Jean Ritchie 1922 2015 Mother of Folk By

Jean Ritchie (1922 - 2015 ) ‘Mother of Folk’ By John Trokan D. Min.

Known as the ‘mother of folk’ it is impossible to place any one label on Jean Ritchie. She is a traditional musician by virtue of her life and works, but she is also a commercial performer, author, recording artist, composer, poet, and folk music collector. She is renown as the premiere ballad singer of the country, preserving and adapting ballads from the Irish, English, and Scot traditions, as well as the quality of her beautiful authentic mountain singing voice.

Jean Ritchie was one of the leading figures of the folk revival of the 1950’s and 1960’s. Her ability to recreate the musical context of home and family enabled her to pass on the values of Appalachian culture in coffee houses and concerts, and distinguished her as an artist.

What also distinguished Jean Ritchie from the other great folk singers of the day such as Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, and Judy Collins was her use of the Appalachian mountain lap dulcimer. Jean’s use of the ‘sweet sound’ dulcimer, an instrument indigenous to the Appalachian mountains from the 1840’s, touched off a renaissane of the use of the instrument nation wide.

Jean Ritchie’s songs featured themes of home, family, love, land, nature, as well as songs of mourning and loneliness. Jean sang ballads, fiddle tunes, parlor songs, children songs, disaster songs, and gospel hymns, Her lyrics and music deeply reflected her lived experience in the hills and hollows of Viper Kentucky. Particularly significant is her ability to address environmental issues of coal mining that impact community life in Appalachia and the entire country. The themes of her songs speak to generations of listeners impacted by war, disease, death, economic depression and hard times, unemployment, relocation, and loss of home, land relationships. Jean Ritchie’s preservation of Appalachian family songs has become the shared heirloom of musicians and music lovers around the world.

Jean Ritchie was born in 1922 in Viper, Kentucky, into a family that considered music extremely important. In addition to singing as a means of entertainment, they had songs to accompany nearly all of their activities, from sweeping to churning to working in the fields. When they got together in the evening to sing as a family, they chose from a repertoire of more than 300 songs. Among them were hymns, traditional love songs and ballads, and popular songs by composers like Stephen Foster. For the most part, these songs were learned orally and sung without accompaniment.

Ritchie Home in Elkhorn Branch Hollow, Viper, KY.

Ritchie’s Cornfield Cabin “Money making ventures (for dad) never really took the place of the land. Poor, hilly, and full of rocks it was and always would be, but he loved it because it was Land, you had a way of life that was good and honest and that no one could take away from you” Jean Ritchie Singing Family of the Cumberlands (p. 76)

Balis Ritchie (1869 -1958) Jean learned to play the dulcimer from her father Balis, who used a bamboo noter and a feather quill pick. One of his favorite songs was ‘Uncloudy Day”

Jean Ritchie is an accomplished musician. She believed her voice was her primary instrument. Although her father forbade his children to learn the dulcimer, Jean picked it up when she was four and played her own version of ‘Go Tell Aunt Rhodie’. Jean went on to learn the piano, guitar, and autoharp.

While much of the music that was to become central to Ritchie’s later performance repertoire originated at home, other influences on her musical development cannot be overlooked. Besides the songs of family and friends, she was exposed to the music of the Old Regular Baptist church meetings the family attended regularly and to popular culture, particularly radio and recording. One thing absent from Ritchie’s musical background is formal training.

