With their soprano and tenor as flashy hero and lilting ingénue. Because, of course, they know they are performing for you. But if you listen closely, a breathier, huskier tone is coming through. Like a thread of thick wool woven through a sky of bright ribbon and string. She’s puffed up, feeling herself, a little slower, a little deeper, just giving to sing.

She offers up permission to be something else. Perhaps just yourself. Operating on a bass-ier tone, unfazed by the musical theater, knowing to fill out and fill in what’s been missing in the ether. Unhurried, she’s making a home in herself, in her own style, her own way, every morning, every day.

I have been listening for her, looking up above for a dusted teardrop with wings. But as the temperature rises, I hear less of her sing. Yet still I look and listen for the low tones of love, of nature’s crooning artist, the mourning dove.

Hello hello,

This Wednesday, May 7th, at 6 p.m., I’ll be opening for the lovely and talented Sophie Gault and Zach Meadows at The 5 Spot in East. Jules Belmont and I will be playing songs off “Show Me The Way” in a more stripped-down setup. It has been really fun to hear these songs this way again. I hope you can make it. Tickets are available here or at the door.

And, if you can’t make it, I will be playing a longer show on Tuesday, June 17th, from 6 to 7 p.m., opening for Bobby Kitchens and The Dirty Dishes—tickets here so mark your calendars! Would love to see you there as well.

Nellen

If ya didn’t hear, I have a release show for Show Me The Way, this Sunday, December 8th, at The 5 Spot! Tickets are $10, and you can snag ‘em here.

Melissa Erin opens the night at 8:30pm, and my beautius band of thieves and I play will hit around 9:30pm.

If you’re not in Nashville, consider purchasing a ticket anyway. Put your name in as ‘St Catherine of Bologna’, or ‘Saint Cecilia’, or just ‘Angel Patron of the Arts from [insert city,state],’ and I’ll feel your goodwill from the stage ;)

I’ll have CDS of Show Me The Way and vinyl of Standstill for sale that evening as well, if you want to take a lil something home with you.

It’s also Bandcamp Friday , so if you want to buy any merch from me today, I receive 100% of the sale, which is always greatly appreciated.

Cheers, and see you soon,

Nellen

I hope you enjoy it wherever you listen.

I write to you contemplating the world in which these songs are arriving—another Trump presidency, known sex offenders walking the halls of power, and an infestation of greed running amok.

It’s bleak out here. But, my artist heart feels it differently too—like a phony distraction from what really matters. Each other.

Because I don’t come from billionaires or political pundits. I don’t come from investors, academics, celebrities, or reality TV stars.

I come from the working class. I come from a local scene. I come from rock n’ roll clubs and coffee houses and gospel choir practice at the church down the street. I came from public schools all the way until college. I came from scholarships, grants, and help to cover the cost of what my family could not.

I come from community. I know it well. And I know that “we are the ones we’ve been waiting for.”1

I will continue to dance to the beat of a different drum. One close to the boots on the ground, to music, to writing, to those pursuing their joy, their art, their purpose, their healing, with grit, passion, and determination, all while supporting others who are trying to do the same. I’m cheering us all on.

All this to say, these songs may have found their moment among the weight of communal despair. May they offer you peace, comfort, energy and ease.

Right now I don’t have merch because this project has been entirely self-funded on my tiny budget. If you want to financially support me and my music, you can find a pre-order for CDS here and a link to my Venmo here. Thanks for reading, I appreciate you!

Peace, love, and music,

Nellen

Listen on Spotify

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Listen on Bandcamp

Love,

Nellen

It was synchronistic, and at both times, their compliments meant a lot to me.

As a Taurus, I have always felt connected to some earthly, undisturbed, forward-moving motion. I do tend to tap into strength in a way that is deep and regular. But I also cry easily, prefer non-violent films and shows, and tend to wear my artist/writer heart on my sleeve.

For most of my life, these qualities didn’t match up or make sense to me, causing much inner turmoil. I struggled with low self-esteem and understanding how I fit in places as someone who was both tough and sensitive.

