Yesterday, I drove a couple miles down the road to a friend's house to play music after dinner. As I made my way down our empty little road beside the cattle field, the sun was just about to set behind the trees.
I took my fiddle with me, but when I reached his house, my neighbor pointed to a small, dusty fiddle handing from a leather loop on his wall. It was his grandfather's. Reese. He was a ranch hand in the upper midwest, and the instrument was made by a luthier there. We played for a couple hours, me on Ol' Reese, my neighbor on his banjo. Reese was small and light, but vibrant. After a little rosin, he warmed up quickly. We played Old Yeller Dog, Liza Jane, Fire on the Mountain, Going Down to Cairo, Lazy John, Crow Black Chicken. I think Ol' Reese and I are going to be good friends.