Abigail Ritchie “I’d get the same feeling whenever I went to church with her, and as they started singing those old long slow lonesome songs. She’d sing and the tears would start in her eyes, and she’d forget all about me beside her. It was like she had gone off and left me, it was the lonesomest feeling. Once I asked her why all the church songs sounded so sad, and why it was she always cried in the church. She said: folks in church cries for joy, not because they are sad. Our meeting-house songs are different. I purely love them in my heart, love to dwell on the words of them, relish the tune of them. To me theyare more like worship and God than any other music”. Jean Ritchie Singing Family of the Cumberlands (pp. 180 -181)

Jean Ritchie Timeline 1922 Jean Ritchie born in Viper, KY 1946 graduated from University of Kentucky, moved to New York City 1948 first formal concert: Little Greenwich Mews Theatre 1950 married George Pickow 1952 first solo recording: Jean Ritchie Sings Traditional Songs of Her Kentucky Mountain Family 1952 Fulbright award to study folk music in the British Isles 1955 first publication of Singing Family of the Cumberlands 1977 album None But One wins Rolling Stone Critics’ Award 1996 recording: Mountain Born

One of the most interesting aspects of Ritchie’s career is her own songwriting. Central to her approach is a lesson learned early on from her uncle Jason. His practice of altering tunes from one verse to another in a song, and lyrics from one performance to the next, taught her to accept improvisation and variation as natural elements of traditional music. So her versions of both family songs and original compositions often vary slightly from one performance (or publication) to the next. And she often creates new songs by using bits of material from existing ones or adding newly composed verses to flesh out song fragments that she recalls from her childhood. Her style illustrates the essence of Appalachian ‘folk’ music – owned by the folk.

After graduating from high school in Viper, Ritchie attended Cumberland Junior College in Williamsburg, Ky. From there she went to the University of Kentucky, where she graduated Phi Beta Kappa in 1946. With a bachelor’s degree in social work in hand, she moved to New York City to work at the Henry Street Settlement. There she drew on her knowledge of family songs to entertain the children in her charge.

Ritchie was married to photographer George Pickow from 1950 until his death in December, 2010. They have two sons: Peter, born in 1954, and Jonathan, born in 1958. She now lives in Port Washington, New York.

Fulbright Scholar Jean Ritchie was awarded a Fulbright scholarship to trace the links between American ballads and the songs of the British Isles. As a song-collector, she began by setting down the 300 songs that she already knew from her mother's knee. Jean Ritchie spent 18 months tape recording and interviewing singers. Pickow accompanied her, photographing Seamus Ennis, the Mc. Peakes, Leo Rowsome, Sarah Makem and others. One of Jean's own songs was Child Ballad 76, "The Lass of Lochroyan". She was delighted to discover that Elizabeth Cronin, an elderly Irish woman, knew a version of the same song.

Jean Ritchie was a regular performer at the Newport Folk Festival, and served on the board of directors of the festival.

Songs Written by Jean Ritchie Sugar on the Floor One I Love Morning Come, Maria Gone Thousand-Mile Blues Cold Mountains Sweet Reason Too Many Shadows Let the Sun Shine Down on Me The Fair Winds are Blowing Come far away with Me Movin on Down the River Bird in a Cage Wild Horses The Red Rose and the White West Virginia Mine Disaster One More Mile Black Waters Farewell to the Mountains Last Old Trains’s A-leavin The Hills and High Mountains Now is the Cool of the Day Let Go of Me Summer October and the Frost is Early Home to My Dearie Andy Goodman The Flowers of Joy Dead and Gone Young Mc. Afee on the Gallows Fair Nottamun Town Boston Beans That Long Canal See that Rainbow Shine The Holly Tree Carol The Soldier The Peace Round Blue Diamond Mines The L and N Don’t Stop Here Anymore Farewell to Hardburly Here on the Old Pine Mountain Come You Home Again Sorrow in the Wind Epitaph For Myself

