Morning Session #2, "Wild Berry Farm"

I've written a few songs that were inspired by people I know from their books.  This is one of those songs.

Wendell Berry is an admirable man.  He is an artist, a farmer, an active citizen of the place he lives.  One might say that the place he lives is Kentucky, and he seems very focused on Kentucky in his writing but he really lives, like all of us, on Earth.  I highly recommend any of his writing, though I really do appreciate his non fiction.  My favorite book is, "The Art of the Common Place"

I like this song for playing at the Farmer's Markets and wrote it with that intent.  I've had the great opportunity to play along with a fiddle player, and think a mandolin, upright bass, and a harmonica could all be great fun.

Like some of the songs I've written with playing them at markets in mind, I think it sounds like a song that's been around a while.  It's got a simple, common sounding structure.  Hey if it works!

 Wild Berry Farm (a song for Wendall Berry)

(R. A. Maldonado)

I know a farm, way down in Kentucky,

The farm where the wild Berry grows,

If you know it too you can count yourself lucky

The farm where the wild Berry grows,

Down on the farm, they will do no harm

the farm where the wild Berry grows

The fields are full of beauty and the house is full of charm

The people are happy and it shows

I know a farm where a man does his work

the farm where the wild Berry grows

it's a thing you gotta love, not something that you shirk

The farmer reaps what he sows

I know a farm where horses pull the plow

the farm where the wild Berry grows

You can hear a hawks cry, you can hear a cow sigh

You can hear the jays chasing crows

I know a farm, it's the fine place to live

the farm where the wild Berry grows

If you give more than take, you'll love the life you make

on the farm's where living well shows

work all day, you can rest all night

the farm where the wild Berry grows

you can read a book or think of one to write

at night by the lanterns glow

I know a farm way down in Kentucky

the farm where the wild Berry grows

That farmer wrote some books, so we're all lucky

We can read what that farmer knows

Life on the farm, you could call it common

the farm where the wild Berry grows

But the human race, needs the art of common place

That's what the farmer knows 

Now, You know a farm way down in kentucky

the farm where the wild Berry grows

get your own place, live your life with grace

Like the farm where the wild Berry grows

I know a farm way down in Kentucky

The farm where the wild Berry grows……

Morning Sessions, Vol. #1

I'm thinking that I will try and start posting some recordings of songs here, one at a time.  I will include lyrics and a few thoughts about the song.  I hope you enjoy them.
These will keep in the philosophy of BSMS, and be low fidelity, friendly and accessible recordings.



"Sleepy Head", is a song I wrote about my son, as well as my dog, and my wife.  It is a reflection of those moments when I would catch one of them, still in bed, deeply sleeping, dreaming, deeply breathing.  They seemed so comfortable and secure and I felt so glad to watch over them.  So, I guess you could say it is a love song.

"Sleepy Head"

SLEEPY HEAD

Get up in the Morning Before sunrise

I like to watch the light as it brightens up the sky

Maple syrup in my coffee but I don't take cream

like to drink it slowly as I watch the morning scene

I sit and listen for that first bird to sing

waiting on the squirrels to do their morning squirrel thing

everybody's eager to start the new day

finding food, f-i-nd-ing lo-ve finding their own way

(chorus)

Your still sleeping warm inside your bed

your still dreaming pillow on your head

hiding from the light hiding from the day

you'd never leave your bed if you could have your way

My little sleepy head,  My little sleepy head

I stand by your bed long after sunrise

just to watch you breathing before you open up your eyes

I wonder if your dreams they take you far away

maybe in your dreams it's the middle of your day

What will you remember after you rise

if I told you what I'm thinking, whispered that I loved you

would you open up your eyes

Your still sleeping warm inside your bed

your still dreaming pillow on your head

hiding from the light hiding from the day

you'd never leave your bed if you could have your way

My little sleepy head,  My little sleepy head