Pickin' and not so Grinnin'.

Whether you were in Linton, or back in the hollow, you were never far away from music. Back in Brush Creek Hollow where the sawmill is, Bud plunks out a few lonely tunes in his shack to a small audience. That would be me. Maybe he was singing, 'The Locket'. "I've got your little locket in my pocket. I've got the lock of hair you gave me in my hand. Sittin' here reading old love letters. Why you ever left me, I'll never understand...." It was nice to sit around there, back in the woods. There are lots more stars in the sky, when you don't have the curse of city lights hanging over you. Bud died some years back, as have some others.

Bud and Al take a break from the Linton workaday, and croon a few tunes. Wild in my Soul, perhaps? A song about needing to wander to where the four winds blow. Or, maybe it was Honky Tonk Haze, about a guy drinking off the fact his woman left him.

Sometimes, the Dollar girls would come up from Alabama, and croon some tunes for us. Those were really sweet times

These gals could harmonize in a Southern sort of way that would make any heart melt!

Mark O' Conner, noted fiddle player, shows up to pick up a little table Monroe built for him.

Brother Floyd pulls in from Arkansas, and plays a few with Brother Al. Big Red, our flatbed truck, became the stage. They were singing one of Floyd's tunes. "Lover, With No One To Love'. And, no. It is not available on ITunes. Or, anywhere. A lost song. "All alone in the night, with memories she dreams of, she's a lover with no one to love...."

Sam picks one back in the woods by the sawmill. A sad song he wrote about a guy named Jim. Jim was a guy living in a tree house on the edge of Linton. As the story goes, he broke his neck while trying to climb into his tree house one night. And, he died. "Jim had a way of getting too high. Getting too high, brought him down. He fell like a leaf to the ground. I wish that Jim was still around...."

A couple of traveling minstrels who stopped in to entertain us for a few days. We built a camper on the back of their truck while they were there. Then, they headed off for parts unknown.

Sam J. picks one in the workshop and keeps everyone happily at work.

"T-Bone" croons one for Kathy, an amazing photographer, who hopefully will send me some of her shots of this period of time, so I can add them to this site. Aside from her and I, I don't think there are any documents of this time and place. So, it comes down to how history is remembered. Or, whether it is remembered at all.

Kath plunks out a little tune while artist, Tony G, lends an ear.