Jean Ritchie’s Discography Traditional Songs of Her Kentucky Ballads from Her Appalachian Family Mountain Family (1952) Kentucky Mountains Songs (1954) Field Trip (1954) Courting Songs (1954) Shivaree (1955) The Singing Family of the Cumberlands (1955) Children's Songs & Games from the Southern Mountains (1956) Songs from Kentucky (1956) American Folk Tales and Songs (1956) Saturday Night and Sunday Too (1956) The Ritchie Family of Kentucky (1958) Riddle Me This (1959) (with Oscar Brand) Carols for All Seasons (1959) British Traditional Ballads, Vol 1 (1961) British Traditional Ballads, Vol 2 (1961) Ballads (2003; vol 1 and 2 above, issued on a single CD) Tradition (1961) Precious Memories (1962) The Appalachian Dulcimer: An Instructional Record (1963) Jean Ritchie and Doc Watson Live at Folk City (1963) Time For Singing (1966) Marching Across the Green Grass & Other American Children's Game Songs (1968) Clear Waters Remembered (1974) Jean Ritchie At Home (1974) None But One (1977) Christmas Revels. Wassail! (1982) O Love Is Teasin' (1985) Kentucky Christmas, Old and New (1987) The Most Dulcimer (1992) Mountain Born (1995) High Hills and Mountains (1996) Childhood Songs (1997) Legends of Old time Music (2002, DVD)

In her sixty year career of writing and performing traditional Appalachian folk music Jean Ritchie has recorded forty albums.

Jean Ritchie has also authored ten books highlighting Appalachian folk tradition music and the mountain lap dulcimer.

Books by Jean Ritchie Apple Seeds and Soda Straws: Love Charms and Legends Written Down for Young and Old. New York: H. Z. Walck, 1965. Celebration of Life. Port Washington, NY: Geordie Music Publishing, 1971. The Dulcimer Book. New York: Oak Publications, 1963. Dulcimer People. New York: Oak Publications, 1975. Folk Songs of the Southern Appalachians as Sung by Jean Ritchie. New York: Oak Publications, 1965. From Fair to Fair. New York: H. Z. Walk, 1966. Garland of Mountain Songs. New York: Broadcast Music, 1953. Singing Family of the Cumberlands. New York: Oxford University Press, 1955; reprint, Oak Publications, 1963; reprint, Geordie Music Publishing, 1980; reprint, Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1988. The Swapping Song Book. New York: Oak Publications, 1965. Traditional Mountain Dulcimer. New York: Homespun Tapes, 1984.

In addition to playing the Appalachian Mountain Lap Dulcimer, the Ritchie Family also created their own instruments. These photos reflect the various steps in the craftsmanship of a dulcimer.

The design is an adaption of the Ed Thomas pattern.

Jean Ritchie, her husband George, and her uncle Morris are working in their workshop.

Hand carving the dulcimer head

Shaving the sound holes

Casting the fret bar

Dulcimer Playing Styles Traditional playing styles on the dulcimer were probably varied, consisting of adaptations of other instrumental techniques, notably the bowing of the scheitholt and fiddle and the strumming by hand or plectrum of the banjo and guitar. The instrument was usually placed horizontally across a table or the player's lap with the right hand sounding the strings with fingers or a plectrum made from wood or a feather quill while the left hand played a melody line by pressing down on the fretboard with a noter (usually a rounded stick or twig) or fingers. Generally melodies were played on the first string only (the other strings functioned as drones) resulting in a musical effect similar to that of bagpipes. Sophisticated techniques for utilizing all the strings for melody, for playing chords, and for finger-picking have been developed by both traditional and contemporary dulcimer players, notably Frank Proffitt, Jr. , Clifford Glenn, Howie Mitchell, Lois Hornbostel, David Schnaufer, Neal Hellman, Robert Force, Albert d'Ossche, and Madeline Mac. Neil. Noters and picks specifically for dulcimer are now manufactured.

Jean Ritchie loves to play the dulcimer, and stresses simplicity in her trademark playing style. She plays like her dad Balis, with the pick. She has been know to make her own picks out of coffee can lids. These photos highlight various picking and strumming techniques on the dulcimer. Holding a Noter Thumb Strumb Feather Pick

Jean Ritchie demonstrating various picking and strumming techniques on the Appalachian Mountain Dulcimer.

