DAVID JONES

A Poet Of The Inner Journey

see Dave's journal notes below - his Badlands sojourn...

David Jones is a poet and photographer who ventured north from his birth place in Mississippi to settle in Wisconsin for many years. Now, the restless poet is looking west, settling in the Badlands of South Dakota.
David Jones published his first book of poems with Roger Kuhns, titled "On The Edge". Jones and Kuhns have performed "On The Edge" numerous times in Door County, and included original music played by Roger as backdrop to David's poetry, and also as stand alone pieces.

Jones and Kuhns collaborated again with "Seeing The Mirror" performances. Kuhns again wrote over two hours of origninal guitar instrumental music that fit like a glove to Jone's insightful poetry.

The Badland Journal of David Jones

-----------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------

Jesus said, “Whoever has come to know the world has discovered a carcass, and whoever has discovered a carcass, of that person the world is not worthy.” – Gospel of Thomas (pp56).

Wall, South Dakota 57790
Possibly my favorite business in Wall is the local post office. It must be – I go there six days a week, and sometimes there really is mail in my box. Everyone in Wall has a box because there is no home delivery, unless you live outside of town. Rural delivery thrives, as you will see.

It is a quaint, Western building. Small, set back from the walk, narrow and long inside, and decidedly dark. On the right wall the local bulletin board announces not criminals but bake sales and potluck dinners, marriages and births. Further down the large boxes stand out from the wall after passing by the desk and trash can, which was always full last month with political fliers. On the left are the mail deposit slots, the service counter, then all the small boxes for folks like me. But the most important feature of the post office is behind the service counter. There, Mrs. Candee Kitterman, Postmaster, presides. She is new to the job, but perfect for it, for she knows everyone and greets all with a smile and small talk if wanted.

Candee has filled me in on the facts of the Wall post office. It is a first class post office, postmarking all mail from Wall. In the summer, at the peak of the tourist season, that’s 10,000 post cards a day. It used to be 20,000 but Wall Drug stopped giving out free post cards. These days it is about 5000. Plus all other mail – letters, bills, junk mail – all go through the Wall P.O. But it is not just Wall, a town of 8oo. It is a large area, small in population. About 60 miles north to south, 45 miles east to west. Almost 3,000 square miles. Every drop box, every rural mailbox in that area is collected and postmarked Wall, S.D. There are three rural routes, two over 100 miles in length, one just under 100 miles. In all that area there are roughly 250 rural customers. Granted, within that area are more Angus than people – definitely more prairie dogs -- but a fair number of people, including some in the Pine Ridge Reservation. It occurred to me a person could be born, live and die in Allen, South Dakota, never having been to Wall, and yet all their mail would be post-marked Wall. And that includes those who come to the reservations to do good works – college students and retirees by the hundred from all over this nation – maybe even Wisconsin – some of whom have their mail post- marked Wall, S.D. 57790. People who want to do some good for this world, not live in comfort and ease, sending mail post marked Wall, S.D. 57790. Amazing. Historians will have fits 100 years from now.

And I have heard of those who stop in Wall, just to send mail to themselves and friends, saying they had been to Wall Drug. I know my niece brought her bills on a visit so they would be mailed on the right day – from Wall, S.D.

But it is true back in Wisconsin, too. Mail from Door County or the Fox Valley is often postmarked Green Bay. We have lost one little bit of local identity.

During that peak mailing season something else happens, for that is Sturgis Rally time. The population of Wall doubles – maybe triples – with people on Harleys. It is a little noisy! For the most part these folk are tourists like you and me. They go into the local gift shops and buy things – coffee mugs with Wall Drug printed on them, t-shirts of all sorts, jackalope heads carefully mounted – and they take them to the post office to mail home, because there are no trunks to toss them in on a Harley. And laundry gets sent home by mail – no place for dirty clothes in the saddlebags. The post office is arguably the busiest place in Wall at that time.

Now that it is quiet, Candee and I have time to talk on occasion, about family and writing (she has a really good book inside her head) and weather. She does not talk about people except if it’s nice. A true friend to all who come through the old wood and glass doors.

For me, the Wall, S.D. Post Office is a place to meet and talk, to find out what goes on in the closer world. And find some mail, once in a while. David Jones, P.O. Box 92, Wall, S.D. 57790. And I really live here!

