On the Way Out series
Vol. 4
Part 4
Denver was a natural, his songs soothing, and his tunes allowed you to sit back, relax and focus on the views outside your front or back door...allowing you to sip on a cup of coffee, take a deep breath and enjoy nature and a world beyond your cubicle, so to speak -- a world that has been there for you to see all along.
The past two years have been tough on us all -- especially our seniors. The virus seemingly hidden in the forest, only to surface and cause havoc for human beings all over the world.
Denver died in a plane crash on October 12, 1997, while test flying an experimental plane he had recently purchased. He plunged into the water off the coast of Monterey Bay, California.
His songs live on. And now is the time for that cup of coffee, turn the volume up on your radio and sit back and listen. I envy a songwriter, especially the ones with the God-given talent that can do both -- write the song and then sing it with a voice that'll take you to some place you need to go.
Writing is hard. I know first hand how long it takes...how many years it takes, to send a wave of words from you fingertips to the keyboard into a thing called a computer -- which in turn prints out you thoughts instantly.
The men and women, the great writers from yesteryear, wrote by candlelight and wrote down everything in long hand. I often wonder, did arthritis get to them at an early stage? Did they even know what carpel tunnel was?
When my fingers no longer work, I know one thing for sure: I can't sing like John Denver. My mother, bless her heart, tried desperately to get me involved in something worthwhile at an early age. She sent me to join a boys' chorus. They booted me out the front door and tossed back the baseball bat I had brought with me.
Of course, I kept the bat.
Photo: from Dan Price's collection, taken from my son's bedroom window during the winter of 2019, just 35 miles east of Grand Junction, Colorado.
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