LAST NIGHT I ventured out from the Estate to attend a private gathering to which I had received an invitation.  Although I do enjoy my solitude, I can not deny that I am a social creature.  The encroaching elements of these long winter months have forced me in-of-doors, stifling my senses as I can only gaze upon nature through a pane.  My garden seems a lifetime away from this position in my study.  The rain and sleet has beaten it down into the soil where although I know the spirit of corn, tomatoes, and beans are still lurking; they are taking refuge like my-self.  It is this very self which I have found increasingly in want of human contact so I accepted the gracious invitation and made the short trip to a nearby estate to see a performance by Mrs. Abigail Washburn.

It turned out to be the very night of relating for which I was in need.  There were many pleasantly familiar faces, some of which I had not gazed upon since before the solstice.  I also made the introduction of many new personages including a few enchanting young ladies, which was especially delightful!  Among these introductions was the lovely Mrs. Washburn herself.  If you are not familiar, Abigail is an astute songwriter and banjo player of the old-time tradition, known for her musical pilgrimages to China and her collaborations with (and marriage to) famed banjo virtuoso Bela’ Fleck.  She was a most pleasant and engaging creature, with what seemed like an inexhaustible abundance of life-energy!  She possessed a singular charisma, which when she began to perform, equated to a complete command of the audience’s attention.  She shared the stage with an acquaintance of mine named Mr. Kai Welch as they have recently been collaborating.  The show was engaging – playful and energetic but with a mischievous undertone.  I am no music critic so I will not attempt to elaborate, but will only say that I was thoroughly entertained and impressed.

Following another round of socializing, I said my good-bye’s, bundled up and stepped out into a drizzly night where my valet Ulysses had the car in wait.  I was filled with a new warmth which I carried with me through the gates to the Old Manse.  I slept soundly with the celestial sound of a banjo plucking a Washington Phillips song in repetition…

”What are they doing in Heaven today”?…. ♫

Mr. H.