Mitch Jayne died on Aug 2, 2010. There was a tremor in the force. The elements knew it, the music knew it, his wife and daughters knew it. I didn't. It makes me feel a bit hopeless and helpless.
Someone usually had to find him when stage time came...he would show up just in time, or a little late. He knew how to handle an audience...he read 'em right, and read 'em there rights, and usually had people rolling on the ground with his stories of being "growled out of his outhouse by somebody ole footsore coon dog who had taken up there like he built it, if you hadn't closed the door."...this led to the comment " that if you had ever been growled out of your outhouse on a cold winters night with a skiff of snow on the ground, you ain't gonna' sing old blue like Joan Bi-ez".
rest of your life will buy you anything in the place!”
I also got a great letter from a man who used to teach in Viburnum, Missouri, who said he
has moved and taken up raising garden truck in greenhouses, but still lives where people
say “the kitchen zinc,” “slick-a-more” trees and “shoemac” brush, and tell you that “ash
splits like an acorn, and it burns to who laid the chunk.”
Altogether, this has made a great start for March and thanks to e-mail, I’ve had a little
vacation to other places without having to step out of the house. That’s a good thing,
because no one wants to get too far from the home fires in February, a month when nothing
much happens “and very little of that,” as an old friend added.
freeze, but it’s more like a hound baying a stranger; there’s no deep-down meanness in a
hound, it’s all show. March knows how to finally settle down and wag its tail, and let
April lick us all over."
And it happened just that way in Mitch's beloved Ozarks one last time.