All lyrics ©/(P) Wes Weddell (Dusty Shadows Music, ASCAP): All Rights Reserved
Mossyrock, Lewis County Apr 3-4, 2001
We’re mighty pleased to meet you, grab yourself a chair,
A cup of coffee might be nice to pass the time
Well, welcome to the Deli, we’re the Story Tellin’ Club,
It’s four o’clock and time to let the yarns unwind
The sign says “Truth Not Tolerated,” but we’ll make this one exception—
We can see it in your smile that you mean well
Down in Mossyrock, Lewis County, just off Highway 12
The years have blown by like they do anywhere else
The railroad blew our namesake landmark up with dynamite,
I guess it’s just become a rolling stone
Now the lake is running shallow, but the tourist money’s up
Through all the ups and downs it’s been our home
In eighteen hundred fifty-two (or thereabouts) our claim went through,
And Mossyrock went on the map to stay
And ’long about 1861, some native neighbors passing on
Left with a story we still tell today
Well, Mr. Henry Bucy had heard tell many a tale
’Bout Indians scalping captives taken ’long the way
So he took his gun and set off running, shot himself when all they wanted
Was an opportunity to trade! Down where...
That same winter took its toll, and a century later—mighty storm
Ran through the country on Columbus Day
Winds a-howlin’ from the west, Mother Nature did her best,
To topple every building in her way
The dam went up in ’68-tallest in the state, it’s just
Grand Coulee’s got herself a better name
Flooded out two towns, but now the water’s running down,
And the tourists, they can’t keep themselves away. Here where...
Now you espresso drinkers tend to speed in rental cars and SUVs,
So keep your schedule moving—we don’t mind
But if you’ve got the time to spend in company of newfound friends,
You’re welcome in the Deli any time
The sign says “Truth Not Tolerated,” but we’ll make this one exception—
We can see it in your smile that you mean well
Down in Mossyrock, Lewis County, just off Highway 12
The years have blown by like they do anywhere else
Lakeside Summer Home Apr 23-5, 2001
Summer, when the lilacs are in bloom,
Makes the city more alive and much less like an urban tomb,
But just a hop and skip on further down the line
Lies a getaway that even beats the floral comforts they provide
The mercury’d start rising, and we’d flee,
Trade our bustle for the beauty of the wooded hills and sandy beaches
So ‘summer colony’ became the name
Given to our four-month exodus to beautiful Lake Coeur d’Alene
Moonlight on the silver water sparkling in the breeze
Was heaven for us cityfolk off seeking some relief—
We were thirty miles of railroad track from the rest of our lives,
But the city seemed so far away those lakeside summer nights
Saturday the men would come:
Briefcases in hand, they would shuffle off the train and run
For two nights they would cause a friendly stir
With their boat races and parties, they would try to make the newspaper
When Monday rolled around, well, off they’d go
Back into the working world, which we’d chosen to ignore
Every week they’d follow their routine
It ain’t easy building cities without taking some breaks in between; so...
Summer sunsets slowly fade away
Seasons change, and with them we would leave our chosen bay
And head back into the lives we had known before
As the city swelled around us, growing daily all the more,
But, on some long cold winter nights, a wandering mind
Would leave the chilly frost and bitter winds and darkness far behind
For thoughts of sunlit pine trees swaying on the shores
Of the lake where we’d spent many happy days just months before, and we’d sing...
From Driftwood Point to Beauty Bay, and places in between
Del Cardo down to Harrison—we’d sail the Lurline
Twin Beaches to the city docks to Waldheim we would roam
Landing back at Okabena—our lakeside summer home
Drifting May 21, 2001
The revolution brought us trouble, so we fled,
But trouble at home was even worse
Father’s life was one you read about
And hope it never crosses yours
But cross it did, and so I fled again—
Try my luck out on the sea
Broke my heart to leave my mother there,
But sacrifices set me free
If I sail away tomorrow
Will you wait for me once more?
I’ve been drifting for my whole life
Can you bring me back to shore?
From the Baja to the Bering was my home,
Friends were scattered far and wide
Rarely time to settle down for just a spell
Come and go like summer tides
But one trip through the Great Northwest begat a change,
And I began to think I’d stay
Trade my life upon the lonely sea
For my Jamestown angel in P.A.
