I have been very blessed in my life; the muses have always lead me to the right place at the right moment. I was driving through southwestern Virginia this past November, and ended up near Norton, VA right after the sun had set. I stopped and had a small meal of crackers on the edge of town in the thickening twilight and pressed on. After a few short minutes of driving through town, I found myself at the other end of town in front of a little log cabin community center called the Country Cabin. I could hear the music drifting out into the ink black silence of night. I parked my little red truck and grabbed my 35mm camera and tape recorder and headed in. When I entered the building, I found a circle of folk singing and playing. One of these folk was Bobby Dean Stanley. He was singing with everything he had; I could see that from the back of the room. Bobby Dean Stanley was a coal miner. He has "a bit of black lung," but although he has difficulty breathing, his voice is beautiful and melodic and soulful. After the Country Cabin closed, we stood outside on the porch in the cold, dark night, the kind of night where you can see your breath floating away in foggy wisps in the air. Bobby sang me songs by the light of my headlights and I recorded them. Here is one for you to listen to:
