A bumper crop of warmth.

Tags

knitting, retreat, touring, warmth, winter

Shawn and I are on our way home now from a short run of shows in North and South Carolina, where we encountered all kinds of warmth, both from the weather and from the hearts of those who came out to see us.

To our thin New England blood, the temps in Bluffton, SC on Saturday night were especially delightful – it was 82° and sunny when we arrived a little early at the venue!

We met a lot of New Englanders in our travels this weekend, many of whom moved south to escape the very wintry conditions that were actively bearing down upon our New Hampshire home and informing some of my onstage banter. The crowd on Thursday night in Elkin, NC collectively gasped when I told them that our beloved Mount Washington made the national news last month with a record-breaking wind chill of -101°! And I spoke to the Bluffton crowd specifically about the snowstorm that was happening right as we were performing for them, giving everyone a shudder.

And of course, as I was speaking and singing – and looking out the venue windows at the moss hanging from the trees – I was reminded that we would soon – very soon – find ourselves back in our little home, shivering at the cold that our bones have been eager to forget, and preparing for what’s next.

And what’s next is – we’re headed on silent retreat. If all goes to plan, we’ll be entering the silence for a 7 day retreat that starts this Wednesday in Massachusetts. I’ve been looking forward to this so much. As you may already know, I’ve extensively explored previous retreat experiences in this blog – and if you don’t know, go here to get caught up here.

But before that, there is getting home. I’m typing these words as we are pointed north on I-95, and we’ll likely be home by suppertime.

And it’s gonna feel cold when we get there.

And someone in the audience on Saturday night in Bluffton was thinking about that, too.

After we had played our encore to another standing ovation and the crowd began to clear, a woman and former New Englander (whose name I’ve forgotten, and I’m awful with names – forgive me if you’re reading this, lovely lady!) approached me straight away, beaming, and she said, ‘I put all the love and joy from the performance into my knitting tonight and I want you to have this!’ and she placed this beautiful, soft, warm, comfy new hat – pictured above – on top of my head. I couldn’t believe it! I thanked her and gave her a huge hug. Shawn laughed as he looked on and said, ‘You couldn’t have known that Heather’s favorite color is purple, and you couldn’t have known that she has quite a collection of knitted hats!’

I have mused before that my job, at bottom, is giving and receiving joy. I was reminded this weekend that it’s also giving and receiving warmth. I’m looking forward to wearing this hat on retreat this week, and remembering the warmth of kindness and love that isn’t registered in mercury, but in the memories that live in the mind and heart.

Still here, still thankful.

Tags

birds, gratitude, grief, winter

Winter weather suddenly arrived here this week, and with it, a flood (or a flurry, if you will?) of questions:

Where are all my gloves and hats?

Is it time for a new winter jacket?

How are my tires?

And again: Am I ready for this?

And there was another arrival this week – about a dozen evening grosbeaks, eager for food. And they’ve stuck around, too! It’s been awesome to watch them. Every day, about mid morning, they all show up, eat for a while, and then disappear.

The birds are always ready for anything, so long as they have enough to eat.

Ah hell, me too.

Yesterday marks 24 years since my father’s death. That seems impossible to me. I’ve now lived more than half my life without him. That seems impossible to me, too…

…because it is impossible.

Yes, he’s been gone physically – and though I don’t believe, as many do, that I will see him again or that he’s still with me in some metaphysical sense, I do believe – dare I say, know – that he is still right here. In half my genome. In my humor. In both my taste and ability in music. In the values I hold dear. In the mirror.

And my mother is equally still here, too, in those same places. And I thought of her immediately when those grosbeaks arrived. She loved feeding the birds, and in particular enjoyed the many grosbeaks that visited the yard when I was growing up. In my rebellion, I pretended not to notice. It wasn’t until the last couple years that I finally fell in love with the birds, too.

This week, many of us will gather with loved ones to eat too much and shoot the breeze. Every day of the year, every moment of the day, there is so much to be thankful for – family, friends, birds, memories, shelter from the cold, winter tires, home-cooked meals, even grief. Happy Thanksgiving.

The first sizable snow.

Tags

Christmas, snow, solstice, winter

Our show on Saturday night in Framingham was cancelled because of Mother Nature, and though I was sad that our fantastic run of shows this year ended with such a whimper, I was also grateful for an easy, early night. (And we have one more private show tonight, so all is well.)

I was really excited on Sunday morning when I opened the shades and the brilliance of the first significant snowfall came streaming through the windows. It got me thinking about snowshoeing through the silent and tranquil woods just a stone’s throw from our door.

We bundled up and took our regular afternoon walk around the neighborhood, and wow, was it cold – and wow, was it beautiful!

And yes, I am certain at some point I will begin complaining about winter – about the sustained cold temperatures against which we must bundle and layer to the point of being unable to move (like this kid), the hazards it presents while driving, and of course all the dealing with the containment of it on vehicles, in the driveway, and on the footpaths. (Ah hell, who am I kidding on that last point? Shawn and Ryan do most of that maintenance around here anyway, as well as the plows and sand and salt trucks that faithfully do their level best to keep us all safe. And wow, am I grateful for all of that, too.)

For now, I will savor every moment of beauty – including the return of more daylight starting this week, YES! – and wait for the next snowfall to inspire me to get the snowshoes out of the garage.

May your days be merry and bright
And may all your Christmases be white

‘We will enjoy our walk without thinking of arriving anywhere.’

Tags

life, showshoeing, winter

Shawn quipped this past week: ‘Punxsutawney Phil came out of his hole and said, “Winter is finally here!”’ And that sure seems right—here in New Hampshire, anyway—and so for the first time since last winter, we got our snowshoes out of the garage and onto our cabin-feverish feet.

There’s an area near our home that is privately owned and welcoming to folks on skis, snowshoes, and snow machines, so we made our way over to this wooded heaven for an afternoon this week.

I’d almost forgotten how much I enjoy doing this! Crunch crunch crunch through the quiet woods, the breath coming and going, no rigid plan, only to make each step follow the next one, and the next one, pausing to take in the smooth, light gray bark of a beech tree, or the fresh tracks of an ambitious squirrel, or the soft sighing of the wind moving through pine boughs overhead. In these woods, the world becomes a black and white photograph rendered in countless shades of stunning gray, setting in stark, beautiful contrast those same whispering evergreens and a few leftover yellowing leaves that still cling to and rattle against sagging limbs.

Snowshoeing brings to mind one of the most beautiful teachings from Thich Nhat Hanh:

‘We will walk. We will only walk. We will enjoy our walk without thinking of arriving anywhere.’

Though I am longing to return to the ‘before-times’ reality of touring in warmer climates during the winter months, I am also feeling so grateful to be able to connect so deeply to the unique, peaceful joy of the New England woods in winter—and only a few paces from my own backyard.

Feeling grief and awe in one’s nose.

Tags

grief, life, songwriting, winter

It’s been really cold here in my neck of the woods lately, and it’s been reminding me of some moments from throughout my life, particularly from childhood:

• the radiator in my second floor bedroom that never worked all that well (despite all of Dad’s earnest tinkering)
• sledding and tubing in ‘The Bowl’ on the Hebron Academy campus and making that trek up the hill again and again and again after every sun-soaked, thrilling ride down
• watching the chickadees hopping about in the snow and feeding on the seed that fell from Mom’s beloved feeders (usually from the crafty hands of the squirrels)
• my feet and face and hands getting so cold from playing outside that stepping into the bathtub or the shower seemed like a form of medieval torture
• nose hairs freezing with every inhalation

This last image is one I remind myself and others of regularly when I introduce my song ‘Starlight’. It was a bitterly cold night that inspired me to write the song, and it’s a story that I’ve told from stage many times—still living in Maine and standing in the driveway and staring at the impossible dome of stars sparkling in the crystal clear night sky, pondering the words of Carl Sagan: ‘We are a way for the cosmos to know itself.’ It was a beautiful moment that I’ll never forget.

The part I’ve always left out of the banter is the circumstances of my life at the time. What my particular part of the cosmos knew at that time was grief—paralyzing grief over the loss of my mother and, with her, the hope that she and I would ever reconcile our deep and devastating differences. I was getting to know grief quite well in those days—because Mom and I had been estranged in the last couple of years of her life, I didn’t know that she hadn’t done anything with any of Dad’s, well, anything. All of his books, clothes, tools, his eyeglasses on the living room table—every last thing he left behind, along with everything of Mom’s, was awaiting my shaking hands and broken heart as I made my way through the impossible task of being the only heir sorting through it all, buttoning up their lives and life together, and cleaning and preparing the house for sale.

Throughout that whole ordeal, I was still working multiple jobs, including my job at the hotel playing piano. I was also grieving something that felt like a long, slow fall into losing my own hopes and dreams—I was longing desperately for expression and sharing of my deepest and most authentic creativity, and at that time, aside from brief glimmers at the hotel or at Norway UU, there was none of it, save for those rare evenings at home when I could work on songs like ‘Starlight’. The night I stood and felt the wave of awe that inspired ‘Starlight’ was a hotel night, and despite my state of utter exhaustion, I allowed myself a moment to put it all down before walking into the house.

And the driveway in which I stood was the one I shared in Fryeburg with an abusive partner who was slowly squeezing the air and the joy and the life right out of me. I’ve blogged in the past about this, so I won’t belabor it now, but the writing of that song—and the rare solitary moments I had to work on it and the others that would become my 2010 Make It Mine album—kept the flame of hope alive in my heart during that dark time.

About three years after that moment in the driveway, I broke free from those tethers of abuse and self-doubt with my heart full of songs and the overwhelming drive to, as I sing in ‘Starlight’: ‘let [my] light shine now for every woman, child, and man’. And though the grief is in remission most of the time these days, the cold January air freezing my nose hairs can bring me right back to that one starry night, drinking in that grief-stricken awe inspired by a world that can so easily and so completely both break your heart and fill it back up achingly to the brim.

