This morning after visiting the bathroom, my wife crawled back into bed around 5:30 a.m., pulled the covers up to her chin, and said, “This is the end.” (Driving by those houses yesterday had something to do with this, the way it always does.) I put my arm around her, held her close, and felt no fear for once. This is the end, I thought, although of what, I wasn’t sure.
Going to Santa Fe on my birthday to haul my Twin Reverb in to be repaired was like that. It was fun to drive the truck, for one thing, and I wanted to. With plenty of power, the Dakota squirts ahead whenever I stab the gas. The ride is smooth and stable, the speedometer dead on. Down the road, the guy at the guitar store treated me like a mensch. We had fish and chips for lunch outdoors and felt a breath of normal in the air. I wasn’t worried about money, finding a place to live, or cataloging my old sins, as if the act of doing something that was so important to me personally and artistically after all these years had let the goodness flow again.
John Hamilton Farr lives at 7,000 feet in Ranchos de Taos, New Mexico, U.S.A. As New York Times best-selling author James C. Moore tells it, John is “a man attuned to the world who sees it differently than you and I and writes about it with a language and a vision of life that is impossible to ignore.” This JHFARR.COM site is the master writing archive. To email John, please see CONTACT INFO on .png)
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