Well, in going down an Angela Duckworth1 rabbit hole, it appears grit does not ascribe to an astrological sign or traits like introversion or extroversion. It’s a deeper quality. Something that helps you plot toward the unknown with passion and perseverance.

This got me thinking about the ways it’s always been there in my life, yet how there are nuances in how I relate to it now.

Like how I used to think about the music business as this place where I could achieve not only because I am someone who can endure, but also because I can endure difficult people (ha!). I am happy to report I no longer ascribe to this wonky way of thinking. Just because one is determined and gritty does not mean that one is uniquely gifted or required to deal with disrespect. Yes, we will all encounter difficult people in life, but I now have so much more self-respect and self-knowing than to tolerate it these days—and so I carry on!

I also used to think it was a badge of honor to minimize my emotions, remain stoical, and not complain about my challenges. Well, these days, I’m much more inclined to slow down and allow what’s bubbling below the surface to offer me release and new information. There is a mysterious intelligence behind emotions I now honor and then, let go.

And finally, I used to think that pushing was the way. Always pushing. Letting anxious thoughts and fear of failure to fuel me from one thing to the next. I’m grateful to say, I’m less inclined to pushing and more keen on pursuing. Seeing out the bigger picture. Celebrating my achievements, even when no one else is watching, and knowing that my grittiness is actually connected to something in my tender heart. And a synonym for spirit.

I did not intend to distill down my thoughts on grit today, but I am curious. Have you ever been told you’re gritty? How did it make you feel? What comes to mind when you hear the word? Comment below and if you enjoyed reading this, tap that little heart button. Those make my day :)

I’ll leave you with my new song, Love Carry On, whose lyrics and place in the world are not unrelated to grit as well ;)

Sending love,

Nellen

Hello all! Here’s a little teaser for my new song, “Love Carry On” that’s out in the world today.

It’s about letting people go, even when you still love them. And knowing that love never ends, it just changes directions.

I spent years working on this song, and honestly, it might be one of my favorites on the album. I was really chasing a classic form and sound. I was inspired by Christine McVie too. I hope you spin it today. Preferably loud and in the car ;)

Listen on Spotify

Listen on Bandcamp

Listen on YouTube

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Thanks for listening and sharing,

Nellen

The first single off my upcoming album is out!

Beam up ✨SHOW ME THE WAY✨ anywhere you stream that music stuff.

Youtube

Spotify

AppleMusic

Lots of love to the folks who helped bring this song to life:

🌟recorded at The Bomb Shelter with Andrija Tokic who served as co-producer, analog Gemini wizard, engineer and mixer 

🌟organ and piano prowess: Jo Schornikow

🌟la guitarra/ co-writer: Jules Belmont

🌟the drums from Dave Racine

🌟the bass Lil Jack Lawrence

🌟 mastered by John Baldwin

enjoy 🖤 and please share!

Nellen

This album is of a different me this time. It’s of heartache, of hope. 

It’s of real musicians in a room, in a week, when it doesn’t make “sense” to do such things anymore.

It was made for a love of analog music. Of old songs.

Of loving myself through some of the darkest periods of my life. Of being ignored, yet demanding attention. Of learning to say “no” more than “yes.”

Of just trying, cause art is life and it feels good, feels right. Of going big. Of re-discovering my voice, both musically and spiritually.

Of finding the right people at the right time. Of learning to trust. Again. And again.

Of returning to the glorious tape machine. Of kind-hearted collaborators.

Of self-validation. Of letting go of bullshit.

Of piano. Of Rhodes. Of a U67 microphone. And…so much more.

The title track and first single Show Me The Way is out on streaming this Friday, and up now at my Bandcamp here.

Sending lots of love and gratitude to YOU, thanks for coming along for the journey

XO

Nellen

I hear you and you’re melancholy swooping in. This in-between time. This 5th season that ushers us on to the next.

It feels like relief from summer’s gripping heat. I hear the crackle and crunch of leaves on the sidewalk, and I know you’re here.

