Oh Canada!

Lake Ontario has been receiving water from Erie for a very long time, probably since the time when those Great Lake basins were carved out by glaciers in earth’s ice ago. Gordon’s Lightfoot’s legendary song about the building of the Canadian railway explains the flow of cold water. . .“Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings in the ruins of her ice water mansion. Old Michigan steams like a young man’s dreams; the islands and bays are for sportsmen. Farther below, Lake Ontario takes in what Lake Erie can send her.” Farther above, eastward, the St. Lawrence River takes in what the Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf of St. Lawrence can send to the city of Montreal. Gordon Lightfoot explains the building of the Great Canadian Railway, in mid-1800’s, beginning on the east end:“Up the St. Lawrence all the way to Gasp’e, swinging our hammers and drawing our pay, bringing the good to a young growing land, into the seaports and into the strand.” The St. Lawrence River terminates near Montreal. Here’s where my story begins. In 1968, I attended an international convention of Key Clubs International, a service organization of high school young men. The convention was hosted at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel in Montreal. I was fascinated by Canada. In the summer of 1971, when I was selling dictionaries door-to-door in southern Ohio, our LSU sales crew took a Saturday break to drive up to Columbus and catch a move. In the movie, “The Strawberry Statement”, the sound track included a song, “Helpless”. It’s funny how the mind captures memories in a random way. One of my most vivid memories was a scene picturing a night sky, with the sound track presenting Neil Young’s high tenor voice: “There is a town in north Ontario; all my changes were there. . . big birds flying across the sky, throwing shadows on our eyes, leaving us helpless, helpless. . . At that time, “helpless” is a word that could be applied to our collective efforts to dodge the draft and not have to go fight in Vietnam. Recently, I learned that the “helpless” may have applied to Neil Young’s bout with polio when he was a child. At the end of 1971, I traveled to Colorado and worked in a restaurant near Lake Eldora.A musical trio was providing entertainment. Their songstress, Casey, sang Joni Mitchell’s song, “River.” “It’s coming on Christmas; they’re cuttin’ down trees, puttin’ up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace. Oh, I wish I had a river. . . I could skate away on.” Later, it must have been the summer of ’72 . . . someone handed Joni Mitchell’s “Blue” album to me. It included that song about the River; also on the album was the song “Carey”, which was neither here nor there, but kind of interesting to me who had been fascinated by the idea of skating on frozen river and also Joni’s affair with some fellow whose name was the same as mine. But that’s neither here nor there. What I’m seeing now is that there was something special about Canadian song writers. . . Gordon, Neil, Joni. But hey! What about Leonard Cohen? Another vivid memory from those college days. . . I had watched a documentary movie about Richard Nixon. Walking out of the theater, a friend of mine, Maureen, told me: “don’t do anything rash!” Well, ok. A few minutes latter, she said something about Leonard Cohen. Now Maureen was from New York City, and she knew a lot about people up north. I remember she said that Leonard Cohen is “down!” . . . like, he’ll bring you down, not like all the fluff that was coming out of Haight Ashbury at that time. Meanwhile back at the homestead in 2026, remembering all these Canadians who had such an impact on my life, even before I had made my two record albums many years later. . . Joni’s song, A Case of You includes this line: “On the back of a cartoon coaster, in a blue TV screen light, I drew a map of Canada. Oh Canada! with your face sketched on it twice.”

One You Tube video that I saw today identified Leonard as the man she had been referring to in the song. But we’ll never know for sure.

Now Leonard is gone. Goodbye, Leonard. I hope you made it to heaven so that you could say, “even though it all went wrong, I stand before the Lord of song with nothing on my tongue but “Hallelujah!” As for those Canadian songwriters, I greatly appreciate them. And I found all the Canadians that I ever met to be very good people. . . which is why it makes no sense to me that the oval office occupant wants to steal Lake Ontario away from Mark Carney and the peaceful Canadians. King of Soul

The Hebrew Strain

Ever since the adopted son of an Egyptian pharoah noticed the mistreatment of his relatives. . . ever since Moses took a stand against pharoah’s enslavement of his relatives. . . ever since he rounded up the Hebrews and led them out of Egypt, declaring to pharoah, “let my people go!” Ever since the Jews descended into the desert, found themselves disorganized and in dire straits, provoking Moses to climb up on the mountain, not knowing what would happen next. Ever since Moses came down from the mountain with the Ten Commandments,

and ever since Moses decided to document those events, along with the earlier events. . . going all the way back to the moment when YWHW moved upon the waters and created the world. . . ever since all that happened and Moses wrote the history, going all the way back to the era before Moses, when YWHW called Abraham from Ur and directed him to a westward place. . . ever since that time, the literate world has been a recipient of that ancient Hebrew strain of stories. Ever since one Hebrew, Jesus Christ was nailed to a cross, setting the stage for resurrection and the assurance of life after death for every person who believes it. . . ever since all those ancient days faded into the past, the documentation of all those amazing events has spread throughout the world like wildfire. When the great majority of western people turned to Christ for guidance, salvation and eternal Life, the Hebrew strain has continued, both branches: the Hebrew strain and the Christian strain. As European empires prospered and expanded over two thousand years, the Hebrew strain continued to prosper, through the ghettos of Europe, through shtetels of the Ukraine and the cities of Europe, stroking out an ancient klesmerish tune while maintaining a delicate balance on the roof of the civilization.

In the midst of a Christianizing European continent, the Jews managed to live and prosper on the sidelines, with their synagogues and temples. Being ignored, or even rejected in the channels of gentile power and authority, they cultivated thrift, developing a talent for handling money and other assets, and a reputation for cunning in the markets of Europe. And so the Hebrew strain prospered and grew, like grape vines bearing fruit from age to age. Jews were known for their prosperity, thriftiness and their tight communities in which they loved and helped each other to an extent that enabled them to overcome the prejudice of gentiles. After the terrible crucible of war—1914-1918—a German magamaniac rounded up a band of nazi thugs an attempted to extinguish the Jews from the earth. But hitler’s demented, demonic project ended in 1945 when the Allied armies put a stop to his murderous third reich holocaust in 1945. After that Allied victory, the Jews who had survived and/or escaped the holocaust continued to prolong the Hebrew strain, with mothers and fathers having children, just like Moses and Sarah in ancient times. A bold cadre of the Jews took it upon themselves to get back to their ancient homeland, thereby establishing the nation of Israel, in 1948. And so we see that the Hebrew strain goes on and on, as it has ever since Moses started documenting it. And so we see that the Hebrew strain goes on and on, as they continue to pray.

Glass half-Full

Deep South

Growing up in the deep south cultivates a memory torn between tragedy and liberty.Nine decades after Lincoln’s Emancipation, Justice demanded a Supreme Court decision to open the gates of public education for four children in Little Rock. Racist whackos were still hiding in the hedges, waiting for Medgar Evers to get out of a car in his own driveway across the street. . . so they could shoot him dead. Years later, when Martin Luther King Jr. addressed a church gathering, on a fateful night in Memphis, he told them that he had received a phone call, from “an ugly voice”, It was a warning. But Martin was a brave American; he understood his rights as a citizen of these United States. The next day, a racist gunman shot him dead. Martin was only following the example of his ancient predecessor, Moses, when he said: “I’ve been to the mountaintop; and I’ve seen the promised land. . . I may not get there with you.” The next day, a racist gunman shot him dead. After that, after the Freedom Riders. . . after federal marshals enforcing admittance for black students, an alert Canadian, Neil Young, recorded a song, “Southern Man”, with an admonition: “Southern man, don’t forget what your Good Book says!” Not too long after that, a rock group from Alabama wrote a song with this line: “I hope Neil Young will remember, southern man don’t need him around anyhow.” Not to worry, Neil. . . there’s a bright spot shining from east Tennessee. Heaven had birthed a songbird maiden in the hills of east Tennessee, to brighten the dark deep south. . . to gently guide southerners toward a tolerant, gospelistic renovation of their obsolete redneck racism. The saving grace of southern culture on the skids emerged from a river valley in East Tennessee, when a princess was born. Dolly went over to Nashville and initiated a regal recovery of southern decency. Her bold, melodic voice inspired folks to get out of their ruts, out of their riots, rise and shine, and redirect their attention to the mellow tranquility of the deep south. . . relax in a rocker. . . the songbird from Sevierville sang: Sittin’ on the front porch on a summer afternoon. . . june bugs, fireflies in the cooling evening. . . in her Tennessee Mountain Home.

Dolly rescued the ole South, redirecting our attention to the finer things in life. Dolly lit up the grand ole opry and the southern airwaves like a cool mountain breeze, with rocollections of sitting in a rocker on the front porch on a summer afternoon. . . then in the fall, puttin’ on that coat of many colors that mama made, moments of the good life so that workin’ 9 to 5 to make a living wouldn’t be such an ordeal. And yes, Johnny Reb, the deep south did indeed rise again. . . born again into a new identity of equality, generosity, humility and joy, with a little help from Abraham, Martin, John, and Dolly. Now, while peckin’ out messages from my Appalachian mountainside home, we will remember, yes, we will remember the Deep South. Yes, indeed, we sho’nuff did rise again! King of Soul

Labor

Put on your clothes. Tie your shoes. Make the bed. Eat breakfast. Prepare lunch. Go to school. Read. Write. Do mathematics. Ride to the burger chef. Flip burgers. Bag french fries. Switch jobs. Bag groceries. Operate a cash register. Graduate. Go to college. Study. Sell shoes. Wash dishes. Sell books door to door. Stock shelves in drug store. Graduate. Move to another state. Sell insurance. Sell advertising. Live in a jail for two days. Move to another state. Sell printing. Operate a paper-cutting machine. Get saved.Get married. Move into a house. Raise children. Read the ancient scriptures every morning. Operate a paper-folding machine. Assemble furniture in a factory. Move into another house. Tie rebar for bridge construction. Pour concrete. Build houses. Nail boards together.

Move to another city. Manage a church renovation. Paint houses.

Move into a new house. Fix plumbing. Maintain apartments. Write books. Publish books. Set the dinner table. Entertain guests. Load the dishwasher. Then. . . Sleep that knits the raveled sleeve of care. . . sleep, perchance to dream. . . dreams you can never remember. Pack luggage. Drive to the coast. Jump in the ocean. Drive home. Write. Blog. Cook dinner. Rinse dishes. Sweep the floor. Vacuum the floors. Paint the house. Clear the gutters. Take a vacation. Fly across the continent. Fly across the ocean. Vacation. Return home. Unpack luggage. Go back to work. . . busy as. bees.

Man works from sun to sun; Woman’s work is never done. Lend a helping hand. Watch the seasons pass. Remember the years past. Then one fateful day, your labors are over. . . slip into the eternal room, to join ancestors, to greet the Son of Man who conquered death itself, stepping into eternity, treading streets of gold. . . a great way to conclude this life of love, labor and looking back on it all. . . Life, a labor of Love. Glass Chimera

Water

In the beginning, . . . Creator combined His first element, hydrogen, with his eighth element, oxygen. . . Spirit 0f God was moving over the surface of the waters, spreading in waves and ripples, streams and waterfalls. . .

mists and clouds. . .

. . . even rainbows.

When Creator created man and woman, they found themselves in a garden of earthly delights, what must have been a very special project. Later, when Adam and Eve made a bad choice, Creator sent them out into the real world, where all the evolving neanderthals and homo sapiens were contending for for food, shelter, power and just about everything. Survival of the fittest. . . the strongest, the powermongering magamaniacs. . . evolved into a situation that was friggin’ ridiculous, cruel, unjust . . . a far cry from what Creator had originally intended. So much for free will! Creator decided to wipe the slate and the surface of the earth clean. He chose water as his judgement medium. . . the old H2O compound, , , useful in so many applications. Creator doused the earth so thoroughly that the flood destroyed every living thing, except Noah’s ark and Noah and his family and creatures great and small that he had so judiciously loaded unto the ark. “Old Noah; he led a quiet life. . . always tried to do right. He heard about the ones who rambled and strayed from the path. He never thought he’d live to see the freedom, never thought he’d live to see the day. . . ’til he turned around one day and had to say: It ain’t gonna rain no more!” After the flood, the earth and Noah made a good recovery. Hundreds of thousands of years went by. In 1923, poet Robert Frost froze fifty words into a classic poem; his musing about how the next worldwide disaster would happen. . . whether by extreme cold or extreme heat. But we know from the testimony of the Jesus’ closest companion, John, that the next apocalypse will be by fire. . . maybe something like the Hiroshima bomb, but with maga-MEGAton destructability. It won’t be a hurricane, or a Noah-era flood. It won’t be a water ending, because the Judge of mankind promised Noah that the worldwide flood would not happen again. Whatever happens. . . we know that the enemy, the one who screwed up Adam and Eve’s condo in the beginning is still, and always, trying to topple our efforts to do the right thing!

People get ready; there’s a train a’coming, picking up passengers who are bound for heaven! You don’t need no ticket; you just get on board the Gospel train. Believe in the Man who came and proved to the whole world, past and present, that He IS One with the Creator who was moving across the waters. . . and has kept them moving ever since His Son to walk on the water! And if you believe that, I’ve got some real estate in heaven I’ll share with you when I sail into that heavenly realm. Glass half-Full

North Carolina

When I was a teenager in the 1960’s, I had a record player that would spin black vinyl 33 rpm disks, sending musical waves like magic into my room so I could listen to Peter, Paul and Mary, or Judy Collins, or the Beatles, or Joan Baez. Joan, as an authentic folk singer, before folk was later merged into rock, sang a song called “East Virginia”, which included these words, “I was born in East Virginia; North Carolina I did roam; there I met a fair, pretty maiden; her name and age I never did know.” Later, much later, that’s exactly what I did, except I did know her name, and she has shared my name, Rowland, for 45 years. We passed that family name onto our son and two daughters. But anyway, getting back to my North Carolina memories. . . James Taylor came along at some moment in time with his song “Carolina on my mind”. That must have been the genesis of my decision to move there in 1974. Later, much later, our two daughters studied Journalism and University of North Carolina, Chapel. That was a year after our son joined the Duke blue devil brigade in Durham in the 1990’s. So, why North Carolina? While living on the gulf coast of Florida, back in ‘75, I saw a movie one night, “Where the Lilies Bloom”, about a family living in the mountains of North Carolina. I decided to move to that place, although I didn’t know much about it. One thing I did know, however, was that, back in the 1930’s, Thomas Wolfe had written the great American novel, Look Homeward Angel., a fictionalized autobiographical book about growing up in Asheville. So. . . long story short. . . that’s where I went, and stayed there until 1979. While working as a salesman for a printing company, I met the love of my life. Pat was a student at UNCAsheville. Her parents were living in Charlotte. Our frequent visits there provided an opportunity to become intimately familiar with the Queen City, named after the wife of King George III, the British monarch whose soldiers we had had to eject from America during our Revelation.

