Songwriting Diary: Listen For The Lonely
A backdrop story for the first single from my new LP "Split Seconds On Earth"
We grew some vegetables in a community garden nearby. It was walking distance from our house and served as a great excuse to get outside that summer. The community garden had a waiting list, so you had to sign up to get a plot that you could call your own for the season. We did and waited.
While on the list, we decided to visit the grounds where the garden was located, though technically only those with assigned plots were permitted.
On our first walk there, the streets were incredibly quiet. It seemed like no one was around. We did see a guy sitting in a 1970s muscle car parked on his front lawn. The engine wasn’t running but the stereo was blaring Neil Young’s “Down By The River”. The metallic blue paint on the old car sparkled in the sunlight. The man behind the motionless steering wheel stared at the dashboard in suspended animation. His mirrored shades shone in the sunlight too. Neil Young and Crazy Horse put him in a trance, I thought. Then the man slowly raised his arm to ash a cigarette out the driver’s side window without looking away from the dash. This was definitely a trance. Neil can do that.
As we put some distance between us and the muscle car guy, we could see the entrance to the community garden in the distance. The driveway was beyond large iron gates and went up a hill that was lined with old pine trees standing regal, guarding the corridor. “Père-Blancs” was the name of the road that had a long incline into the historical property. The garden was behind an old building that was previously a religious residence, now a community centre. The landscape had several acres of beautiful rolling hills and fields for soccer and baseball and dog fetching. There was a maple bush there too, with an old sugar shack in the middle. What a beautiful place, we said. So we walked around some more, then walked home and waited for an official invite.
Before long, we got the nod from the community garden committee and we were assigned our very own raised bed for planting whatever. We started a routine of walks to the garden and looked forward to each visit, as the atmosphere there was perfect for crop dreaming. The property was lined with tall trees and their occupants’ birdsong created a heavenly soundtrack. Because there was nothing else to hear, the birds took centre stage. There were no cars and no planes. There were no children playing in the fields. There was very little sound at the community garden. Just the birds. It was so quiet it felt like we should whisper. After all, the raised beds did look like tombs.
At the end of each row of raised gardens were copper coloured water barrels. Regardless of the time of day, they were always mysteriously full of water, without the hint of a hose nearby. How did that happen, I wondered. It felt like some community garden magic was at play, performed by some hidden force. Like those stealth shoemaker elves in the night.
We developed a technique and filled two watering cans at a time from the copper coloured barrels. In tandem, we watered and tended to our raised garden, filled with the hope of promised bounty. To keep critters out, we installed cheap chicken wire and continued to adjust it as the crops grew. We would visit more than a couple of times a week to ensure the plants had enough water and confirm that no clever critters found a way to get into our little garden.
We enjoyed the experience of tending to our community garden that season. We cherished our walks in the fresh air. We loved the peaceful vibe of the old religious sanctuary. And we marvelled at the quiet.
Things were so quiet then. It was the first summer of a mysterious virus closing in on the world and people were shut in. The play structures were sealed off with yellow tape and warning signs you’d normally see on cigarette packages. The community garden had signs reminding folks to keep their distance. We had no idea how this virus was spreading, so we even had to be cautious outdoors in fresh air. Seems silly now. We rarely saw anyone in the garden anyway, so we didn’t need to worry. The gardens grew but their caretakers were a mystery. Who was tending to all these? Gardening ghosts, I thought. Or maybe it was those shoemaker elves again.
After each visit, we walked home along empty streets in the warm sunlight, down the lane with the pine sentries of Père-Blancs, filled with birdsong. Along the way, I looked for the Neil Young trance-guy, but his metallic blue muscle car just sat there silently on the front lawn. As we walked, I listened for other signs of life coming from the quiet buildings that lined the streets on our journey home. I listened intently for something more than the birds. I listened for the lonely.
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My new LP is called “Split Seconds on Earth” and “Listen for the Lonely” is the first single. You can help me out by following me where ever you listen to music. Some of my links are here:
If you’d like to support me further, you can also pre-order a vinyl copy of “Split Seconds on Earth” from my website.
Beautiful song Chris. Hearing your reference to Père-Blancs brought back some happy childhood memories. One of my dad's coworkers lived on Père-Blancs. We used to go to his place to watch NHL Sunday afternoon games broadcasted on NBC through Eastview Cablevision. Thanks for reminding me of this wonderful time.
So peaceful. This is a “ghostly” song with a flavour of Neil sprinkled in. Speaking of flavour…your story of growing something describes what everyone seemed to be looking for. More nature, more life, more reality.