A sunny kind of life is leaving as we welcome the beauty of a proper fade. I see its arrival in your mustard yellows, sunset rouges, and sage.

With the slow trickle from light to dark comes the last of Horton’s tomatoes and the clearing out of old clothes and animal hair from shedding summer coats.

The sun sure does feel kind again. Feels like I’m catching up on sleep with my window box fan. I can finally turn off the A/C. I can finally eat a meal on the back deck or front porch. I can finally think without the combustible pressure, and sweat clouding my eyes. I can finally let my album and songs upload into the anticlimactic ether of a digital streaming service! (lol) She was made for cooler weather. The first single will be out on 9.27 :)

Talk again soon!

Nellen

Where there was once black and shiny fur around my dog’s almond-colored eyes, there are now white streaks painted on like spectacles. He will be 8 in January. This is hard for me to comprehend. I notice his age distinctly lately and not at all at other times, but when I took this picture, there it was, looking right back at me.

I didn’t grow up with dogs, but I am a thousand percent converted to this way of life. When I moved to Nashville, some folks told me not to get one in case I went on tour. But, one night as I watched a Shovels and Rope documentary and saw how they slept in a van with two dogs in a Walmart parking lot, and I thought, no one could tell me otherwise. 

We got him when he was 8 weeks old from a local shelter in East Nashville. I remember seeing him sniff the perimeter of his foster’s parents backyard, avoiding his littermates, engrossed in aroma. They told us some dogs were more were more people-focused, some more dog-focused. Juneau seemed scent-obsessed. 

We decided to bring him and one of his brothers home for a playdate to see which might be the right fit. To my surprise, you can tell so much about a dog’s personality and temperament in their first few weeks of life, maybe like people too? As we sat in our living room with two sets of paws pattering around the apartment, Juneau looked up at me, yawned, and plopped on my foot for a nap, uninterested in the roughhouse emanating from his hyper bro. And that was it. Simpatico from the start. Two introverts in love.

Juneau loves to lay in the backyard, legs out behind him, frog-style, while the hot Tennessee sun beats down on his back. When I make coffee in the morning, he comes down the stairs, wagging his tail as if he’s never seen me before. He loves to drag us on walks to tree trunks and through tall grass. His favorite place to sleep is under the bed, in his dark dog den.

He is also a singer. Part husky, quite talkative, and communicates with full-body shakes and deep audible sighs. We say he has a big personality, but maybe I am so attuned to him at this point that he takes up space inside me without me thinking about it. Whenever I sit down to the piano to play, I look around to see where he is, hoping I can begin without the vocal warmups, yips, and yowls that eventually crescendo into howls. But after he gets out his initial two, he curls up, and lets out a sigh as if he has fulfilled his duty.

I once saw a video online that said black dogs come to your life for a reason. To take on your pain and help you heal. They are guides and companions able to take on the shadow realm. Every time I am sad or need comfort, Juneau seems to find me, leans his body against mine, and cranks his head up to stare into my eyes as if to say, it’s all going to be alright.

If you’re thinking of getting a dog, here’s your sign.

Till next time,

Nellen

Writing these weekly missives has inspired me back into a poetic rhythm with some of my own work. As I’ve been a bit busy behind the scenes, I thought I’d take this week to share an incredible new album with you, made by my partner Jules Belmont.

Released earlier this year, Passages is an instrumental record that is melodic, groovy, soulful, and VERY good. Jules plays pedal steel and guitar on the album and served as co-producer and songwriter. It is a cinematic soundtrack, perfect for writing, working, driving, cooking…trust me, you’ll thank me later.

Stream on Spotify | Buy on Bandcamp

Listen on Youtube, all the way through!

For those of us lucky to live in Nashville, he will be playing full band tomorrow evening at Nelson Drum Shop. Doors at 7pm. Get your tickets here.

Cheers!

Nellen

Grateful for breathlessly walking with friends on concrete hotter than comets’ tails.

