Goin' Driftless

The view from our campsite (almost).

Last weekend I took a trip to the Northeastern edge of Iowa to go camping with my longtime friend Chris Hahn. Our camping adventure brought us to Pike's Peak State Park on the bluffs overlooking the Mississippi River. While not the Pike's Peak of Colorado fame, it turns out that this area was surveyed in the early 1800s by the very same Captain Pike for which the more famous mountain is named. Here the Wisconsin River flows into the Mississippi and creates an impressive valley and river bottom filled with winding wetlands and river channels as far as the eye can see. As Chris said, "I was never not amazed."

Every time I come to this part of the country I am struck by it's beauty. Awhile back I wrote about living in this area for a year during the 2003-04 school year when I was teaching at Caledonia Area High School. That year of my life left an indelible impression on my soul. It was a year of profound loneliness and isolation - just me and two cats in my three bedroom house in Spring Grove - when I would literally drive 45 minutes to La Crosse just to donate plasma so I could get out of town for the evening. What strikes me most is how the terrain, so rugged, so beautiful, untouched by the glaciers 10,000 years ago (thus "driftless"), seems at times like it is ready to swallow me up. There are so many hills and streams, so many corners of the earth, that at times I feel as though I may be on the verge of disappearing forever or discovering something new. The winding roads seem endless and the feeling of immensity is almost overwhelming.

During this year of my life I became familiar with Iowa native and folksinger/songwriter Greg Brown. His music became a soundtrack to my travels over the hills and ridge-tops and through the river valleys throughout that year. With each passing mile I listen to his poetic brilliance telling tales of woe and sorrow, happiness and humanity, humor and compassion. Some of his most profound music reflects a sense of history, melancholy, and connection to the driftless area. His voice is low, grumbling, boomy, and has an earthy quality that itself is very reflective of the terrain - almost like distant thunder rumbling over the coulees to the west, gradually spreading across the river valleys in the distance. It is unrefined, raw, and out of tune, but at the same time immensely soulful, human, and beautiful. I can almost hear the sunset in his voice.

Here are a few of my favorite tracks - essential for me every time I travel through the driftless area:

I like this first choice, because it is so poetically brilliant. Also the image of existing in the "Going, Going, Gone" really reflects the way I feel when I travel in the driftless area. It also brings me back to those lonely winter evenings early in 2003.
Here in the Going, Going, Gone

This is true melancholy:
Sleeper

An artist looks back at his life - covered by another great folk artist:
Ani Difranco covers The Poet Game

And because it's not all melancholy:
Canned Goods (Live)

It's beautiful storytelling and as I get older these tales resonate with me more and more.