Songs and Lyrics by Jean Ritchie

The L&N Don’t Stop Here Anymore Jean Ritchie When I was a curly headed baby My daddy set me down on his knee Saying boy you go to school and you learn your letters Don't become no dusty miner boy like me. Chorus And I was born and raised in the mouth of a Hazzard holler Where the coal cars rolled and rumbled past my door But now they stand in a rusty row of empties 'Cause the L&N don't stop here anymore. Chorus Now I used to think my daddy was a black man With script enough to buy the company store Oh but now he goes to town with empty pockets And Lord his face is as white as a February snow. Chorus Never thought I'd ever live to love that coal dust Never thought I'd pray to hear those tipples roar Oh but God I wish the grass would turn to money And feel my greenbacks in my pockets once more. Chorus Lastnight I dreamed I went down to the office To get my payday like I've done before But those kudzu vines they were covering over the doorway And there weeds and grass growing right up through the floor. Chorus

Come All You Fair and Tender Ladies Come all ye fair and tender maidens Take warning how you court young men They're like a star of a summer's morning First they appear and then they're gone. They'll tell to you some loving story They'll swear to you their love is true Straightway they'll go and court another And that's the love that they had for you. If I'd a known before I courted That love it was such a killin' thing I'd lock my heart in a box of golden And fastened it up with a silver chain. O do you remember our days of courtin' When your head lay upon my breast You could make me believe with the falling of your eyes That the sun rose in the west. I wish I was a little sparrow And I had wings and I could fly I'd fly away to my own true lover And when he speaks I won't deny. But I am not no little sparrow I have no wings neither can I fly I'll sit right down in my grief and sorrow And let my troubles pass me by. Come all ye fair and tender maidens Take warning how you court young men They're like a star of a summer's morning First they appear and then they're gone.

Black Waters Celebration of Life - Jean Ritchie, Geordie Music Publishing © 1971 I come from the mountains, Kentucky's my home, Where the wild deer and black bear so lately did roam; By cool rushing waterfalls the wildflowers dream, And through every green valley there runs a clear stream. Now there's scenes of destruction on every hand And only black waters run down through my land. CHORUS Sad scenes of destruction on every hand, Black waters, black waters, run down through my land. O the quail, she's a pretty bird, she sings a sweet tongue; In the roots of tall timbers she nests with her young. But the hillside explodes with the dynamite's roar, And the voices of the small birds will sound there no more; And the hillsides come a—sliding so awful and grand, And the flooding black waters rise over my land. CHORUS In the rising of the springtime we planted our corn, In the ending of the springtime we buried a son, In summer come a nice man, said, "Everything's fine— My employer just requires a way to his mine"— Then they threw down my mountain and covered my corn, And the grave on the hillside's a mile deeper down, And the man stands and talks with his hat in his hand As the poisonous water spreads over my land. CHORUS Well, I ain't got no money and not much of a home; I own my own land, but my land' s not my own. But if I had ten million thereabouts— I would buy Perry County and I'd run 'em all out! Set down on the bank with my bait in my can, And just watch the clear waters run down through my land! CHORUS Well, wouldn't that be like the old Promised Land? Black waters, black waters no more in my land!

Blue Diamond Mines Remember the ways in the bygone days when we were in our prime How us and John L. give the old man hell down in the Blue Diamond Mine Well the whistle blows and the rooster crows full two hours before daylight When a man's done his best and he earned his good rest at seven dollars a night (Chorus) In the mines, in the mines in the Blue Diamond Mines I worked my life away In the mines, in the mines In the Blue Diamond Mines Oh, fall on your knees and pray. (end chorus) You old black gold, you've taken my lung and your dust has darkened my home And now that we're old, you're turnin' your back where else can an old miner go? Well it's Algomer Block and it's Big Leather Woods now its Blue Diamond too Well, the pits are all closed and it's, "get another job" what else can an old miner do? (chorus) John L. had a dream But it's broken, it seems Mining has had it's day But they're stripping off my mountain top and they pay me eight dollars a day You might get a little poke of welfare meal a little poke of welfare flour But I tell you right now you won't qualify 'till you work for a quarter an hour. (chorus)