Grateful for journals, fresh coffee, and out-of-tune pianos.

Grateful for hands that don’t hurt anymore.

Grateful for the focus, the rest, and Cole Hocker crossing the finish line.

Grateful for strawberries dropped in lemonade and iris bulbs found in a plastic bag on side of the road.

Grateful for fresh herbs from my neighbor to dress up my potatoes.

Grateful to the greeter at the Y who knows my name, and the pool, the sauna, and steam room filled with eucalyptus oil.

Grateful to the monstera propagated all over the house.

Grateful for the hurt memory shrinking and the healing process growing.

Grateful for the nascent self emerging.

Grateful for this season that tells me, I still have time.

Did I cry when Stephen Spielberg appeared in his sneakers to speak about the interconnectedness of humanity, history, and the games?

Yes.

Did I gasp and squeal as my inner theater kid saw opera singers, heavy metal musicians, and hot-pink beheaded wigs in repeatedly striking Parisian tableaux?

Yes.

Did I cry once more as I watched the clumping of athletes floating in boats, bearing their flags with bright, wide grins, beaming with pride?

Yes.

How about when I thought of the unmapped beauty of places with unknown names like Nauru, Eswantini, or Togo?

*sigh*

The Olympics have somersaulted their way into my heart and, along with it, a wheelhouse of emotion. More than a spectator, I feel a proper speck in the sand of humanity, here to enjoy the show.

Judo has somehow become my sport of choice.

Maybe because the weapon is the body, so for some reason, I am not as scared.

What I’ve learned is judokas cower, twist, hunch, jut, trip, kick, and tuck. Grasping the collars and sleeves of their opponents’ robes, they attack and thrust themselves down to the ground, scrunching into the shapes of beetles. They defend. Somehow, each time, they each seem to bounce before they land.

Prominent medalists are from Japan, Kyrgyzstan, Azerbaijan, Brazil, Kosovo, Mongolia, Italy, and France.

The irony of it all, is I am watching TV. So much that I’ve ignored my body's impetus to move. I’ve become the flat-ass, Couch Olympian.

Anyway, cheers to poems that veil as newsletters, and hope you enjoy the games ;)

Nellen

Today, I am thinking of a quote from the movie, The Fellowship of The Rings.

As Gandalf looks down on Frodo, having just barely made it into the mountain of Moria, he offers this wisdom from beyond the realm of hobbit understanding,

My, oh my, how Gandalf is hitting right now in this cultural and political moment! Somehow, in the past week, some bright future has made itself known in the seeming darkness of our times. Only now, because of such a night of our nation’s soul, it seems, do we have a golden opportunity to shine—to be the first in our democratic history to elect a black woman as President. Has the shape of such explosive light actually been dark, dampened, and hiding all along? As Gandalf reminds us, perhaps it has. Anyway, I am planning on creating a literal weekly ritual, prayer, and altar for Kamala until election day; I suggest we all do, for democracy's sake.

Light was also on my mind in other ways, as I went a little crazy with my Polaroid camera this week. I wanted to understand its sensitivity and relationship to natural light. After using my phone as my camera for so many years, where every snapshot is a throwaway or a chance to pick photos apart and then re-do, with Polaroid film, it really becomes an exercise in impulse control, which was a challenge.

So, I present to you some (spooky) Slow Pictures #2,3,4,5. I took these photos around 11 a.m on Thursday when the humidity had finally broken, and the sky was overcast. It felt like Fall was whispering from her coming arrival a mere nine weeks away.

As I walked along a local greenway, I kept finding natural doorways created by young, bent-over trees and crawling vines. My imagination was piqued; who lives in there?—Immediately, I thought of fairies, elves, night-crawling species, phosphorescent bodies, the supernatural, Gandalf, oh, and maybe some deer—all trampling through forest portals into the unknown. The photos came out way darker than I hoped for, but if you look closely, there is a semblance of some shape. Some wonder. Some light.1

Til next time, my fellow hobbits,

Nellen

With the slowing down of summer heat, I feel called to rev up and reach out—especially amidst a cynic’s storm of gloom out there. I am a hopeful person because I am an artist, and maybe the world needs to hear more of that, so hello again!