Beach Walk Before The Fall

By David Jones

The air speaks of summer’s end –
a crisp bite to the breeze off the lake.
The ache in your knees tells you
of your summer’s passing,
days dwindling to an early sunset.
This beach at Newport – a crescent moon,
each horn pointing to emptiness,
is beautiful and filled with quiet,
a funnel for solitude, the whirlpool
of aloneness swirling to you.

There is the stone you were looking for,
to skip on the gentle waves, sending back this
rock to water, to find its way again to shore
to be skipped again by someone unknown.
First, look at that stone.
Oval, about three inches long, flat,
smooth, a perfect fit for the curve
of your index finger; curved
from desire to throw, curved
from arthritis. Youth and age –
both wanting to skip the stone.
It is so much older than you,
geologic epochs older.
A dark speckled testimony
to forces you may know
but not remember.
You – you won’t be a thought of a tick
on the geologic clock until calcium
is replaced by other minerals,
your beautiful smile
a computer’s conjecture.
This stone is almost eternal,
you are one frame in the film
of a dream a smiling angel had
one warm morning in spring.
There you are. There is the stone.
There is your hand holding the stone.
there is the desire to start the dream
again, replay that one frame.
There is only one thing to do.

Conata Basin, The Badlands

By David Jones

August 28 2004 Journal Entry

By David Jones

Feeling depressed, depressed by those things that depress single 60 year-old men, I decided to go out to watch the bison; I prefer buffalo, but, hey - they is what they is… I wonder what they call themselves? Probably Fred or Irma or who knows? Don’t want to know what they call us.

This is an in-between time for the bison; an informative time. They went through mating season about a month ago, and calving season was in May, so this is pretty quiet now, except for a few bulls who are still establishing their dominance; always a few of those… Most, ‘though, are content on storing fat for winter, which means they are eating anything they can find. Their coats still have a little bit of rough that hasn’t shed, but there is a new gloss to their hides. Except for the scars that don’t go away, reminders of past encounters with dead branches, stone outcroppings, or another bull proving a point. I can’t think of anything else that would scar a bison. Certainly not my little car.

This day was a good day for watching… Most tourists are gone; the bikes of Sturgis have thinned considerably. (I’ll write about Bike Week in Sturgis later. The bison do not like motorcycles. I will offer in-depth coverage of Bike Week, which I observed by staying far away from Sturgis.) The herds were close to the road, so it was easy to drive up – within 20 to 30 feet – park, and watch. They might look over and size you up, but those are the first or second year-old bison. The older ones know cars and pickups and know they have nothing of interest for them, as long as you stay in them. Which, of course I do. If I have a death wish, it is for something much quicker and less painful than being gored or trampled.

As stated, now they are interested in feeding, on almost anything. Because of the drought, their choices are limited. I watched as they cleaned the roadside of curlycup gumweed, a beautiful little yellow-flowered weed with little forage value. Except it is green, and little else is... The prairie is brown; the prairie dog towns are dustbowls (which the bison love) and there just isn’t much choice in food. Lots of rubber rabbit bush, some black-eyed Susans, and various other flowering plants that are green, but not good to eat. The bison are eating them, though. Grass is just not there, or dormant; (another aside: Your beef prices will soar. Ranchers out here are selling their open heifers at $1.50 per pound. That’s very high. Guess what hamburger will be in a few months.)

Mostly the bison eat by grazing along the road, because that is where the weeds grow; quietly. They move slowly, gleaning every bit of the plant. You can hear their breath – great volumes of air – rushing in and out, but slowly, with much time between breaths. About 10 passed my car on the other side of this gravel road, showing no interest in me. After they passed my car, a few moved to my side of the road to graze - slowly, without fear of me, without fear of anything. Down the road, about 300 yards, you could hear the great deep grunts of one bull telling another to clear out of his territory. The second bull didn’t, so there was a little head butting; a little pushing. Things were settled, and they got back to the important task of grazing.

As they moved across the prairie the calves, now half-grown, followed mom at a trot; every once in a while nuzzling her flank, looking for milk. Mom would just as soon not accommodate this behavior, but tolerated the intrusion. Moms do that. They all have horns, and the calves are small, barely noticeable. They seem to curl in with age. I’m just guessing at this, but the older bison seem to have more curve to them, the young adults straighter up, even outward. I’d ask, but men don’t do that. Why destroy the mystery?

The lesson I have relearned: Go slow, take care of what needs to be done now, don’t worry about the rest. I’m convinced that most of the problems humans have, (and remember they are human problems only) are caused by there being no way to turn off the flow of hormones. Look at the bison: They’ve calved, they’ve mated, now just hold on a year and do it all over again. Easy. Peaceful. No hormones telling bulls to chase cows, no hormones from cows attracting bulls. Easy.

There was a beautiful sunset, and the full harvest moon rose above The Wall. Another good day in The Badlands… Depression gone. The Badlands do that for me.

Skeleton

The spine reaches sixty miles,
a serrated dominance undulating
through the prairie.
Near the west headland,
ribs run down
into the ground.
Climb those ribs carefully,
they are beyond fossils
and look north where
bones from a giant hand curl
out of earth.
Bison nibble grass
where the armpit should be,
now eroded into white thick blood
inching slowly away.
We should check the DNA
for, perhaps, this is where
Satan’s body found Earth
when hurled from Heaven.

Look up, into this vast blue sky
reaching to a sun
that smiles as God upon you,
slowly shakes his head
and sheds a rare tear.

-- David Jones (July 2004)

-----------------------------------------------

David Jones The Poet Visits Door County For A Week

Peninsula Pulse Interview - July 30, 2004

Locally anointed poet laureate of Egg Harbor, David Jones, moved to The Badlands of South Dakota in April 2004. Leaving his Ashbrooke Hotel night manager job of seven years, and having published one poetry book and having produced a live performance CD with fellow poet and musician Roger Kuhns, he journeyed forth to new horizons and matters of subject. He recently returned to Door County for a weeklong visit and some reading of poetry.

Pulse: Now that you’ve ventured to The Badlands, and returned for a week – what differences do you see?

Jones: You can’t see anything here; there are too many trees. And it’s too humid here. But I love it.

Pulse: What drew you to The Badlands, why not a beach in Jamaica?

Jones: The Badlands are beautiful; there is something very spiritual going on there, and I’m working on a book about this magical spiritual place. It’s very dry, very hot, very windy, and very beautiful. It’s where I belong.

Pulse: What aspect of The Badlands are you featuring in your poems?

Jones: I’m writing about the affect the austerity and the ferocity that The Badlands has on life. There are narrow paths you have to follow to just stay alive there; it affects all life. There are times you have no choice, you do it one-way or you die. I’ve spent a great deal of time just walking through the wilderness, climbing erosional ribs up to the tops of the buttes, tracking mountain lions and watching tremendous storms pass overhead. All of these aspects will be featured in my poems. The story is about the odyssey of one man passing from the west to the east across The Badlands and the people and nature he encounters on this trek. The emphasis will be on how The Badlands affects these people, and how it affects on the man’s physical and spiritual nature as he journeys through these lands.

Pulse: You’re the traveler, right? Or are you knitting insights and stories from other Badlands’ travelers as well?

Jones: I’m the traveler in the sense that The Badlands will be portrayed as I see them, but the traveler in the book is much younger and in better shape. There will stories and tales from people who have worked and lived in The Badlands for some time present in some of the poems.

Pulse: I understand you are also keeping a photo journal. How is that going?

Jones: Very well. I try to be in The Badlands early in the morning for sunrise, and late in the afternoon for sunset. The light is better then, the air is so clear and dry, the Wall and the colors are incredible. The blue of the sky is much bluer than in Door County because of the lack of humidity or pollution. You look across the land and see much more than you see over the bodies of water in Door County. You’ll see bison and pronghorn passing by; colors and textures of the landscape. There are areas in The Badlands where a small butte will stand alone, appearing just like an ore boat coming into harbor. There are also throughout The Badlands formations that from a distance look like perfectly formed pyramids. You want to ask what strange past civilizations built these structures. But the answer of course is wind and rain.

Pulse: What is Wall South Dakota like? How would you describe the people?

Jones: Wall is like Wall Drugstore – that is what there is. My brother came up with the best descriptions: It’s the Wisconsin Dells in one block. This is a pass-through; it is not a destination. There are 13 motels in this town and only 850 people. But it is not just a tourist town; Wall serves as a shopping and market area for ranchers and other people for fifty miles around. The people in Wall are among the friendliest I’ve met anywhere. The want you to be there, they need people there – there are a lot of spaces to fill around Wall.

Pulse: Why did you settle in Wall, why not someplace else?

Jones: I considered Rapid City, a city of 60,000 people with universities, but it’s 60 miles from The Badlands, and my focus is The Badlands. Wall is ten miles from the park, so I can drive there very easily. Wall has everything you need if you don’t need a lot.

David Jones plans on publishing his book on his adventures in The Badlands sometime in 2005. His books and CDs are available on www.musictoears.com.

-----------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------

David Jones’ Badlands Guide To Finding Serenity

(July 2004)

1. Accept that things are as they are. Then you can attempt to change things.
2. Nothing is as it seems. Everything changes.
3. Life IS a miracle. Know that and be blessed.
4. There ARE rules. Do not lie. Do not steal. Be kind.
5. Forgive and forget. Those who lie, steal and are cruel are God’s problem, not yours.
6. Give and receive love openly and gratefully.
7. Always overreach. You will almost always fail, but you will always attain more.
8. Don’t wear masks. Don’t pretend to be what you are not.

-----------------------------------------------

Here's PROOF Dave hasn't lost his sense of humor

-----------------------------------------------

Horizon

There is no horizon of consequence
except the one you can’t walk through.

I stare at The Wall; that one stone whose
nightshade dark cape moves from left to right,
its one unseeking eye staring into me,
penetrating until I am known and without shadow.
This whit dust beneath my feet lifts,
attacks The Wall, returns and covers me,
making us one beneath this sun.
Harsh, burning all pretense from my soul,
it cleanses as a crematory fire removes
weakness and death, leaving only me
as I was created, a through without end,
the triumphant eagle’s cry, a whisper in your ear.


-- David Jones (June, 2004)

-----------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------

Kingbirds

I saw the Eastern kingbird
West of the Western Kingbird
and asked if he was lost.
He cocked his brilliant black head,
swallowed the moth,
and pooped.

It is sometimes hard to remember
the boundaries of our logic –
and that it is ours,
not theirs.
We may not want to know
the Kingbirds’ taxonomy.


-- David Jones (June, 2004)

-----------------------------------------------

RAIN

Finally. Rain. Bucketsful. When it comes in the Dakotas, you know it. Yesterday one inch in a half hour, with lightning and hail – not enough to damage the car, but enough to scare me.

Then a slow soaker during the rest of the night; about and inch and a half of rain. You can’t really call it a soaker though. This ground isn’t made to be a sponge – you think. It looks like it all runs off until you’re unfortunate enough to discover “gumbo”. You’re driving on what appears to be dry, sun-cracked mud and suddenly break through to a slimy muck that swallows tires.

That’s why I don’t drive my little car way-back; some roads are clearly marked as dangerous, others you just sort of find out about. And that’s why I walk a lot.

In some ways I’m in better shape than when I left Door County. I know I solved my weight problem – I left my scales in Egg Harbor. But when you’re walking five miles in rough terrain, you carry only essentials – water, camera, notebook, snake-bite kit, compass; no food – that weighs and takes space. You wear a broad-brimmed hat (cowboy’s got it right) and sun screen, good walking shoes. And now, with the rain, insect repellant. Three deaths last year to West Nile Virus. I love this land!

--David Jones (May 2004)

-----------------------------------------------

I suppose most of you think of Dakotans as being fairly simple, straight-forward people. Generally that’s true. The states are sparsely populated, rural. Cowboys are as numerous as store clerks, more so than executives. Day to day living is most important to most, and there is little time to wonder about the other-world or metaphysics. And yet they do have a philosophical side, publicly stated.

South Dakota marks traffic fatalities with a small roadside sign, on which one of two things are printed. The signs are diamond-shaped, black and white. One says, simply, in bold letters with exclamation mark, THINK! Plain, straight advice, always welcome. And certainly necessary when driving: About your driving, not the market or Emmie Lou in that short skirt. And here in South Dakota as in Wisconsin and all states, the thinking should start before you start driving. How many beers is that?

The other sign, same design, has a much more interesting phrase: WHY DIE? Now, back home in Wisconsin I learned that that wasn’t optional. We all will. I know what they’re saying, but… I’ve even stopped and walked over to study the sign to see if there was an obscure website address that would tell us how to avoid death. There wasn’t.

I would argue that the WHY DIE? sign is a hindrance to the THINK! sign. It certainly diverted me from the road ahead. Why indeed? Well, for one thing, after you’ve been in this world for more than a few years, things blur together, looking more or less the same. Those bacon and eggs you had for breakfast really were a lot like those the morning before. And they may be the answer to that WHY DIE? sign. Because of all those bacon and egg breakfasts.

