I come from the eastern shores of Canada. Prince Edward Island born, I am the Atlantic.
This brings song, movement and a sense of home. Belonging. Red Earth. Clay…mouldable and shifting. There are no rocks there. Nothing solid or unchangeable, except the kindness of the people and Anne of Green Gables. The air is never still. It drives the gypsy deep…whispers of other places. Engulfed by the St.Laurence, I knew warm water summers, guitars playing all night by the light of outdoor fires. I stayed close to keep the mosquitos away. Sparks flew to heaven. Songs lifted flames and trees swayed to the rhythm and I fell asleep under stars, pockets filled with shells, sand and petals. Like every child, memories are thick with emotion, betrayal, praise and delight. I recall dreams of bees. Step father ~mother ~sister ~brother ~snow ~apple blossom~ frogs~ fresh corn. My mother’s mother telling me… Find your ticket out of here. Come back when the wind says it is time to return. Her long black hair gave away her heritage… dark Irish with the native blood.
One day, flames stole my house. I turned westward.
I found myself standing, mouth agape, at the majesty of the Pacific. I was still young and had not seen trees like this, had not witnessed the humbling, poetic dignity of a mountain. I was also meeting my father for the first time. And he sang with me. And it was the same. And I was home here, too among the stones.
So music has taken me far. Each coast has carved me into something I would never have been without the other. Each song, each day, each lover, each child I have birthed, each moment of believing myself broken, and of course, each victory has made this life, so far, a great adventure. The quest- To be here now. To act and love with courage. To write with honesty. To let go. To wake up. To serve.
I use words and music in an attempt to convey the awe, the sorrow, the rage, the stillness and the desperate beauty in experience. This is my language. This is my mother tongue.