Top left: Clint / Top right: his 1930's mandolin
Bottom left: Sandford / Bottom right Clint's favorit chair
Bottom left: Sandford / Bottom right Clint's favorit chair
This song is a tribute to my step father. Clint was born in 1907, his father died young, and he had to get his first crop loan from the bank when he was only 14. He lived his entire life on the family farm. During the late 1920's and 30's he, a brother (Sanford) and a friend played in a string band on Saturday nights - the traditional recreation time for farmers who worked 6-7 days a week.
The short prelude was created from an old tape that I recorded over 40 years ago of Clint, Sanford and me playing.
Clint’s Mandolin
Clint and his brother worked the fields every day
times were hard but they held their farm together
on saturday nights they played in a string band
pickin’ at barn dances when a crowd could gather
years passed till they could no longer work the farm
I’d find him sitting out back on a feed sack cushion
playing mandolin, his brother on the five string
I’d join on guitar and listen to the tales they spun
time came when family and friends were all gone
he’d hold his mandolin staring into the past
I could feel the memories drifting all around him
some were fleeting but some will always last
today he rests a few miles from the old farm
his name and a mandolin are carved in the stone
a wise man who never left the land he loved
when i think of him i hear the ancient tones
above our mantle hangs clint’s mandolin
lord, i wish i could hear him play it again
I’d love to hear clint play his mandolin again
Janice and Bud Merritt
© 2016 / All rights reserved
Janice: Vocal
Bud: Upright bass, instrumental loops, mixing and mastering
The short prelude was created from an old tape that I recorded over 40 years ago of Clint, Sanford and me playing.
Clint’s Mandolin
Clint and his brother worked the fields every day
times were hard but they held their farm together
on saturday nights they played in a string band
pickin’ at barn dances when a crowd could gather
years passed till they could no longer work the farm
I’d find him sitting out back on a feed sack cushion
playing mandolin, his brother on the five string
I’d join on guitar and listen to the tales they spun
time came when family and friends were all gone
he’d hold his mandolin staring into the past
I could feel the memories drifting all around him
some were fleeting but some will always last
today he rests a few miles from the old farm
his name and a mandolin are carved in the stone
a wise man who never left the land he loved
when i think of him i hear the ancient tones
above our mantle hangs clint’s mandolin
lord, i wish i could hear him play it again
I’d love to hear clint play his mandolin again
Janice and Bud Merritt
© 2016 / All rights reserved
Janice: Vocal
Bud: Upright bass, instrumental loops, mixing and mastering
