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Have you ever visited with a person, and after leaving and you’re reflecting on your visit, a song keeps popping in your head that best describes the person? That is the best way that I can reflect on my recent stay at David Bailey’s home in the backwood hills of Tennessee…The song and the lyrics that keep popping into my head are “Baker Street” by Gerry Rafferty….

“Way down the street there’s a light in his place,
He opens the door, he’s got that look on his face,
He asks you where you been, you tell him who you’ve seen,
And you talk about everything.”

I think David’s light is always on…In spite of the shotguns and the 9mm’s and the tin roof and the fading paint on the Chevy pickup, you can’t help but feel that this English hillbilly is only too glad that you are there…Southern hospitality?…I think David was born with it even though he spent half of his life across the Pond…I was simply there to visit with an old friend I had not seen in over 25 years…We did some catching up…We talked about folks we hadn’t seen in years, places we’ve been to….We talked about Tennessee, music, the Bible, guns, the Presidential election, cooking salmon, leaky roofs, rattlesnakes, art, logging roads, old girlfriends, taxes, God, the devil---I guess we talked about most everything…Where did the time go?….It was two or three in the morning, and we were still up, firing a 9mm pistol at nothing in particular, and with no concern of bothering the neighbors, who lived too far away to be concerned with faint, distant gunshots in the Tennessee wild…

I don’t even remember the name of the town David lives in…The day before, we were visiting relatives who lived an hour or so away from him on an unmarked country lane that had about a dozen houses on it over a winding, ten-mile stretch…When I asked my nephew to help me map out directions to David’s house, he looked at the atlas and said “Holy shee-it!….He lives out in the middle a’ galldang nowhere!”….

“He’s got this dream about buying some land.
He’s gonna give up the booze and the one night stands,
And then he’ll settle down, in some quiet little town,
And forget about everything.”

I won’t speak of the booze and the broads, after all, it was a less than 24 hour visit…Yet, here we were, sitting on a little front porch surrounded by acres and acres of the most beautiful hillside trees Tennessee has to offer….And it was all David’s---and for that day, mine as well…Oh, he hasn’t stopped dreaming…He has more plans for the place…An adjunct cabin to perhaps entice old friends to come retreat with him in this little heaven-on-earth…But of course, we can’t dream too long…tomorrow is a work day for him and I have to get back on the road…

“But you know he’ll always keep moving,
No, he’s never gonna stop moving
He’s rolling, he’s the rolling stone

“When you wake up it’s a new morning,
The sun is shining it’s a new morning,
You’re going, you’re going on”…..

And morning did arrive…early…No alarm, but time was precious…I’m sure the sun was shining somewhere, but we were greeted by a fine Tennessee mist…You don’t leave a Southern gentleman’s house with a growling stomach…David had to prepare for us the tastiest breakfast sandwich ever assembled…Or so he said….And I really couldn’t argue with him after finishing it…My brother Paul was visiting with me…Paul had been a long time fan of Ted Farrell’s music, so David called Ted and had Paul chat with him a while…Then it was time to go, time to go on…David got in his truck and escorted us the 15 miles or so to the highway that took us to I-40…Neither of us really like long good good-bys…Maybe I think of David as a rolling stone because he reminds me a little of Mick Jagger…Certainly not because I think he’ll ever change his address…Most likely, it’s because I don’t think he’ll ever be sitting around,…..gathering moss….