There has been a lapse in this newsletter. As the kids say, life has been life-ing, but I’m back and ready to reconnect. I have just finished another album (!) and will update you when I have more details of its release. Until that moment, I want to commit to weekly writing paired with my re-discovered love for Polaroids and their clunky, illusory process. I’ll be calling them Slow Pictures. Here is #1.

In trying to commit myself to writing and sharing weekly, I’m thinking a lot, about this thing called s t r u c t u r e.

How I deeply avoid it.

How I deeply desire it.

How I must admit, I do need it to get things done.

About a month ago, I officiated a wedding for beloved friends. Their theme was “Full Moon Nuptials.” The setting was a botanic sculpture garden in the Catskills, with ethereal touches imagined by the artist-bride and musician-groom. I was overjoyed to preside over their ceremony (my first time) and just generally left feeling rejuvenated by their friendship and love.

As the Full Moon was in the sign of Capricorn—a sign known for its discipline and sturdy mountain goat ascent to reach every goal—I wrote words honoring their commitment as a structure that could offer them newfound freedom. What a concept!

And so, still, I am wondering about this,

How can structure offer us freedom?

How can life’s constraints give us our shape or direction?

What creation can come from my own unknowing and fumbling and stopping and starting, and sharing?

As a creative out-putter with copious ideas and yet not enough resources of time or money to execute and deliver as often as I desire, I am forced into creating by the walls of these constraints. One could call them my influences.1 I’m intimately aware of what I can and cannot do. But to that end, I know that the roadblocks offer me something, too. They are the fibers, knots, and threads of my life story as it continues to unfold, 35 years and counting.

I’m also aware that I’ve always struggled with structure and discipline, especially as a kid of divorce. I sort of made it up in my extreme compassion-less, childlike way, much of what I am currently unlearning. I’ve grown a lot in ways I hadn’t expected in the last few years, and with that, there has been a deep desire growing again to make space to share my own work again.

So, reader, that’s what brings me to you! I hope you’ve been well. I hope the rest of this July brings you close to bodies of water, whether that be internal wells of the heart or cool, wet refineries gifted to you by mother nature. Whether you are inside or outside, I hope you’ve welcomed the slowing down of summer and made space for hope. Whether it’s by digging into the juiciness of writing, painting, listening to new or old music, being outside, singing, dancing, or just generally embodying some sense of freedom within your precious life.

Talk soon,

XO

Nellen

P.s. Many of you have been on this email list for years. I am grateful you’re still here to support whatever this creative life calls for in me. That said, if you ever need to unsubscribe, please know I understand and wish you all the best.

This container is new, forced through the slow catharsis only a pandemic can bring; stillness, deep-self reflection, desire for new movement, desire for nuanced form. But now I am an artist slowly exiting her quiet era, preparing to record an album after years trying to figure out sustainable ways to make, play, and love music. 

In a way I entered my 30’s through a pandemic portal…what a strange bookend to my 20’s. Now I sit here with my morning coffee, my dog, the piano, socking away whatever money I have towards making an album with the dream of one day singing these songs for you—just for you (!!

). Maybe that is the reason I’m writing to you today, because some excitement has finally returned when I think of emerging from this container where the music can flow out loud and be shared ;)

Curious if anyone else feels like the pandemic portal forced them through some sort of catharsis or change? I can’t be the only one…

Till next time,

Nellen

My free time is now relegated to the evenings and weekends which I’ve reserved for long hikes in the Upper Cumberland, less screen time and limiting the social media intake. And in these soft crevices of time between job and sleep and eating and doing, I have come close to the fiery impetus to write to you all, but have subsequently slouched back, watching the flurry of Furiousity float up and away, and it’s felt kinda pleasurable to do so.

I’ve been watching this itchy dog of mine with his coat shedding, leaving him dry-skinned. A recurring image of him with his white tuxedo paws-mid scratch. 

