Indian Summer Gig
We had a gig down on the river today.
I think I told y’all, but Indie’s Cabin washed away in the great Eastern N.C. flood. Well, I knew they had a cabin down there a lot like Indie’s old place, so I got a notion to check him out of the Nursing Home and take him with us. We carved his name in an old tree stump and told him the bluegrass folks dedicated it to him- ‘Indie was here,’ it said.
Indie loves the fall of the year. Always has. He says the autumn air is crisper and his lungs fare better. Besides, fall always reminds him ain’t nothing permanent. After Blinky died Indie was a bit more melancholy, and fall suited him better than ever. He’d lived eight days a week anyway but after Blinky was gone, he seemed to make even more of an effort to do so.
He had a big day, a large time as he says. He sat in his lounge chair and smoked cigarettes and greeted old music friends who hadn’t seen him out in a while. He got inspired and fiddled a slow one with us- ‘The Kentucky Waltz,” and rendered it pretty, too. I don’t think Indie had played in public since he wound up in the Nursing Home.
He drank a Coors or two, and when we played the second set he went to the river and helped the kids with the ‘Rubber Ducky Regatta.’ Indie ain’t nothing but a big kid anyway.
After the gig I took him back to the Nursing Home, and got him tucked in. Ms. Jenkins is gone now, and all he has left is me and Barney the skeleton. And his roses- he stops to smell them every day just like he tells me to do.
The other day I found some old sketches of Indie I thought you might enjoy. I should have dated these- I think they were about mid-way through the Mandolin Case. It was a pressure cooker, but except for the fact his pal Blinky was gone I don’t think it changed Indie too much. You know how it is – some things never change and them bluegrass folks are like that. And Indie was bluegrass people as much as anyone I ever knew.
Here he is: