On vacation once in Colorado I saw this t-shirt inscribed, "If God had meant for Texan to Ski, he would've given them a mountain."  That's the nice version of a slogan I've often seen in the mountains, the other one being, "If God had meant for Texans to ski, he would've made bullshit white."  I used to think those inscriptions were cute, funny even . . . but I lived in Oklahoma then.  Now I'm a Texan, and the jabs are less funny these days.  Besides, if Texans abandon the ski slopes of Colorado and New Mexico, they'll all go tits up. 

I think of that old saying as I drive south out of Alpine.  I'm winding my way up a mountain road, and not just a piddling little hill either.  Yeah, you granola chomping yankee mountain hippies, us Texans do have mountains -and big 'uns too.  I'm headed down the road to visit with Michael Stevens, a guitar builder who's got a shop out in these desert mountains.  Not only is he a great builder of electric guitars and mandolins, he's a pretty fair cowboy.  Like me, he's getting old, but unlike me, he's not showing it much.  I drive down a dirt road to his house, find him walking with two men who've come to discuss the guitar business.  My timing is lousy, but he says I should hang around, that we'll talk later.

I kill off a couple of hours driving south toward the border, snapping off shots with my old cameras.  A herd of javelinas trot across the road, but I'm not fast enough to get pictures.  I find a small herd of antelope and get pictures of them.  I'm too early to find the desert blooming.  That'll be another month, maybe less, and I live a five hour drive away.  Maybe next year I'll get shots of blooming cactus.  Back at Michael's shop, we talk while he works.  The conversation is always about guitars . . . or cowboy music, another of Mike's loves.  And he's not bad, either.  I've always liked his style, his old time cowboy song renditions.

Michael has been around, when it comes to guitars.  He had a business in Austin many years ago, then went out to California and worked for Fender for some time.  He's repaired, built, played, and enjoyed guitars for a long time . . . and he's one of the best at building them.  Just type in his name under any search engine and his fancy webpages will come up.  He's easy to find . . . on the internet - harder to find if you're looking for an up close and personal thing.  He's a friendly, personably guy who happens to like remote places. 

And so . . . I'm back in Brady, Texas this morning, still thinking about Michael and his shop down in the mountains.  I can still smell the wood, and that always starts something turning inside me.  My own shop is just across town, idle all winter and needing a good cleaning.  I've got projects there waiting to be finished.  One is a guitar Michael gave me a few years back, an old acoustic never finished.   I finished it, built a neck for it, and it looks decent.  Maybe I'll go over to the shop later on and work.  I'm needing that these days . . . the work, the experience of creating something from wood.

And I'm also reminded that I need to spend more time around my old friends.  Like lots of old cowboys, I'm getting lonesome these days, and sometimes work cures lonesome.  And I need to start making music again.  I see folks like Michael, and the question gets asked, "Are you working on anything?"  I sure hate to say, "No, haven't done much lately."

There's that guitar, the one all builders dream about, still inside me that would be the best thing I ever built . . . if I could just get it out!  I can see it when I close my eyes, but I can't touch it, or play it . . .

. . . yet.

D. Paz, 3/18/08