A little known fact about Mecklenburg County (greater Charlotte) is that the patriots there were the first Americans to write a declaration of Independence, even before we Americans all got together in Philadelphia to write the official, historic Declaration of Independence. Soon after Pat graduated from UNCA, we moved to Boone, where we’ve been ever since, except for a short two year experiment with coastal living in Wilmington in the mid ’80’s, which was very nice, but I guess we were born to be mountaineers, even though she was raised in New Jersey and I had emigrated from Louisiana. Boone is a town in the northwest corner, a few miles from Grandfather Mountain. I landed a job working with a crew of rodbusters to complete the Linn Cove Viaduct, the missing link of the Blue Ridge Parkway, which had not been completed back in the 1930’s.

One thing this is sure. The state of North Carolina is serious about literacy and education; that’s why we have campuses all over the state. . . Chapel Hill, Charlotte, Wilmington, including one in Boone named for our chosen region, Appalachian State University. Today we are relaxing on an Atlantic beach, on Oak Island, 322 miles from our home in the Blue Ridge.

Listen to the song I sang about putting on my Murphy-to-Manteo shoes: careyrowland

Beer

When I was a teen, I spoke as a teen and acted as a teen; but when I became a man . . . . . I think that was long-about 1965, when I started high school. But by the time I was a senior in high school, 1969, I was 18 and I decided to start acting like a man . . . My friend Ronnie had an old blue Ford sedan. On those Friday nights when we didn’t have dates, Ronnie and Keith and I would go cruising around town, visiting the local bars. Since we were old enough, we’d visit the bars to sit around and act like grownups, swigging glasses of Budweiser or Schlitz, maybe a Falstaff . . . listening to the sound track. There were a lot of popular songs to be heard on those occasions. Where I come from, Louisiana, soul music was the preferred sound trick most of the time. . . Sam Cooke, Otis Redding, Bobby “Blue” Bland, The Supremes. the Four Tops, Elvis, Ray Charles, Marvin Gaye. Then the music scene changed. It was the era when the Beatles and Gerry and Pacemakers, Dave Clark Five started working their way into the bars’ soundtracks. But for some reason, my memory of those Friday adventures always brings to mind Creedence Clearwater Revival. . . on the sound track of whatever bar we happened to be visiting. . . Proud Mary, Born on the Bayou, Green River, Bad Moon Rising, Down on the Corner, Fortunate Son , etc. Today, August 18, 2026, I was having Deja Vu, while my friend Rick was giving me a tour of his Topsail Island Brewery . . . because the tavern sound track featured a playlist for our boomer generation, which was refreshing for an old guy like me to hear. So who shows up on the sound track (wouldn’t you know it?) . . . Creedence Clearwater Revival! Of course. So I comprehend that not much has changed in the bar scene since 1969—at least for old geezers like me and Rick. Even though Rick’s Topsail. Island Brewery was established in 2024. I’m here to tell you that they are true to the authentic bar scene of our generation. When my old friend Rick wheeled his orange Jeep into the back door entrance this morning, Rick was just checking on a few things. We walked in the back door, and I was able to see the guts—the heart and soul innards— of a real brewery

Then we traipsed through to the bar itself, and out the front entrance, onto a large outdoor deck, where, in the evening, customers would be tipping a few mugs, perhaps bringing in some take-out food from Rick’s Restaurant, which is on the other end of the parking lot.

Walking out of the bar area, traipsing along the outside, we looked down into the duck pond. . . a pleasant site for visitors to watch as they’re imbibing a pint of Rick’s brew hometown brew.

Later, in the evening, we visited the brewery again, to enjoy a brew or two. But my brew choice would not be the old standards of Bud or Schlitz. Nosirree. The beer of choice is the hometown favorite, “Topsail Island Brew” brewed and bottled in Sneads Ferry, North Carolina, just a mile or two up the road from Topsail Island and the the Atlantic coast. And then we traipsed on over to Rick’s Restaurant and enjoy the evening meal, where the Topsail brews are included on the menu. Glass half-Full