often as I could, even if it was just for a few minutes. I had walked into the information area on the first floor to ask about a location of a book on the state of Montana, when I happened to look to my left while standing at the counter. I noticed a set of spindle racks like you would see with those romance novels on them at the drugstore tucked away in the corner of the room. To my surprise, I saw plenty of those boobie novels but also thought in the wildness of all of that, saw a cowboy on a book. Leave it to a cowboy to be smack in the middle of all those women.

I thanked the lady at the counter who I had gotten to know over my many visits as of late, and moseyed on over to the racks (pun intended). There, for the first time, I laid hands on a Ralph Compton novel. The novel was entitled, “Shadow Of The Gun.” Now this one in particular was written after Compton had passed, and Penguin Publishing had continued writing the novels with ghostwriters due to the series’ success. Joseph A. West happened to be the writer on this particular one, and I have read every one that he has put out since. I sat down in a somewhat soft royal blue chair on that morning, and that was it for classes that day. I had entered class in my opinion, the class that is the Great American West. My imagination absolutely ran wild. For me this little old book - there on the racks filled with boobie novels, Japanese Anime, and the latest paperbacks from King and Grisham - is an integral part of my whole beginning and love for the West and the Western. I've never been quite the same after that day. Boy howdy.

[thecorumtrail]

The Percolator

“Lord, I reckon I’m not much just by myself, I fail to do a lot of things I ought to do. But Lord, when trails are steep and passes high, help me ride it straight the whole way through.” Roy Rogers

I have lived inside the telephone too much this week. I noticed it about Thursday night. The week seemed a little too far gone at that point, but I had to sit the blame thing down. I had been keeping up with a couple of potential record releases from some of my favorite artists, and watching for several news articles I'd anticipated. While I am not on Facebook anymore, and have not been for multiple years now (I have not missed it for one second), something I do enjoy is Instagram: it’s a great tool for getting the word out on the trail and sharing things in a really clean and streamlined way. I like clean and streamlined. Anytime I clean the house, I always refer to it as being “CIA-ready” or “that James Bond room.” There are scenes in some Jason Statham movies where he has readymade tactical kits with basic needs: passport, computer, provisions, and of course the occasional pistol. I really appreciate the efficiency of that concept: planning ahead and being as ready and “on the go” as you can possibly be. With Instagram and Twitter, though, sometimes I get on the refresh kick or the “pull down effect” (the motion you make with your thumb to refresh for new updates). What am I waiting on or hope that I see? Somebody else getting work done or having fun, while I sit and make some unnatural gesture with my thumb to refresh a smartphone screen? Come on Taylor, you can do better than that. Now the unnatural thumb gesture does have its place, but not when it takes up too many minutes from the gift of a day.

As I'm writing this, it is Friday morning and I was up before 8. That looks a whole lot later than 5:30am, which was the drill for about a year - and I had easily settled into that. It’s funny what the mind and body can do when a compelling thought or action comes to roost. I am sure our high school selves would laugh at the thought of willingly seeing 5 in the morning. As I get older, I love the morning more and more. I love the outdoors more and more, too. Those times are when I am the clearest and most present with myself. I believe that I get more thinking done in the early hour. Hence the fact that I am writing this, early: I don't have all of the distractions that come with the day.

I had a good friend years back that I learned mornings from; he really had the rhythm of it all down. I was renting a house in Rosebank, at the hard corner of the street, living with three other guys. All three of us were very different individuals; we were all heading in different directions, and just needed a place to roll out our bedrolls and whip up some chow from time to time. The places that I have rented while in Nashville, and even a place where I lived in Knoxville (other than Mom and Dad’s), have been just that: room and board. I love the simplicity of that. There isn't really room for a bunch of shit that you don't need anyway. Now Skyfall Junior, 6040, Bob’s Knob, or Miss Shirley’s is a whole other story that we will save for another day. (6040 is the place that I lived during 2014 and the year that I call, well - like I said - some other time.)

Now while at the house on the hard corner, I learned about mornings from my friend Parke. I don't necessarily remember the exact order of things, but most mornings consisted of water, coffee, a run, calming music, a killer breakfast sandwich and time spent with The Lord. I remember being jealous of Parke’s discipline and love for the morning. It seemed so clean and streamlined. Do you see a theme here? He made space for the morning. He took time for a glass of water and several cups of hot coffee. He made space to study and to listen. Observing Parke over those months and how he carried himself in the early hours of the day have impacted me from then on. Side note: he always made coffee in a percolator. I always thought that this was just another part of the rhythm of the morning for him. It might be time to finally pick up a percolator and give it a go that way.