“and underneath the snow, seeds wait to grow…”

Tags

Heather Pierson, Hoot Night, Ledgends Pub, Maine, Make It Mine, music, New Hampshire, Norway Open Mic Night, River's Edge Tavern, Wildcat Tavern, winter

Those are words from the first verse of “Make It Mine” and, after looking out the window this morning at yet another winter snowstorm, these lyrics are more poignant than ever.  I really and truly can’t wait until spring – for that magical day when the ground starts to thaw and the smell of wet earth and sound of rushing streams is in the air, the sunlight finally free to turn those piles of cold white snow into the water that will bring the greenness of spring and summer back to the earth.  Pretty soon tap buckets will be visible on maples, and I hope Kevin remembers to set aside a gallon of his amazing syrup for me this spring (he promised!).

Last night, Shawn and I made the trek up through Pinkham Notch to go support Jeremy Dean and the open mic that he and I are co-hosting at Ledgend’s Pub on Main St. in Gorham.  The three of us sounded really great together and we are all looking forward to doing it again!  They’ve got a pool table there now and I beat Shawn three games in a row (thanks, Tina, for the pointers!).  I even beat Russell, too.  There were some new faces there and I’m already psyched for next week.

I was back in the studio this week, working on what I referred to on my Facebook profile as “top secret stuff”.  Details to follow…

Today, I’m pounding the virtual pavement again.  This DIY indie songwriter stuff is hard work!  Anyway, here’s a look at next week:

Tuesday, January 25th

Jeremy will be bringing his gear and setting up to make a recording of Hoot Night!  What a great big brother he is.  If you’ve never been, you really should come check it out at The Wildcat Tavern in the heart of Jackson, NH.  The music starts around 8:00 or so.

Thursday, January 27th

Shawn and I will be hosting the open mic at Ledgend’s Pub on Main St in Gorham, NH.  7:00 to 10:00 p.m.

Friday, January 28th

Believe it or not, this is the 9th anniversary of Norway Open Mic Night!  I can’t even believe I’ve been doing it for this long.  Time definitely flies when you’re having fun!  Please come for the festivities!  It’s held in the same place since its inception, at the First Universalist Church at 479 Main St. in Norway, ME.  Sign-up begins at 6:30 and the open mic usually starts around 7:00 p.m.

Sunday, January 30th

The Heather Pierson Band (me, Jeremy and Shawn) will be presenting a very special afternoon show at River’s Edge Tavern in West Ossipee, NH from  3:00 to 5:00 p.m.  For more information please call 603-539-7733.

There are more things cooking that I’ll tell you all about in future updates.  Stay tuned!  And thanks, as always, you guys and gals, for supporting me and my music!

I’ll leave you with this latest offering to YouTube, which is where I began today’s post.  Thanks again!

The winter blahs are here.

Tags

Heather Pierson, Junkies, music, New Hampshire, Red Parka Pub, Top Of The Ninth, winter, winter blahs

That spring-like thaw that was tugging at the air this weekend is gone now, replaced by the familiar cold of winter – familiar, and yet I can never really get used to it.  I am not a winter person.  The cold seeps into my bones and it’s hard to shake it.  I don’t like the feeling of tensing up against it the moment I step out the door, or the sight of my frosty breath, or the sound of snow crunching under my boots.  Winter reminds me of how uninhabitable the world can seem at times.  I haven’t fulfilled my promise to try snowboarding yet, so perhaps there is hope for me in becoming a winter lover, but I am in serious doubt about that possibility.

So, what to do?  It’s Monday night and as of this writing, people are probably starting to fill up The Red Parka Pub for open mic night, and where am I?  Couch-locked, notebook and pencil just inches from my seat, new songs tugging at the edges of my consciousness.  Motivation, where art thou?  I will not find it at the bottom of that bag of potato chips, either.  🙂

In general, though, things are good.  I had a very busy weekend and thus I deserve to be a little sloth-like tonight.  I really don’t have any complaints, only that I wish it weren’t so cold.  But wishing for something like that is, as my dad might have said, like trying to polish a turd – it ain’t gonna get you too far.  The only real bummer of the weekend was our gig at Top Of The Ninth getting cancelled yesterday at the last minute.  Gas leak in the kitchen.  I was pretty upset about it – Shawn and I had really been looking forward to performing together again – but what can you do?  Another thing my dad used to say: “You either get over it or get under it.”  So we jammed for a while at the house here, worked on some of my tunes that I’ve not even thought about in a couple of years.  That was pretty inspiring!

And yet here I am, a day later, a big stinking pile of winter blahs festering in my lap.  So, what can I do?  I can put the computer away, have a glass of water and a snack and pick up the pencil and paper and have a seat at the piano.  I have to remind myself that in the past when I have felt like this – just like this, like I do at this very moment – it is when I’ve written some of my best songs.

Oh, and in case you haven’t seen it, here’s my latest YouTube offering.  Enjoy, and happy new year!  I promise these blahs won’t be around for long.