I’ve been delighted inside these summer thunderstorms that darken the sky from 2’o clock in the afternoon until the evening. But now a heat wave has settled in and I long for more rain.

And I’ve been warming my fingers along the black and white keys. I’ve been starting to sing again. I’ve sunken deep into reading and listening about ancient mythology and wisdoms of cultures, much all related to my new job of employment (no longer cleaning!). I’ve been turning things over, mostly inwardly, privately, with soft lines still reaching the voices and words of friends.

And yesterday, I had a massage where the masseuse surprised me in more ways than one. Instead of creating an airy ambiance with ethereal sounds of wind-chimes, flutes, and running water, I entered a dark, cozy, plush feeling cave pulsing with the rhythm of a thumpy upright bass beneath a sax solo. This jazz cave was nice, low and slow. I felt nestled below ground, in the o.g “room”, ready for the push, pull, and muscle extraction of the stress nestled so deep in my sinew and flesh. There was another first when this masseuse incorporated breath-work. Inhale, she said, and when I exhaled she pressed deeply on my sternum, pushing all the air out of my lungs. Between the pressure and release of tension (apparently tightest in my forearms!), she intermittently pressed the air out of me, and finished the session by burning palo santo and sweeping its fumes from over my head all the way down to my toes. Whew! It was good.

But back to not writing you. That’s not the best thing, but it is a thing. And its nice to have a little mystery between us ;) And since I’ve been quiet, my senses have been heightened. I’ve been more aware and listening for subtlety, connections and signs. And I had a conversation yesterday that echoed a passage of a book I’m reading, where ancient history came up twice. 

How at many times throughout our collective human history there have been times when knowledge has been lost and systems have collapsed. And then what. Well, then comes in oral history and the scribes, the notetakers, so crucial to keeping and preserving our stories of war, peace, knowledge, language, hope. And it got me thinking why can’t I think of my writing like that, not so finite. But a catalog of time. That someone will read to understand how we lived right now in 2023. Whether it was through songs, through tornadoes, through elections, through heat waves, through pandemics. These are our tales to tell and keep, and then maybe, just let go.

And with that I thought it would be nice to capture and share my current summer soundtrack. Here’s what I’m spinning:

• Jenny Lewis’ “Joy’All”

• Thee Sacred Souls “Easier Said Than Done”

• Emily King’s “Special Occasion”

• Guy Clark “Texas Cookin’”

• Bill Withers “Heartbreak Road”

And if the idea of Note-taking as a practice interests you, I recommend checking out the Substack by Jillian Hess. She is an academic and researcher of notebooks and note-taking. She has recently viewed and written about Mozart’s notebooks, Ganhdi’s sacred diaries and my favorite, Frida Kahlo’s illustrated diaries here.

Hope these scribes and music artists offer some indoor, heat-wave relief and stimulation for you.

Till we meet again,

Nellen

Though I have been a day job girl for many years, plodding towards my bigger dreams, I had become a bit pummeled to a pulp. I needed work that at least gave me a sense of purpose. And playing cover songs on Broadway for tips was not my thing. I had to loosen my rigid assumption of what was possible for my work life. I needed to bleed together my own black and white thinking, to a more greyed out water-color, all while, quite frankly, trying to protect my songwriting and music-making practice.

This financial path-finding has always been tricky for me, and many artists. But maybe not in Finland?… Read here .Unfortunately we don’t live in Finland, where it seems music and art are understood as a non-negotiable piece of the humanistic puzzle. Creative self-expression is seen as plain living, and grants for creators are encouraged and readily available. Sure, you can argue a lot of things about how better American music and art is, but wow, how truly wonderful would it be to have easy access to financial well-being as an artist? Some of us can’t just turn off a switch that feels like a calling and are always pouring whatever resources we have—time, money, relationships—into our dire dreams. It seems America wants me to make music for free and die for my art, but honey, I have learned the hard way and boy, do I know better.