But here, in The Badlands, there are no two days the same. And the geology somehow changes before your eyes. I’ve become temporarily lost several times within _ mile of the main road. Why? Because that box canyon wall changes its appearance when the sun hits it from a slightly different angle. You leave no footprints. The wind changes direction bending around the walls. That may be the answer to the question: You die because you become lost and can’t find the way home. And THAT is philosophical.

-----------------------------------------------

Dave - May 16, 2004

-----------------------------------------------

Rain Gods - May 14, 2004

For the first time in my life I'm experiencing the joys of basic cable television. I have 45 channels to choose from and know that 35 will never be watched. I love rejection, especially when I'm doing the rejecting.

It is ironic that there is one channel I watch regularly -- the 24 hour radar. Ironic because it doesn't rain in Wall, S.D. In the month I've been here Wall has received .03 inches of rain, maybe. There have been showers all around Wall, but not here. Philip, 30 miles to the east, has had .27 inches.

I've watched (on radar) lines of rain 50 to 60 miles long travel right at Wall, and split apart 10 miles away, avoiding the city. I've watched a line form 5 miles to the east and travel east. Something about Wall repulses rain. The Wall has had more rain than Wall!

It isn't me!!! The drought has been going on for 5 years. Perhaps Wall Drug offended some deity with their Free Ice Water ads. Or, more likely, the namesake of my apartment building, Wall Ridge, affects weather patterns. But then, why don't other, far taller and larger ridges do so? Must be that deity.

Well, if my apartment gets clean, I'll do another today. I miss a lot of folks back there. Maybe if you published my e-mail address, some would write.

Keep in touch. Dave

-----------------------------------------------

Gravity - May 13, 2004

The wall is a monument to the power of erosion, which is of course caused by water and wind -- we think. The real power behind erosion is gravity, the unseen constant for all matter.

Water, drawn from clouds by gravity, continues under its influence down the face of The Wall, into a gully, into The White River. All gravity. Wind hits The Wall, forcing pepples and sand to fall -- down -- because of gravity.

I am sitting at The White River Basin Overlook as I write this, hoping to see the pair of Prairie Falcons I spotted 2 days ago while the male was going through his courtship flight. She seemed impressed. I certainly was. The peak she perched upon was formed by gravity. His stoops from on high needed gravity. And while my little car, so poorly suited for this country, is being rocked by a 30 m.p.h. wind, I am confident our mass will keep us more or less grounded -- gravity again.

This basic lesson in physics has a point: If there is a constant, invioble force governing the physical world, is there a corresponding spiritual force? I'm sure that there is for I feel it here at The Wall. Here, life is elemental, both physical and spiritual life.

The laws governing gravity have no out clause. Yes, it can be overcome, but only by following other laws. There is no mercy with gravity. Is there with the spiritual constant? If I find out, I'll pass it on.

Dave - 13 May 2004

-----------------------------------------------

At The Wall
April, 24, 2004

(Please note: The Wall means The Badlands. Wall means the town.)
Well, here I am. It is beautiful! The formations, the colors – the silence! Even when the wind is blowing 25 or 30 m.p.h., there is silence. An occasional meadowlark, a very infrequent car, is all that breaks the blessed silence. Now there is time to hear my heart slow, my pulse drop, my brain shed non-essentials. Yes, I hear those fall away.

Some thoughts on two animals that typify The Wall: The prairie dog and the bison.

A superficial look at a prairie dog town might lead one to believe they are all destructive. There is little or no grass, the burrow holes are dangerous to cattle and horses. But the bison love those towns. The prairie dogs don’t eat everything, and what they leave the bison eat. Because there is little grass there are few parasites. Take a short walk into town and you become aware of the softness of the earth. Prairie dogs are great tillers of the soil, and they do enrich it! Don’t go too far in! Their fleas carry bubonic plague, and that could ruin your day!

The bison (not buffalo) is reputedly temperamental and unpredictable. You wouldn’t know it from casual observation. I’ve driven within ten feet, and all they do is slowly move their massive heads and look at me. They probably think my car is too small to be a threat. I don’t get out of it – don’t want to test the theory.

Their heads are massive! Even a bison calf has a huge head. Mine is large, but all I have to do is balance it upright. The bison has to carry theirs out front. That would make me testy!

A footnote: I’ve met two people who were born here, moved to Wisconsin, then moved back. They both said the same thing: In Wisconsin, the forests come right up to the road – you can’t see anything! Guess they’re right.