So I bid my roving home a fond farewell,
And we were married happily
So my life began again, my friend,
And so the trouble followed me
Love grows strong without condition,
But folks would rather hide our truth,
And I was asked to leave the village
If I saw the marriage through
But I won’t sail away without you,
And we can find another home
You can drift along beside me,
And we will never be alone
Ballad of the Whitman Greeks May 2-4, 2001
As I walked down the award-winning Main Street
In a town made famous by many a cartoon,
I spied a young coed with chips on her shoulder,
Cursing a story that she swore was true
“The ‘Betas’ and ‘Tekes,’ ” she cried with a vengeance,
“They have their own houses in which to run free,
But that Chester Maxey, as mayor of the city,
He’s ruined my fate with one simple decree!
(When he said:)
“Any more than five unmarried women living here together
Constitutes a brothel in the town of Walla Walla,
So we Kappa Alpha Theta sisters can’t have our sorority,
Except inside this dormitory—don’t you think that sucks?”
“Well, isn’t that something?” I replied in earnest,
“I’ve come seeking stories, so thanks for the lead
And what a great folk song this story would make—
That is, if historically grounded indeed”
But neither Chamber of Commerce nor City Attorney,
Nor college official had heard of this tale:
“Yes, Maxey confronted the oldest profession,
But no law of his would land coeds in jail”
(But they swear:)
Now, on many a campus throughout the whole country
You’ll find this same story of Panhellenic vice;
But despite all that’s happening, it’s first on the list
For the students who live in the city named twice
(But we know:)
Any more than five unmarried women living here together
May not be illegal, but it’s sure no piece of cake
But I’d hate to let the facts destroy an entertaining story,
So I’ll leave the rest to you—set the folk process on its way!
Part of the song is sung to the tune of “Streets of Laredo” (trad., arr. Weddell)
Moving On Without Us May 11, 2001
In eighteen-hundred-ninety, we brought our towns together
United in prosperity and nothing we can’t weather
We’d build ourselves a tower for the good times sure to come,
But time started moving on without us
The clock atop the tower—it was almost set to go,
But hard times hit in ’93, and funds were running low,
So painted hands were all we could afford to show our town,
And time kept on moving on without us
’Twas seven o’clock dusk to dawn, without a striking bell,
But stiff winds and neglect soon did the faces in as well,
Then hard times fell again, and we had more important cares,
So time kept on moving on without us
City Hall moved out, and the museum moved on in
They began to fix the clock up after fifty years, but then
They painted hands in memory of moments from the past,
And time kept on moving on without us
1962 saw the building all-ablaze
The clock had perished before it could see its working days
Time was standing still before, but now it ceased to stand at all,
Yes, time kept on moving on without us
By ’74 they had put a new one in its place
The clock came with a battery to help it keep its pace,
But still we dreamed of works just like the ones for which we’d planned,
And time tried to move along without us
By ’95 mechanics matched, an everything was great
Never mind the fact it was one-hundred-three years late,
Or the troubles it was having, for the works—they barely worked,
And time kept on moving on without us
Now we’ve weathered quite a bit since the tower first was built
Mills’ll close and waves’ll roll, but some things never quit
And we’ll be here another hundred-plus time and again,
’Cause time just can’t move along without us!
Carpe Diem, Carpie Apr 29, 2001
Here’s a story that I was told,
And it’s likely one you’ve never heard before
It’s about a certain someone and a fascinating life,
The greatness of which one cannot deny
For seventy-two years he lived alone
In a space not too much bigger than a phone...booth
He had visitors come daily, and I guess that kept him sharp,
But you don’t give much away when you’re a carp
Caught in 1922, they took him home
Tried to give him space to ramble and to roam,
But the mules—they wouldn’t drink from water shared with such a fish,
So Uncle Johnny moved him to the horses’ dish
So, from 1924 to ’96
He lived peacefully among the barnyard mix
Except for one time when he jumped out—he was quite the voyager—
But his guardians, they got him re-submerged
Carpe Diem, Carpie,
You’ve inspired many a sole
From your lofty perch, you look so koi and glee...ful
We call you ‘he,’ but that could be a ‘she’ for all we know
What a specimen of ichthyology!
Now, the mighty Snake in which you used to swim,
Well, they’ve dammed her into lakes since you’ve been...there
Now some cry, “Take the dams out!” while still others say “Back off!”
