The Blood Moon Visitor

Cat's Cradle Back Room before the music fest kickoff show on Saturday, September 26.

From the west came the rain: slow drizzles interspersed with fervent downpours. Endless, blank grey sky wrapped around me, and the cool air whispered of fall's chill. The whole scene made me long for Ohio.

But, it wasn't just the damp and cold that came east last weekend. In a fiery red chariot (an old red jalopy) came two artist. One, Wes, clearly a musician, had grey eyes as still as a mountain lake. The other - clearly a writer, a vagabond, a Japhy if ever one existed - came from a real mountain lake (that is, Lake Placid). He, Gabe, big as bear, gentle as cub (mostly), drank his coffee with a shot of whiskey, and ate his pancakes - I speculated - like a true northerner: stacked five high, cut with butter, and drenched in pure, Ohio maple syrup. Gabe came into town on a whim, following Wes who was kicking off the Carrboro Music Fest. I have been watching Gabe's travels all summer hoping he might stop for visit: a bearded man on a motorbike, Evelyn, laid up in the New York mountains, then washed down south through Athens, Cincinnati, to Asheville - a brief respite before going home to Georgia (yes, he's actually from the south) to write like a mad man. Then, onward to the Low Country to live with the Gullah. With the rush of spring, he'll be gone west.

But, in that moment, he was with us, Susan, Benji, and I, eating sourdough cakes and listening to old time records, and we speculated on the existence (or, lack) of freewill. If human action is the result of a brain state, and physical equations can predict the movement and state of particles, then there is an equation out there that can predict all of my actions (given a proper reckoning of this system's initial state and trajectory), within some measure of error. We chewed that for a while, then went for an 11 mile run. Afterwards, we zipped uptown for a few beers and trip to the record store (finally got a Louis Armstrong album) before Wes' sound check and show. I was feeling reserved, Susan was feeling wild, and Gabe was soaking it all up - like those pancakes soaking up the sweet syrup.

On the way home that night, I made a pledge to myself to try and get Gabe drunk! We cracked open a few bottles of homebrew: cherry cider, Magnolia wine, and some beer. Late into the night, we played music and were generally raucous. I drank till I was sick and regretted it all the next day. On the plus side, however, we got a few good videos out of the night.

And, the next day, Gabe was gone - back in that red car - with his hiking pack full of freshly laundered clothes. Safe travels, my friend, and visit again soon!