Saturday was the 29th and next-to-last Paw Paw party, and my personal 13th. There was beer, and two whole pigs, and swimming in the beautiful Cacapon River, and lots and lots of music. I always try to put a little extra fire and intensity into my Paw Paw playing, and the bottle of Woodford we passed around on stage this year probably didn’t hurt on that front, and it was good to play with my longtime bandmates there for the first time in three years (one or another of us has missed it in recent years).

I almost always play barefoot at Paw Paw because it feels like the right thing to do. I get about as connected to the earth there as I ever do anywhere any more. There was a time when wandering around in the moonlight along a river was something I did on many summer weekend nights, but that time is now long ago and far away. The stars were beautiful and the frogs croaked all night and the birds woke me up Sunday morning — three of many developments that really only occur to me at Paw Paw now.

I’ve gotten to know a bunch of good people there, most of whom know nothing about me except that I play harmonica and sing. So they judge me mostly on that, and they’ve always been warm and kind to me, and they all remind me of home. I’ve lived here longer now than I lived in my home town, and Paw Paw is the closest I get to home most years. I’ll miss the party terribly when it’s gone.