Pretty Saro When first to this country a stranger I came I placed my affections on a handsome young dame I looked all around me and I was alone Yes me a young stranger and a long ways from home Its not the long journey Im dreading to go Or leaving this country for the debts that I owe There is but one thing that troubles my mind Thats a leaving Pretty Saro my true love behind Pretty Saro I love you I know I love you Pretty Saro where ever I go No toung can express it no poet can tell How truely I love you yes I love you so well Farewell my dear father likewise mother too Im going to ramble this country all through When I get tired I'll sit down and weep And think of Pretty Saro wherever she be If I were a poet and could write a fine hand I'd write my true love a letter that she might understand I would send it by the waters that dont overflow And think of Pretty Saro wherever I go I love you Pretty Saro I love you I know I love you Pretty Saro wherever I go On the banks of the ocean or the mountains sad brow I loved you then dearly and I still love you now My love she don't love me as I understand She wants some freeholder and I have no land But I can maintain her with silver and gold Or all of the fine things that my loves house could hold

Wayfaring Stranger I am a poor wayfaring stranger Traveling through this world alone There is no sickness, toil nor danger In that fair land to which I go I'm going home To see my mother I'm going home No more to roam I am just going over Jordan I am just going over home I know dark clouds will hover on me, I know my pathway is rough and steep But golden fields lie out before me Where weary eyes no more will weep I'm going home to see my father I'm going home no more to roam I am just going over Jordan I am just going over home I'll soon be free from every trial This form shall rest beneath the sun I'll drop the cross of self-denial And enter in that home with God I'm going home to see my savior Who spilled his precious blood for me I'm going home no more to roam I am just going over Jordan I am just going over home

Barbry Ellen In Scarlet town where I was born As she was walking oer the fields There was a fair maid dwelling And every youth cried well away For her name was Barbara Allen Twas in the merry month of May The green buds were a swelling Sweet William on his deathbed lay For the love of Barbara Allen He sent a servant unto her To the place she was dwelling Saying you must come to his deathbed now If your name be Barbara Allen Slowly she got up Slowly she came nigh him And the only words to him she said Young man I think you're dying She heard the death bell knelling And every stroke it seemed to say Hardhearted Barbara Allen Oh mother make my bed Make it long and make it narrow Sweet William died for me today I'll die for him tomorrow They buried her in the old churchyard They buried him in the choir And from his grave grew a red rose From her grave a green briar They grew and grew to the steeple top Till they could grow no higher And there they twined in a true love's knot Red rose around green briar

The Cuckoo Oh the cuckoo She's a pretty bird She wobbles when she flies She don't ever hollar cuckcoo Till the fourth day of July Jack o' Diamonds I know you, of old You rob my poor pockets Of silver and gold ] Oh the cuckcoo She's a pretty bird I wish that she were mine She don't ever drink water She only drink wine Gonna build me A log cabin On a mountain so high So I can see Willie When he goes on by

Ten Thousand Mile Blues Fare you well my own true love Oh come back my own true love And farewell for a while. And stay a while with me I’m going away, but I’ll be back For if I had a friend all on this earth, If I go ten thousand miles. You’ve been a friend to me. Ten thousand miles, my own true love, And fare you well my own true love Ten thousand miles or more, And farewell for a while. And the rocks may melt and the seas I’m going away, but I’ll be back may burn, If I no more return. Oh don’t you see that lonesome dove, Sitting on yon ivy tree, She’s weeping for her own true love Just as I shall weep for mine. If I go ten thousand miles

My Dear Companion Oh have you seen my dear companion For he was all this world to me I hear he's gone to come far country And that he cares no more for me I wish I were a swallow flying I'd fly to a high and lonesome place I'd join the wild birds in their crying Thinking of you and your sweet face Oh have you seen my dear companion For he was all this world to me But now the stars have turned against me And he cares no more for me Oh when the dark is on the mountain And all the world has gone to sleep I will go down to the cold waters And there I'll lay me down and weep Oh have you seen my dear companion For he was all this world to me

