Nobody Knows Your Secret

26

"Welcome, bluegrass fans. I just want to take a minute to thank you all for tuning in today to WAMR 89.5. We're broadcasting live from the porch of The Band-Aid. 

The Band-Aid is your one-stop shop for jewelry, pottery, and a host of other wonderfully hand-crafted items made by our talented pool of local artisans and craftsmen. A percentage of the proceeds from any sale will go to support The Wildlife Rescue. 

Ruth Elliott, local vet, runs the shelter. And let me tell you, folks, we're lucky to have such a dedicated friend to the wildlife in this area. Her good work helps sick and injured animals through rehab and release back into their natural habitats where they belong.

Come on out and support a good cause. The wildlife would surely appreciate it. And today, we've got a very special program lined up for all you listeners out there. I'm excited, and I know you are, too. We've got Hobarth Stricker. Live and in the flesh.

Now, I'm sure you bluegrass fans know the name, Hobie Stricker. He's one of the best pickers in these here parts. Hobie's brought along a couple of his handmade guitars for sale, too. And he's generously donating all proceeds of any instrument that is sold today to The Wildlife Rescue.

Come on up here, Hobie and say 'hi' to the good people listening out there."

"Hey, y'all," Hobie said.

"You and the boys look like you are rarin' to go. What you gonna play for us, this afternoon, Hobie?"

"Well, me 'n' the band are gonna warm up with a couple 'a tunes I wrote a little while back: 'My Sweet Laurel' and 'Pretty as She Does.'"

"All right, folks. Turn up the volume. Find your favorite easy chair. Sit back and prepare to hear some of the best music comin' outta these mountains. You're listening to WAMR 89.5. Here they are Hobie Stricker and the Speckled Pups. Take it away, Hobie."

Hobie and his boys lit into those songs like hot on a cayenne pepper. Every foot was tapping. Little kids bobbed up and down like fishing corks on a stormy sea. Several folks started dancing. Every face was smiling. Hobie picked those strings for all he was worth.

Hadley and Maury were watching, drinking in every note with pure joy.

"I never seen a man who could make a guitar sound so good," said Maury.

"He's gifted," Hadley said. "That's for sure. And Skip's picking ain't too shabby, either."

"Hobie's took Skippy under his wing. I was so happy when he asked for a banjo several years ago. Now, Skip's picking a mandolin and guitar, too. All thanks to Hobie."

"It's the code, Maury," Hadley said. "Hobie is just passing on what someone was kind enough to show him. If the music isn't passed on to the younger folks, it dies. Hobie knows that. He's doing everything he can to keep those traditions alive and well."

"We're lucky Hobie lives in our neck of the woods," Maury said.

"You said it," Hadley said.

"Candy!" Hadley said, "It's so good to see you. Where are the kids?"

"Virgie's watching them for me," Candy said. "I just had to get some air."

"How are you doing?" Hadley asked.

"It's hard," Candy said, "but me 'n' the kids are makin' it."

"Well, I'm so glad to hear that," Hadley said. "I know it's hard, but you're looking mighty pretty. I love your blouse. Where did you get those sandals! They are the cutest things I've ever laid eyes on."

"I ordered them off the Internet," Candy said. "I've tried to find something trendy around here, but it's impossible. It's like we're stuck back in time or something. Only thing they sell around here is boots and brogans."

Hadley laughed.

"You're right about that," said Hadley. "It was so good to see you. Please tell Virgie I said 'hello.' How's she doing?"

"I will," Candy said. "Virgie's real sad. She tries not to show it to me or the kids, but I can tell. She's quiet 'n' got a faraway look. But you know Virgie. No matter what, she keeps keepin' on. Well, I'd better be gettin' home. By now, the kids have probably skated all over Virgie's last nerve."

"Take care, Candy," Hadley said.

"I will," said Candy. "You, too."

The music was lively, and the afternoon passed quickly. Hobie took the microphone.

"What we have around here is very special," Hobie said. "There's no prettier place on earth than right here in these mountains. I like to think we live in a little slice of heaven right here in this valley.

And we got good people all around us, too. The extraordinary folks, like Ruth Elliott, and her volunteers, are working hard to keep our little corner of heaven what it is. 

I'd like to send out a request to all you good folks to come on down next Sunday afternoon, rain or shine, for a little hillbilly hoedown. Come on down and make a donation. No amount is too small. Every cent is appreciated, and all of it goes to help the animals who have been orphaned or are sick or injured. The wildlife in our area needs us, folks. Just as we need them. So, come on down.

Now, me 'n' the Speckled Pups are gonna be joined by some of my students. Y'all come on up here. Bring your guitars. This stage is big enough for all of us. That's right. Settle in close. Our last song will be 'Gone to the Dawgs.' One. Two. Three."

Hadley and the kids around her lit into the song. Standing on that old porch, Hadley was as happy as if she was playing Carnegie Hall. She only hit a couple of wrong chords, but it didn't matter. She was playing with Hobie Stricker.

For Hadley, it didn't get any better than this.