[thecorumtrail]

Coffee, Sitting, and Conversation

“She might have knocked, but I didn't hear it because I was watching the geese. I watch the geese a lot in the fall, when the days get shorter and the ice traces the rocky edges of Clear Creek.” - Walt Longmire, The Cold Dish by Craig Johnson I have stared at Clear Creek in downtown Buffalo, Wyoming a great deal in the time that I have spent there. When I say “downtown,” do not mentally run to the skyline of New York or Chicago. Don’t let your mind think of the “Batman Building,” which barely reigns over ever-growing downtown Nashville. Maybe let your mind run to Gay Street. in Knoxville, Tennessee, to that newly, yet-again-lit Tennessee Theater sign. Okay, now come back from even that; I personally just wanted to think of her in all her bright and beautiful glory myself. Downtown Buffalo, Wyoming is a Main Street consisting of several blocks. On Main Street you will find a hotel, several restaurants, a few business, and the Kum & Go, which is a gasoline and provisions establishment. I do have to confess that I have had several of their frozen burritos at a late hour after too many Rainier beers. Not to worry, I was not driving, but on foot; the livery stable happened to be fresh out of horses. I am clearly kidding about the horses, but with a population of around 5000 last time I checked, the old west still very much lives in this town. Of course folks aren’t throwing their spittoons and bathroom bowls into the streets. They're not looking for the closest brothel for a “poke.” Nor can I say that I have witnessed an OK Corral gunfight in the streets of Buffalo. What I have experienced is a feeling that I have been unable to duplicate anywhere else in my travels: a feeling that just sits down on my shoulders while I'm in this town that is nestled at the foot of The Bighorn Mountains. For a short spell in my travels, it's like I am back in time. Time truly moves slower for me while out on the High Plains. There is a quiet that is deafening and peaceful that lays heavy across the golds, greens, and blues of all that surrounds you. I have had the conversation now several times with multiple folks about whether or not one can view a place the same way if you are not on vacation, but rather living in that place year-round. As if pertains to Buffalo, Wyoming, it's an easy answer: it does indeed feel the same. I know this because of guys like Larry, with whom I sat and had coffee with on a cool and rainy morning at The Busy Bee. I was on my way out the door to head back to the hotel to collect my things when I heard my name spoken aloud. Considering the only other person that I knew in the establishment was in front of me, I was caught off guard. I turned around and the guy said “you're the fella that played in the saloon last night.” The night before, I had participated in a long-standing tradition: the Thursday night Jam at The Occidental Saloon. The gentleman had a big smile on his face and a hot cup of coffee in his hand. He was dressed in a long-sleeved red Wrangler snap shirt and light blue jeans. He had a pair of cowboy boots on that looked like they had some miles on them, but had been taken good care of over the years. My immediate thought was “boy, if those boots could talk.” Larry introduced himself and pulled out a chair, grabbed a freshly cleaned coffee mug and poured me some. I'll not soon forget his words immediately following: “Why don’t you have a seat? Rainy and cold mornings are for coffee, sitting, and conversation.” I asked Larry about his story and he asked me about mine. We learned about each other. He had been raised up in a town just south of Buffalo and had been in Wyoming the bulk of his life. In the South, we often think we've got the market cornered on hospitality, but most haven't experienced “Western Hospitality.” There is a timeless quality to the interactions that occur out there. Each time that I get on Interstate 25 to head back toward Denver for the plane ride back to Tennessee, I have gained something. Sometimes it is a new story, a new friend, or maybe even just a few extra pounds from the steak at The Winchester or all the “Vitamin R” (Rainier Beer). May I always measure my gains by things other than money. Boy howdy. Best, Taylor

[thecorumtrail]

Something Worth A Damn

“It’s wanting that gets so many folk in trouble.”

- John Marston (Red Dead Redemption)

I write to you this morning from my favorite place to stop and get some “trail drive” other than from my own coffee pot (what I call coffee for short sometimes). The stop in is a place called Dose which is located in Riverside Village here in the middle part of the state. I like the village more and more each day: it has a place where you can buy a sandwich, some provisions, possibly emergency wiping paper, and even a gas station run by the Indians (dot, not feather). They have a little bit of everything. I also enjoy it because it is walking distance from the bunkhouse, so on any given day I can put the hat and boots on and stroll down the street as if it was Crossroad St. and Dust Ave. You know, dust off the old imagination as best I can for 29 years of age.

