Many Muses

     In late July, in the town of Spruce Pine, NC, situated along the rambling Estatoe River, with 100 year-old active train tracks weaving along side in perfect harmony, was the Rotary Club’s first annual BBQ & Bluegrass Festival. My job, as a Rotarian, was to sell food tickets, so all day long I briefly chatted with scores of people who packed the tiny town’s main street.

     It’s an amazing world we live it. And the people we share this world with are an amazing lot. I met all kinds from everywhere: The quintessential nuclear family with mom, dad, and the 2.5 kids. (Yes, there really is a .5 child. You should have seen the teeny tiny ones being maneuvered through the crowds.) There were also plenty of elderly folks with walkers, canes or significant others whom they used as human canes, and I particularly admired them. Advanced age and physical limitations did not limit their presence or fun that day. There were a fair number of good ol’ boys and good ol’ girls, and the not-so-good-boys and the girls who love them. There were tourists with their tell-tale brand new stiff “I Climbed Mt. Mitchell” tee-shirts and mud-free hiking boots. There were people with wads of cash, and those who stood off to the side to count the change they could pool together to buy a ticket for one plate of BBQ to share. There were cloggers (mountain style jig dancing), and musicians on dulcimers, guitars, banjos and fiddles. And there were craft people hawking every kind of art imaginable; from flat work, ironwork and woodwork, to handmade quilts and “Welcome to our cabin!” signs and birdhouses. And, of course, there were the stars of the party; the BBQ cook teams and vendors. All of these many different and wonderful people, with their many different reasons for being at the event, bring me to the point of this blog: I was in the midst of enough material from which to glean a thousand stories.

     If a writer or artist of any medium is feeling very uninspired, or “flat-lined” as I refer to it, then just go to a festival or fair. There you will find an abundance of muses, for everyone has a story to tell if you just give them a spec of time to tell you a little bit about theirs. Not enough people do that – ask someone what their story is. We’re so self-absorbed. Or maybe we feel like if we ask a question or two, that’s asking one too many questions and we’ll be thought of as being nosey. I’ve rarely ever found that to be the case, though. When I ask someone about what they do, where they’re from, or how they ended up on the same street as I happen to be on that same day, I find that people are only too happy to tell me. Reason: People like to talk about themselves. They think their story is interesting, and the fact is that usually at least some part of it is.

     Perhaps we ought to spend less time looking inward for creative inspiration, and spend more time looking outward. All things considered, we live in a wonderfully rich world, full of the greatest inspirational resources: each other.