But I doubt that that concerned you from your trough
May you rest in peace there, buddy, by and by
In that giant golden horse trough in the sky
With times a-changin’ so fast, it was always nice to see
A pillar of aquarian stability
Top of the World May 31, 2001
Top of the world on a Toppenish farm,
Where the growing gets tougher when the weather gets warm
Go out dancing in the still moonlight
Where the West still lives tonight
A little farther south than you prob’ly plan to drive
Lies a town who sure has lived a lot in her life,
Where memories thrive in the hearts and the minds
And they’re painted on the building sides
There’re pictures of the people, there’re pictures of the times,
There’re pictures of the dances and the patterns of the lives
From the rhythm of Celilo to the long cattle drive
And an outhouse tippin’ on its side
Ruth and Maud sure knew how to fight
Like the folk who won’t let nobody forget Ol’ ’55
With the Owl Child watching from the comfort of his horse
And the final ‘All Aboard’
You can read about the fellow who fought himself a b’ar
While you’re lookin’ at the hops and the old school barns,
And every year in June when the clouds’re rollin’ high
You can sit and watch the paintings dry
When the time is right, and you’re out a-wandering
And you want to push further than the state’s Palm Springs
You can do yourself a favor and head on down
And you might just paint the town
Where the culture’s rich and the feeling so alive,
And where the West still lives tonight!
We’ve Got Stories May 29, 2001
I went wandering through some country just last weekend
Looking for a song to bide my time,
And I asked a lot of folk what kept them busy,
And they looked at me with mischief in their eyes; and they said:
“Come back sometime when you’ve got a moment,
And we’ll tell you all there is to know and tell
We’ve got stories out the door and down the hallway—
It takes some time to know this country well!”
I pressed further in this quest for earthly knowledge,
Prayed for them to bless me with details
I heard something about pants around some ankles
But the rest they kept behind that wayward veil; but they said:
Woody hung around just down the highway,
Wrote about the river and the dams,
But he missed the suicide race down the canyon,
Though he probably met some folk who took the stand; who might say:
As I sit here tonight, the jukebox playing
That song about the wild side of life
My thoughts are drifting toward the rowdy Okanogan
Where the gossip won’t come out without a fight; but I will
Come back sometime when I’ve got a moment,
And take in all there is to know and tell
Even wild ones can’t resist a lofty story
That can build the country character so well
Tune: “Great Speckled Bird” (Smith)
Row, Row Your Boat May 26-8, 2001
So, I hear you’re just about to hang it up
One more lap around the track and that will be enough,
But I wish you could’ve been there on that day
When your friends began to list the things they wanted me to say
They said your openness to all came shining through,
And your brilliant spirit only grew and grew
Your embracing of ideas—they could tell;
If they said those things about me I’d prob’ly hang it up as well
Row, row your boat
Through waters deep and wide
Keep us afloat
The memories you’ve left us—they will linger on inside
Your early days here make a fine report
They tell of love beads and of sandals and some slick Bermuda shorts
Now it’s suits and blazers everywhere you go,
But the comfort of your company dependeth not upon the clothes
High above his children, there he stands
With his arms crossed he is waiting for the day when he will shake their hands
Solemn jubilation in his eyes
Underneath that quiet gaze—seems everything will be all right
My Northwest Home 2000
My daddy grew up in the South looking for his own,
While Mamma had the pleasure of calling Manhattan home,
But God brought on the Sixties—the events that did unfold
Drove my Mom and Dad to settle on the brink of Idaho
They could have sung their stories, no doubt to rave review,
But they’ve been working upright jobs—it’s me who write the tunes
While an Appalachian farmer’s child I certainly am not,
If you’ll check your country pride a sec, I’ll give you all I’ve got
Take me back to my country
Take me back to my Northwest home
I don’t need you, just your attention
I’m doin’ all right on my own
We do our share of farming here, but I’ll still have you know
We’re urbanized like every major city on the go!
Hard times have hit us too, you know, but see how we move on:
When our logging towns go belly-up, they go Bavarian
Don’t you think it’s always rosy, unless you want to spend
Your money here, in which case all is happy in the end
We’re pioneering yuppie trends, and I’ll bet you every day
Our dams are wiping out more fish than any TVA!
Blue Moon of Seattle, keep on shinin’ way up high
I doubt we’ll get to see you through the clouds up in the sky
No, Foggy ain’t a mountain if it ain’t got any snow,
And I’d like to see the Wabash pull a loaded barge in tow
All lyrics ©/(P) Wes Weddell (Dusty Shadows Music, ASCAP): All Rights Reserved
