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    ** I baled a lot of hay on my grandfather's farm. When we got our
    place, that was something I knew I could do. Still, there were a lot
    of things I needed help with. This was one of the first songs I
    wrote upon our return to the midwest from L.A. I set out to honor
    those who came before-- in particular, these my neighbors. I was
    very proud that this song was named "Best Traditional Folk Song" in
    2001's Just Plain Folks Music Awards. It's still for me, a hard act
    to follow.

        Better Days (Tim Grimm)

        Farmer Jim had the bailer
        I had the hands and had the time
        He was up into his seventies
        I was in the middle of may prime
        I was bringing back my childhood
        He'd been doing this all his life
        Driving that old John Deere tractor
        Eating lunch brought by his wife

        And they'd rest under our maples
        And they'd tell me of their past
        Lost a son and lost a grandson
        One went slow, one went fast
        Ruth would tell me of the old times
        Men would go off to the fields
        And all the children and the women would
        Hitch the team and drive them down to the woods

        (chorus)
        Me, I'm trying to learn the old ways
        Of the heart and of the land
        People growing old together
        Families working hand in hand
        So I will watch and I will listen
        To voices cracked and faces worn with age
        And when they're gone, Lord knows I'll miss them
        They give me hope for better days

        Amos Chesnut is my neighbor
        All his life an honest man
        I stepped up to his door a stranger
        Walked away a new found friend
        When he works out by the roadside
        People slow and wave a hand
        He watches life pass by his Oak Bend farm
        But I don't know a richer man
        He knows every creek and hollow
        Every fencepost dug by hand
        Where the paw-paws grow
        Where the coyotes roam
        Where the dirt turns into sand

        (chorus)
        with repeat last 2 lines

     

        © 2000 Steel Cabinet Publishing BMI

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