When the news of John Denver’s fatal plane crash came in 1997, I was devastated. I find myself changing his lyrics from “my days are all filled with an easy country charm” to “an easy island charm.” Now that I have made that island my year-round home, I can find many similarities between the country life Denver sings about and rural island life. And when I was back on the west coast, hearing “Calypso” would always remind this California girl of her island summer home. We continued to spend our summers in Maine, and each year when the season came to an end, “Leaving on a Jet Plane” would come to mind and make me sad. I waited until no one was around, singing just to prove I was not as vocally challenged as some might think. High school found me singing “The Eagle and the Hawk” quietly to myself as I walked home from school each day. Singing songs about “Grandma’s Feather Bed” is not cool. Junior high is a time in one’s life when there is incredible pressure to fit in and to try to be cool. However, unlike my collection of Top 40 music, those tapes would reside behind closed cupboard doors so that my friends would be sure not to see them when they came over. I got a Walkman, and when I asked for a John Denver tape for Christmas or my birthday I knew I would not be disappointed. While my friends and I listened to Madonna, Michael Jackson and Billy Idol, I still held a quiet, secret place in my listening library for my favorite Country Boy. By now we all knew the words, even my little sisters.Įventually I reached junior high school and the age of 1980s pop.
It wouldn’t take long for my mom to reach under the front seat and dig out a John Denver cassette for us to listen to on the drive. After a few days visit, we’d pile into the wagon and drive up to Maine. We’d fly to whichever locale would get us most easily to my grandparents’ house in Vermont where our old station wagon was waiting for us. I remember “riding on my daddy’s shoulders” through the dark crowds of people, much like Denver’s uncle did in the song “Matthew.” I was up way past my bedtime, but this was a special occasion, one that made a life-long impression.Įach June, our family left California and headed east for the summer. When I was in first grade my parents took me to the local university to see John Denver in concert-my first real concert. I listened to the music and danced around the room, unconsciously memorizing the lyrics to every song. When I was very young, my father would retire to the living room after supper and play John Denver records while he worked in his chair. My love of John Denver’s music began before I can even remember. Going to this concert made me realize that I have finally reached the point in my life when I am beyond caring what other people think of my idiosyncrasies. Thanks to my dad, I have been a lifelong John Denver fan, though until now I have been reluctant to admit it. We were celebrating his birthday a little bit early before he went back to California, where I grew up, for the winter. Back in October, I took my dad to see the Portland Symphony’s tribute to John Denver.
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