It’s like horses. I love horses, I love riding them, brushing them, talking to them and feeding them apples. But I have never wanted to own one—too much responsibility, too much you have to know about to take care of them. Plus you need pasture, a barn, etc., which I did have when I was a kid, but, well, that’s another story. I have treasured my friendships with other women who have horses—in addition to being great friends, they supply me with my horsie fix when I see them. We go riding or on pack trips, then I leave and they take care of the horses for the rest of the year.
Horse and house are just one letter apart. You see where I’m going with this. Now that I’m houseless, I don’t have the responsibilities of taking care of a house. No dishes to wash, no floors to sweep, no plants to water—not on a daily basis, anyway. But I can go visit my friends who have nice houses and enjoy them, pitch in with the dishes and help out while I’m there, then leave and they take care of the house till I come back to visit again. It’s a very carefree lifestyle.
Okay, so my car looks like a homeless person’s car and keeping track of my things gets a little frustrating sometimes. (Where is that dang hairbrush?) But overall, I have way fewer responsibilities. I keep thinking of Peace Pilgrim, a woman who devoted the last years of her life to walking the country, talking to people about what was needed to achieve world peace. She owned nothing except the clothes she wore, a toothbrush and a comb; she encouraged people to simplify their lives, and to illustrate her point she would exclaim, “Think how free I am! If I want to go somewhere, I just start walking.” So though I miss my house at times, I also appreciate the advantages of the gypsy lifestyle. If I want to go somewhere, I also can just start walking. (Well, driving.)
And my music goes with me. One thing about being a musician is that we learn a lot of great songs to help guide us through life. I’m learning one right now called “I’ve Got Nothin.” The chorus goes: “I’ve got nothin’, you’ve got nothin’, between us, we’ve both got nothin’, but baby, we ain’t got nothin’ to lose.” Right on. Reminiscent of “Me and Bobby McGee” (remember?): “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose; nothing ain’t worth nothing but it’s free.” And other gems, like “Keep on the Sunny Side,” for example, whose title pretty much says it all. Or the one I might write someday, called “We’ve Got Plenty to Eat, and Nobody’s Shooting at Us,” which I will start on as soon as I think of a better title.
Even when people ask me where I’m staying these days, I can answer with a song title: “Here, There, and Everywhere.” I was in Sausalito for a party a few nights ago, and spent the night in the giant hammock on the deck of a friend’s boat, feeling the breeze on my face and sleeping out under our coastal blanket of fog. Last night I played a gig and stayed over with the fiddler at her house in Santa Rosa. In the morning, we wrestled giant pumpkins around her vegetable garden. I’ll be back for her annual pumpkin-carving and music party next month. Today I’m heading north to visit a friend near Willits, and I’m looking forward to sitting on the porch there with a cup of something cold, gazing out at the Sanhedrin range to the east, sleeping on the deck at night, enjoying the warm night air and listening to the crickets. Life, my friends, is good.
Ingrid Noyes, a musician and the director of the Walker Creek Music Camp, is formerly from Marshall and currently makes her home wherever she happens to be.