Kid Amnesiac

You really can’t. We are back as of last night from our annual trip to the mountains–not unsurprisingly, the mountains in October on a clear and sunny weekend made for a much better trip than last year’s trip to the mountains in December during a snow-storm.

Thank goodness. Who needs a vacation like that again?

We enjoyed our house, being back in Asheville (Beth, next time we really have to find a weekend when school is out. We missed you guys!), seeing Chimney Rock, going down the “otter slide” a hundred times (at least) at the Nature Center, and our new favorite coffee shop Filo. Next trip, we are hoping to fit in Pisgah National Forest, the Great Smoky Railroad, and maybe Grandfather Mountain. And more trips to Filo. I’m already regretting the lemon pie I admired but did not eat…

So yes, Blue Ridge beauty, majesty of nature, Simon finally well, blah blah blah. It was all divine. But what is on my mind this morning—besides laundry and thank-you notes—are two songs I heard. One, on the radio on the way in, somewhere in rural Tennessee. I have to admit I was only barely paying attention until this lyric pierced my subconscious:

“Come on down to the farm, come on out to the barn,

You won’t see two roosters walking arm in arm!”

“Is everyone else hearing the same radio I am?” I wondered.

There was more:

“They couldn’t make a chicken, they don’t have an egg to hatch,

When God said ‘Love your brother’, I don’t think he meant like that!”

What the heck is this song? Matt and I speculated to each other: Political bluegrass? A spoof? Anti-gay country? We were curious—horrified, but curious. Turns out this charming little ditty is by “Country Bluegrass Christian Gospel” song-writer Rick Wingerter, and sadly is not a spoof. As a companion to the Simpsons’ fake ditty about the Canyonero, this little song was kind of brilliant. In any non-ironic sense, its appeal dims considerably.  I can’t decide if I’m more offended as a human or bluegrass lover. It’s a tough call.  I still can’t decide, but would like to gently point out to Mr. Rick that last time I checked, roosters didn’t have arms.

So there I am last night, Googling bigoted faux-bluegrass music while Simon took his bath, when Matt yelled for me to come upstairs. Simon was singing his heart out in the bathtub to the almost tune of “Five Little Pumpkins”. It was an original composition, and it was all about sick passengers on the ambulance train. There is, of course, no ambulance train. However, there are his two favorite train videos (Japanese Plarail, natch), which feature a siren-like sound in the background. Simon decided early on that these were “ambulance trains”, and he desperately wants one for his belated birthday/potty-training present. I’m doing my best, but the suppliers are all in Hong Kong or Japan with very limited English about the products.

The song eventually morphed into the “Five Little Pumpkins” before Matt and I could capture the lyrics, and our moody artist will not repeat it. A shame really, so much better than what you hear on (bizarrely awful) radio these days.