Pretty Mary Brown

My beloved daughter lives on a remote ranch in South Dakota. When Stan and I go there to visit, we stay in a comfortable trailer a short walk from the main house. Truly it’s like being transported to another universe: the nearest house on the ranch is almost two miles away and the driveway into the property is a five mile dirt road. I grew up in New York City and eventually landed in Boulder, Colorado. My daughter’s preference is to live in place with very little human settlement. My fantasy is that her kids would either move back to cities or live in caves. (I was wrong about the caves, by the way.)

When we visit there, there’s not a heck of a lot for me to do and there isn’t anywhere to go. The nearest tiny town is about twenty miles away, and when you arrive, you can wonder why you went there. Reading, cooking, songwriting and napping  are viable, available activities on a ranch, if you are a visitor who doesn’t do ranch things.

South Dakota has the harsh and changeable weather of the Great Plains. One day there was a fierce wind that actually shook the trailer a bit.  The sound was eerie and a bit threatening. Later in the day, I was riding in my daughter’s car and asked her if birds fly crooked in winds this strong. She confirmed that they do. Also, the many fish ponds on the ranch were topped by whitecaps, blown by the wind. A song idea emerged for me, with the flavor of small town gossip and tragedy. The story mimics a real event that took place in the town. It’s called “Pretty Mary Brown”, and here it is.