-----------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------

From: "dave jones" gdjones@gwtc.net
To: "roger kuhns" rogerkuhns@itol.com
Subject: Badlands
Date: Sat, 24 Apr 2004 08:34:53 –0500

Got a call from Julie at the park and they want us to do a performance when you're here! When I know when you'll be here, we'll firm up dates and times. Guess that means you should bring your guitar.

The weather is raw and cold today. Good day to stay home and write. So I'll be out roaming the flats below the wind line.

Stay well. Dave

-----------------------------------------------

April 11, 2004 Going To….

The trip to The Badlands of South Dakota from Door County takes about 14 hours driving time these days. If anybody bothered to do it about 1870 or so, it would have taken months, perhaps years. A few rivers, some horrendous hills, and a few thousand gullies (or draws or ravines – whatever you call them, they would have been disheartening.) It is a revealing trip, one of opening – the view, the land, the spirit.

The hard part, as always, is getting out of Wisconsin. Highway 29 is faster but much longer than dropping down to highway 21 out of Oshkosh. 21 is a two lane road through what I consider the reality of Wisconsin. Small farms, small cities, both prosperous compared to the rest of the nation. There are wood lots or forests right up to the road. Small lakes and rivers show up regularly. All these things keep your vision in close, rarely straying too far from the ribbon of concrete.

At La Crosse the Mississippi River carves a deep gash in the land, and Interstate 90 has a long steep climb up the west bank. Past that rise, you enter the more open, more treeless plain of South Minnesota. It is still farmland, rolling and gentle, but farms, cities, and bodies of water are farther apart. Poverty starts to become visible, too, with the appearance of obviously abandoned farm houses. What keeps your eyes close to the road are the billboards. Minnesota humor. (“Austin, Minnesota. Home of the Spam Museum. Really.”) The state opens up the farther west you travel, but it is still tamed farmland.

As is Eastern South Dakota, but the poverty becomes even more prominent. My unofficial survey says one in three farms are abandoned. There is more fallow land. The water is rare, mostly small potholes with migrating waterfowl in every one. A few rivers – really streams, and already mere trickles. Until Chamberlain, on the east side of the Missouri River. There is an overlook there that is worth the stop. The view is breathtaking, and on the other side is your first hint of The West. Bare hillside with deep gullies spotted with low-growing cedar. This is a theme repeated all the way to Wall.

Now you are in the West. This is short grass prairie, ranch land. Angus cattle start to populate the hillsides, searching for something to eat. You begin to see yucca spiking out of the ground, and honest-to-God tumbleweeds. Traffic thins, towns shrink in size and are farther apart, and you start to grow tired of the Wall Drug signs. In the distance, to the north, ridge lines appear. To the south a ridge line once in a while, but buttes (or tables, your choice) give a hint of what is to come.

Kadoka calls itself Gateway to The Badlands, and rightly so. From here west past Wall the formations grow and dominate the southern horizon. It is a strange sight. Bare of vegetation, rising out of endless grassland, There appears to be no reason for their being there. But there is. And that is why I am here, a registered to vote citizen of Wall, South Dakota.

-----------------------------------------------

April 2, 2004 - Leaving Door County Wisconsin

Severing Door County roots isn't easy. They seem to grow up from what little soil there is, grabbing the unsuspecting. I'm no native (few are), and have only lived here seven years, but feel rooted to this place. The beauty of the rocks, trees, water, meadows; the friendly people who genuinely care about you; even the moderate weather makes leaving difficult. Cut these roots and I'm sure I'll find evidence of their being for some time to come.

They've got to be cut. I'm being lured by a county without trees, without water; lots of rocks, and extremes unknown in Door County. Lured by the Badlands of South Dakota, a place of incredible beauty and an unforgiving nature that can easily kill you. A place where God makes it clear that this world isn't here for us alone.

There, I have a feeling of awe and reverence. Everyone warns of the wind, and there certainly is that, but there are times of pure silence, when much of what you hear is imagined. From the top of Hay Table or at The Pinnacles the view is forever - or seems that way. When the air is clear you can easily see Harney Peak, 55 miles away. The great space that surrounds you is not an emptiness, but an unseen presence that is there to fill you, if you let it.

I will miss Door County, but it will be with me always. I know there will be nights, beneath the vast darkness, that I will hear the lap of Lake Michigan and think of you, hear your voices, see your smiles. Thanks for seven wonderful years. - David Jones

Before leaving Door County Dave and Roger recorded their performance of "Seeing The Mirror" at St. Joseph's Retreat south of Baileys Harbor in Door County. It's available here...

Order This Great CD Through Our Catalogue!