Pretty Polly Oh Polly, Pretty Polly, come go along with me. Before we get married some pleasures to see. She got behind him and away they did go, Over the hills and mountains to the valley below. He rode her over hills and valleys so deep. Pretty Polly mistrusted and then began to weep. She knelt down before him pleading for her life. She knelt down before him pleading for her life. Please let me be a single girl if I can't be your wife. He stabbed her in the heart and her heart's blood did flow. And into the grave Pretty Polly did go. Oh Willie, I'm afraid to of your ways. Willie, Oh Willie, I'm afraid of your ways. The way you've been acting, you'll lead me astray. He threw something over her and turned to go home, Leaving nothing behind him, but the girl left to mourn. They went up a little farther, and what did they spy, They went up a little farther and what did they spy, A newly-dug grave, and a spade lying by. He went down to the jailhouse and what did he say. I killed Pretty Polly and tried to get away. Oh Polly, Pretty Polly, your guess is about right. I dug on your grave the best part of last night. Oh gentlemen and ladies, I bid you farewell. For killing Pretty Polly my soul will go to hell.

Goin to Boston Goodbye girls, I'm going to Boston, Early in the morning. cho: Won't we look pretty in the ballroom? Early in the morning. Saddle up, girls, and let's go with him, (x 3) Early in the morning. Out of the way, you'll get run over, (x 3) Early in the morning. Swing your partner all the way to Boston, (x 3) Early in the morning. Johnny, oh Johnny, gonna tell your pappy, (x 3) Early in the morning.

Old Joe Clark Farethee well I say Farethe well Old Joe Clark I'm bound go go away I will not go to Old Joe's house I'll tell ya the reason why Every floor in Old Joes's house Is filled with chicken pie Old Joe Clark he did take sick And what do ya think ailed him? He drank a churn of butter milk And then his stomach failed him I will not marry an old maid And I'll tell ya the reason why Her neck's so long and stringy boys I'm afraid she'll never die Old Joe Clark he did get drunk And he sat down to his supper He leaned over at the dinner table And stoved his nose in the butter

Ground Hog Shoulder up your gun and whistle up your dog We're off to the woods for to catch a ground hog Ground hog, ground hog Too many rocks and too many logs, . . . (x 2) Too much trouble to hunt ground hogs, . . . He's in here boys, the hole's wore slick, . . . (x 2) C'mon, Sam with your forked stick, . . . Stand back, boys, and let's be wise, . . . (x 2) I think I see his beady little eyes, . . . Here comes Sam with a ten foot pole, . . . (x 2) Twist that whistle pig outta his hole, . . . Work, boys, work just as hard as you can tear, . . . (x 2) The meat'll do to eat and the hide'll do to wear, . . . Up come Sal with a snigger and a grin, . . . (x 2) Ground hog grease all over her chin, . . . The children screamed and the children cried, . . . (x 2) "I love that ground hog cooked or fried!", . . . You eat up the meat then you save the hide, . . . (x 2) Makes the best shoestring that ever was tied, . . . Look at them fellers, they're about to fall, . . . (x 2) Eatin' till their britches won't button at all, . . . Little piece of cornbread laying on the shelf, . . . (x 2) If you want any more you can sing it yourself, . . .

Old Virginny (East Virginia) I was born in east Virginia North Carolina I did roam There I met a pretty fair maiden Her name and age I do not know Her hair it was of a brightsome color And her lips of a ruby red On her breast she wore white lilies There I longed to lay my head Well in my heart you are my darling And at my door you're welcome in At my gate I'll meet you my darling If your love I could only win I'd rather be in some dark holler Where the sun refused to shine Than to see you another man's darling And to know that you'll never be mine Well in the night I'm dreaming about you In the day I find no rest Just the thought of you my darling Sends aching pains all through my breast Well when I'm dead and in my coffin With my feet turned toward the sun Come and sit beside me darling Come and think on the way you done