I am grateful that in the past few weeks, I have finally been able to work in the ways I have been applying, pitching and portfolio-ing for. Working with words. Writing. Whether it’s for ads, websites, bios or what have you. This work has meaningful to me, where I can leave my second most visited website—thesaurus.com— always open, growing an obsession with language which is at its core, tied to my deep value of expression.

But, of course, it hasn’t all come together when I needed it too, so I had to think of other ways that I could make some cash. After spending years in a call-center, I was serviced out. What could I do that would involve less chit-chat in exchange for this ever-present currency of American living? 

Cleaning, my friends. Cleaning!

I’ve had many stints as a cleaner in my life. My first job was a dishwasher and cabin cleaner for some 500 camp kids at a summer camp. And before that my mom had me cleaning neighbors homes at 13 to learn how to make allowance and instill a tough work ethic. Time and again, I’ve come back to it, in times of job and transition. It’s funny, I had taken so long away from it, I had forgotten it was an option. Or maybe, on a deeper level, I had hoped I wouldn’t have to return to it, as it can be demanding physical labor and holds low societal standing. Lately, I’ve found it has been freeing to return to it. You get to be on your feet, work through any complicated inner dilemma, all while blasting your favorite Sharon Jones record, taking home the unopened beers and break a sweat while hitting 6k steps.

So yes, I have been cleaning some fancy Airbnbs here in Nashville. They. Are. Everywhere. Sitting empty for weeks, then filled for 3 days at $600 a night. When checkout time rolls around, little old me pulls up in my beater Honda Accord, carrying a vacuum, wearing spandex shorts, balancing an ice coffee with garbage bags and knocking on the front door hoping no one is inside. But more often than not, there is a group of well-off folks, hurting from a night on Broadway, gathering their luggage slowly, hiding under black sunglasses and severe dehydration.

The kind woman who gave me the job is the queen of gig economy. She’s got rental properties, an accounting job, cleans 4-5 of these things every two weeks and is a musician and farm owner. After cleaning, I mentioned to her I was interested in helping her on the farm. As a Tennessee resident, and a Taurus, this seemed like some sort of bucket list item. So she texted me one weekend and I said I’d be happy to help.

While driving to her farm, through unknown pockets of untouched, overgrown green areas in Antioch—I mean, parts of Tennessee look like freaking Ireland—I got get very lost, hitting detour after detour, not recognized by my GPS. When I did finally arrive, I saw a crooked mobile home tucked behind a chain link fence with an idyllic field, river, barn and vegetable garden surrounding its perimeter.

I thought I’d be shoveling goat shit today, which I was oddly looking forward to, fulfilling my-inner farmer kink, being so in tune with animals and nature that all my worries wisp’d up and away—but no. It was raining and everything was mud. 

“Since it’s wet, I’d figure I’d treat myself, and pay you to deep clean my fridge, kitchen and bathroom.” 

Oh?… Im not sure I would’ve said yes to this, but here I was, standing in a trailer outside Nashville, on a beautiful soggy farm, scrubbing ceilings, floors and crisper drawers while the owner sat on the phone with her divorce lawyer 10 feet away. I felt bad for her. And I felt bad for me. A bluegrass player and upright bassist, she told me her ex-husband and her were splitting up and the divorce proceedings had taken over a year. “I’m sorry you have to hear all this,” she said cupping her phone. Oh no honey, I didn’t say. I came with earbuds, I’m a millennial and I won’t be dipping into this drama, just your literal toilet.

The things we do to make a living… I’m still cleaning every other week or so, but now it’s a massive 3 floor, fancy Airbnb in 12South and has to be spotless when I leave. I’ve got other gigs writing copy, websites and then some singing backgrounds and playing guitar for a couple different singer-songwriters and bands in June. It seems now I am the epitome of the gig economy. A apart of me is grateful to do so many different things. It is definitely not boring and it definitely keeps my song idea wheels spinning. But let’s be honest, if you have the funds, feel free to buy me a coffee ;)

Till next time 💖