I have recently thought more and more about imagination. My guy and gal friends for the most part all have at least one child running around, and that calls for more and more imagination as they get older and get a better grasp on their surroundings. One thing that really encourages me other than them having great parents, is those childrens’ love for the outdoors. I hope that they never lose that. I used a lot of imagination growing up, but I also played a lot of Nintendo 64. Course I do not feel like I missed out on anything with the great indoors, and really had fun playing 007 all those Friday nights and Saturday mornings. I have probably eaten so much pizza over the years that surely I am a certified Ninja Turtle.

I ran into a friend the other day while out on my run/walk, and after talking to her for a second she asked about what The Corum Trail was. After a Seinfeld-type pitch - trying to explain what it is - I landed on a feeling of what I want to try and provoke while reading or listening to the Trail: I would love for it to feel like riding the bus downtown to the theater and turning over that dime to watch Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, and early John Wayne films on a crisp and cool Saturday morning. I think I assume that, during that time, there was an innocence that existed. Maybe there was no such thing as that innocence? I am sure folks had worries and troubles just like today, but I would like to think it was a little less connected. More intentional. Maybe a time where folks looked each other in the eyes and listened instead of thinking about what they had to do next.

I often ask myself the question: do I believe the best days are behind me or in front of me? The question of whether our best days as an American society have gotten past us, or whether we are on the slow train headed for that bridge that the bandits happened to dynamite. I am not sure what I would tell you, in fact I am not sure those two questions are even worth answering. I can tell you that I hope to continue on “The Cowboy Way” in my own life. What is that, The Cowboy Way? For me it is someone you can count on. It is someone who does what they say they are going to do. Someone who is upstanding and good. It is someone who gives a damn everyday. The Lord only gives us so many days. I hope that I am doing something worth a damn.

Taylor

[thecorumtrail]

Which Horse? Part 2

"Well son the way it's been said to me, everybody in this life looks for something and everybody looks in a different place." Lucas McCain / Season 2 Episode 1 from The Rifleman The reason that I quoted from Appaloosa last week is because so much of that film and book have influenced me. The part that I wanted to share to round out "Which horse" is when Everett Hitch is talking about soldiering didn't leave him much room for "expansion of the soul". I never took that like he was pushing against the establishment or anything like that, I just think that his time was up with it all and he had to get. Did Everett know where he was going? I reckon not. The thing is if Everett wouldn't have made the move he would have never met Virgil Cole and that in return ended up being a large part of his life. I think the character would go as far as to say a really good time in his life. I thought about Everett a lot in those final days of leaving a conventional job to pursue music and spend more time out on the trail. I felt like I had "hung in there" long enough and needed to shake things up. Kind of like the town had run out of all of its resources and in order to have fresh water I needed to move along. I'm not really built for risk and or some kind of radical move but I had a peace about leaving that job a little over a month ago. I had spent time out in Wyoming with a good friend of mine and had used it to unpack how I was feeling about the whole thing, about taking some chances. I prayed some and tried to listen more. It all became clear to me while sitting on the side of Devils Tower. The view looked out on to several working ranches and all of the colors were uncountable. I do not recall many times in my life that I have felt such peace. I would like to feel that peace more often. I don't think I believe that we are built for that either, the whole peace more often thing. I think we have got to do the best with what we've got going. There are struggles in all walks of life. I type to you from my room here at The Bunkhouse this morning with the window open and a cool breeze blowing in. I want to leave you with something positive and or uplifting. Seems like life has enough negative notes. I'll say this, a great deal of life boils down to perspective. I can choose to look at things in a lonely light or be encouraged by all that is actually going on while knowing that I'm just passing through. We are all just passing through. Boy howdy. Taylor

[thecorumtrail]

Which Horse? Part 1

“It was a long time ago, now, and there were many gunfights to follow, but I remember as well, perhaps, as I remember anything the first time I saw Virgil Cole shoot.” Appaloosa by Robert B. Parker (2005)

Much time has passed us on the trail since circling up around the fire or stretching out in the bunkhouse and visiting. It looks like based on the last edition that it was the Summer of 2013. I am sorry that I have been away so long. I hope that you are well and that your coffee is hot this morning. I make coffee most mornings. I have kind of prided myself on being a red tub, black top or blue tub, gold top kind of guy. That would be Folgers in the red and Maxwell House in the blue.

“Which horse are you going to ride?” This is what one of my songwriting teachers ask me one time when I was seeking a little guidance on a tune that I was writing. What the teacher did not know is what a love I had for the western and all that goes along with that. It immediately spoke to me. I in return asked him what he meant by this? He responded by explaining the scenario. “It is like if you were in a saloon and something happened...” I immediately asked if I was a “bad guy” in this story.? He smiled and said, “no you can be a good guy....so something happens and you have got to go. You come out of the saloon and there they are, many many horses. You can not ride them all. You have to pick one and go. Ride. Just ride.”

