I grew up on Joe’s Pond in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, a beautiful place in the summer but windswept, cold and lonely in the winter. The kind of place where everyone needs something other than the weather to focus on. When I was nine years old, I picked up my first guitar - a Silvertone nylon-string classical my sister was taking lessons on. She didn’t know it at the time, but I would sneak into her room when she was gone and play it until my fingers were sore. With not much more than my older sibling’s collection of records and a Mel Bay guitar chord book, I learned how to listen, and then slowly, how to play. I also learned to sing at this time often struggling to decipher mumbled lyrics from scratchy, old but loved records. This was an arduous task that may have prompted me to start writing my own songs.

In the summer of 1970, I worked, saved and bought my first guitar. It became my traveling companion and best friend. I also started seeking out other musicians in my area creating bonds and friendships, many that still exist to this day. Being a shy kid, my guitar gave me a voice and an identity.

As a Christmas gift in 1975, my father gave me my first 5-string banjo. Most teenagers would have been mortified but I was mesmerized. My poor dad was horrified when I immediately took this gift completely apart and reassembled it on the living room floor (a process that took some time to accomplish and involved many, many pieces) just to understand how this machine worked. He also included the “Earl Scruggs and the 5-String Banjo” book and record set and by that evening I was ready to jam. Armed with a passable version of Cripple Creek and Foggy Mt. Breakdown, I immersed myself in a small but enthusiastic bluegrass and county music community playing guitar, 5-string banjo, singing lead and harmony vocals and picking up the bass whenever duty called.