Descending into Montana after crossing the Rocky Mountains, c. 2015.
Our theme for the month of June is “Celebrities and Me.” Writers were asked to select and write about a celebrity with whom they feel some connection.
In the interest of transparency, I think it’s worth starting my essay this month with my initial reaction to the theme: well, crap on a cracker, now they’ll know how boring I am.
As someone with the pop culture knowledge of an 85-year-old woman who has been dead for ten years, I was not challenged by a long list of impactful personalities to choose from. I let my Spotify shuffle randomly, and on the off chance I know the name of a musician or actor, I can personally guarantee you that is all I will know about them.
So I polled the group chat with the question “What celebrities does Lillie even KNOW??”
I will confess that the list was shamefully short. Dolly Parton (my hero) and John Mulaney (hilarious, but an admittedly recent discovery) were near the top of the list, but I finally settled on an oldie but a goodie: John Denver.
As a kid, John Denver came with us on camping trips, drives over the mountains to visit the grandparents, fireside guitar singalongs, and (weirdly) in the form of our neighbor Dave who could have been John Denver’s twin. I’m pretty confident I know all of his songs by heart, and when I moved to college you could find me mournfully singing along to “Back Home Again” on the days when my heart ached from missing the family farm.
To me, John Denver’s music is as familiar as breathing. From the big hits like “Take Me Home, Country Roads” to the little-known “Cool an’ Green an’ Shady,” his songs paint pictures of home, of family, and of the natural world that I’m desperate to cling to.
I think about singing “Calypso” at the top of my lungs as I drove through the ponderosas back home in Oregon, on my way to a babysitting job. I think of my aunt pulling out her ukulele and playing “Annie’s Song” at my grandparents fiftieth wedding anniversary, driving home from a spring break trip in the Smoky Mountains listening to “Rocky Mountain High,” and the time our new dog was so afraid of thunder all I could do was snuggle with her 100 pounds of fearful quivering and sing every John Denver song I knew.
Once, on a twenty-four-hour drive to Texas from Michigan, I subjected my passengers to as much John Denver as they could stand, and I still haven’t heard the end of it. Too many of his songs stir up too many feelings for me to explain in 800 words.
Mostly, when I think of celebrities or famous folks, I think about their newness. I think about the fact that I have no gift for understanding art or appreciating something avant-garde and challenging. Though I’m excited to explore new music, new shows, new media with others, in the quiet of my own home I find myself always coming back to the gentle, familiar music of my childhood.
I haven’t yet decided what that says about me: that I’m afraid of change? Maybe. That with so much uncertainty, I like knowing the words to the next line without thinking? Perhaps. That I’m just a boring old lady who is just too lazy to fall in love with something new? Probably. That, like most people, I like what’s comfortable?
Or maybe it’s just that I’m nostalgic for the memories that I’m afraid to forget. The warm feeling in my heart and the scent of tomato leaves in my nostrils as I hummed “Homegrown Tomatoes” in the church garden two summers ago, or how “Alaska and Me” and “Wrangle Mountain Song” always make me think of how my parents met. The way the chorus to “Poems, Prayers and Promises” wraps me in my grandmother’s afghan and snuggles me in with my cousins by the fire on a snowy Christmas Eve.
I googled John Denver for the first time ever to write this essay, and was not surprised to find that, like most people, he had his vices. Broken relationships, trouble with alcoholism, and a stern father who forced him to grow up too fast. After I close my Wikipedia tab, I will be content to forget what I’ve learned about him, but hold on to what I’ve learned about me.
I love my family, I love the family farm. I’m a romantic who could stare at trees and mountains for hours and is content to find comfort in the boring but familiar as I sing “Sunshine on My Shoulders” under my breath every time I squint on a sunny day.
Lillie grew up on a forty-acre hay farm in Central Oregon, making the trek to Michigan to study mechanical engineering and sustainability. After graduating in 2020, she moved to Rochester, NY, where her day job as an engineer for the local gas utility funds her outdoor adventures, love of books, various craft projects, and investment in her new community.
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Wonderful post, Lillie, and finally one I can really relate to. John Denver was a constant companion on our family cross country camping trips in the 70s. Two parents, five kids, a station wagon of questionable value and a pop-up camper — and John’s music, memorized and enjoyed. Take me home, country roads. Great memories.
Lillie, every time I hear a John Denver song, (particularly “Sunshine on My Shoulders”, but that may be because I think of that song often), I picture you singing in that way you sing with your eyes closed and your head a little raised, smiling, and it makes the song all the more beautiful.
Not at all boring. Just human, with all that entails. It’s a personal thing, and others don’t necessarily have to understand. It could have been all yours, yet you decided to share it anyway, despite your fears. That is beautiful. It is wonderful. It is needed. It is good when through others we can see ourselves too.
I’ve been meaning to comment here for a while, this was probably my favorite post of the entire theme month. Whether it’s music or something like a favorite sitcom you watch over and over instead of something new, your reflection hit the nail on the head for me in terms of the warmth of nostalgia.
And funnily, I’ve never thought of exploring John Denver beyond his classic Take Me Home Country Roads, but I think I just may do so now!