I have thought about that many times recently. You've got to pick one and ride it. I think what I have been doing for years now is not picking a horse. I think it takes time to pick which one you are going to hop on. Obviously my teacher due to my specific situation did not flesh out anymore of that story so I have added on to it as I have put miles behind me over the years. I reckon sometimes we just have to go with the best we got and make a decision right away. Other times we get to sleep on it or run it by others on what we should do.

I have worked a job most days in my life since the age of 15. I recall shuffling into Target on Broadway in Knoxville, Tennessee and applying out of a desire to impress a girl by having a job. Seems like there is always a girl. About a month ago I stopped working my conventional job to pursue some dreams. One of those dreams being my guitar playing and songwriting. I have written more songs in the last month than when I moved here around 8 years ago. That has been a huge eye opener and shows me how the two different jobs that I have had while in Nashville were killing every creative thing I had. The second dream is this. The trail.

Best,

Taylor

[thecorumtrail]

AMC Cowboys: July 27th Edition

Every Saturday AMC Television saddles up and takes us back to the days of the Old West.

Welcome to the first edition of AMC Cowboys spotlight. Each Friday I will be posting the AMC Cowboys line up for that weeks Saturday. That way you never miss a good western. You can set those DVRs up while you mow the yard or hit the couch for a classic Saturday morning. The two shows that are consistently featured each and every Saturday morning are The Rifleman and Rawhide. These were two black and white televisions show that were popular in the golden era of TV Westerns. Been watching The Rifleman for about a year now. I can not think of an episode or time spent with Lucas and Mark McCain that I have not enjoyed. Lucas and Mark (father and son) are the two main characters from the show. Thoughts on The Rifleman to follow at a later date. Rawhide is actually an hour long western drama that features a young Clint Eastwood as Rowdy Yates. I have only been watching Rawhide for several months. I enjoy it, but it is a bit more cinematic, meaning that it is more of a slow burn in my opinion. The writing on both shows back in the day was fantastic in my opinion. We aren't in such a bad time of television writing right now if you ask me. With shows like Longmire and Justified, the West will always live on. The West will live on regardless.

This week three Clint Eastwood films are being shown...

Joe Kidd (1972)

Two Mules for Sister Sara (1970)

High Plains Drifter (1973)

To be honest I have only viewed one of these three films. I like that AMC is featuring two lesser known Eastwood films in my opinion. I will indeed be recording the first two. Seen High Plains Drifter and really enjoy it. Now if you are new to the genre, this one is a bit more far out. My Dad never could get into some of the more psychological westerns. I say ride the thing at least once!

Til next time on the trail...

Best,

Taylor

[thecorumtrail]

The Trail Head

When I was a kid I never liked Westerns. The whole Cowboys and Indians thing never sparked my imagination. I suppose I was playing with anything Batman, Michelangelo Ninja Turtle stuff, or my Alan Grant figure from Jurassic Park. To this day I still think the Grant figure was one of the coolest ever.

Dad would watch Westerns on TV from time to time. He was never one to sit hours on end in front of the Television. Normally if he was watching TV he was catching a college or pro football game. Every once and a while I would catch him watching some John Wayne film. I can clearly remember scenes from the 1949 film "She Wore A Yellow Ribbon". I do not remember why I sat through that one some Sunday afternoon tucked away in the past now, but I remember that it seemed to last forever.

I did not come to know the Western film genre until the 2007 remake of "3:10 To Yuma" starring Russell Crowe, Christian Bale, and directed by James Mangold. Funny side note, the only reason that I was attracted to the film was due to Bale via his work as The Dark Knight. I can remember sitting in the theater waiting to see something with Emily and hearing the thundering hooves of the horses and the western scenery featured in the 2 minute plus trailer.

3:10 To Yuma Trailer (2007) http://youtu.be/AdAYLVY0KrY

3:10 To Yuma is nowhere near my favorite Western of all time, but it is responsible for planting the seed. It was not until October of the following year that that seed broke through the soil and began to grow. I clearly remember leaving my college classes for the day after attending English that cool Fall morning with Professor Eddie Francisco. I had spoke with Eddie sometime in the semester about some Western reads, fact or fiction, that he would suggest. To this day I have not completed all of the wonderful titles on that list. Thanks Eddie, it is a fine list thus far.

That film that I skipped class to see was "Appaloosa". I was never the same after spending time that crisp, clean Autumn day with Virgil Cole and Everett Hitch...

Until next time on The Trail,

Taylor