Shady Grove (Chorus) Shady Grove, my little love Shady Grove, I say Shady Grove, my little love I'm bound to go away Cheeks as red as blooming rose And eyes are the prettiest brown She's the darling of my heart Sweetest lil' girl in town (Chorus) I wish I had a big fine horse And corn to feed him on And Shady Grove to stay at home And feed him while I'm gone (Chorus) Went tpo see my Shady Grove Standing in the door Her shoes and stockin's in her hand And her little bare feet on the door (Chorus) When I was a little boy I wanted a Barlow knife Now I want little Shady Grove To say she'll be my wife

The Royal Telephone Central’s never “busy, ” always on the line; You may hear from heaven almost any time; ’Tis a royal service, free for one and all; When you get in trouble, give this royal line a call. Refrain: Telephone to glory, oh, what joy divine! I can feel the current moving on the line, Built by God the Father for His loved and own, We may talk to Jesus through this royal telephone. There will be no charges, telephone is free, It was built for service, just for you and me; There will be no waiting on this royal line, Telephone to glory always answers just in time. . Fail to get the answer, Satan’s crossed your wire, By some strong delusion, or some base desire; Take away obstructions, God is on the throne, And you’ll get your answer through this royal telephone. If your line is “grounded, ” and connection true Has been lost with Jesus, tell you what to do: Prayer and faith and promise mend the broken wire, Till your soul is burning with the Pentecostal fire. Carnal combinations cannot get control Of this line to glory, anchored in the soul; Storm and trial cannot disconnect the line, Held in constant keeping by the Father’s hand divine

Let the Sun Shine Down On Me O, roll on, clouds in the mornin, Roll on, clouds in the mornin, let the sun shine down on me. (Chorus) I looked up this mornin, deep down trouble I see. Yes, I looked out this mornin, let the sun shine down on me. Saw the big cloud arisin, hard trouble I see; Heard my mother cryin, let the sun shine down on me. I know ther’s a great day comin, when no more trouble I see; When we’ll all shout together, let the sun shine down on me.

High Hills and Mountains Oh, Eastern Kentucky your people so kind, your hills and mountains always on my mind; And when I turn homeward, my heart breaks in song, the high hills and mountains where I belong. (chorus) There’s a place on this earth that is dearer to me than all of the cities of pleasure. Where Kentucky’s old North fork comes singing along on the banks of that little green river. There’s an old square log cabin with a garden all around. There’s a pig and some chickens and a rusty old hound. And when he’s not a sleeping, his sweet bugle sound goes ringing the high hills all over. There a beautiful maiden went walking one day. Pulled wild rhododendrons for a wedding bouquet. Then she married her sweetheart in the garden that day, and the branch waters sang like a fountain. That was Papa and Mama, they both worked so hard, and they raised thirteen children in the fear of the Lord. And the old songs we sang for our day’s works reward, went ringing the high hills all over. In search of a living we’ve left our poor land. Scattered over this country like seeds in the wind. And I search and I labor God’s purpose to find, and I’m safe in His love all surrounding. But more and more urgent the memories call, as the years swift and swifter unceasingly roll. And the old songs come offering their wings to my sourl, to return to the high hills and mounts.

Too Many Shadows When you were here my dear beside me, bright sunshine gladdened all our ways; Now you have gone and left the valley, too many shadows weep your name. (chorus) I weep your name here in the shadows, of this dark valley all alone. The pine trees sigh, the waters tremble. They seem to know that your are gone. You told me I was fair and lovely, my cheeks so red, my eyes so blue. My blooming colors now have faded, just one more shadow weeps for you. Each night I walk this lonesome valley, your voice it sounds from every place. I weep your name, I cannot find you, though every shadow shapes your face.

Wondrous Love What wondrous love is this, O my soul? What wondrous love is this, that caused the Lord of bliss To bear the dreadful curse for my soul, for my soul To bear the dreadful curse for my soul? When I was sinking down, sinking down (2) When I was sinking down beneath God’s righteous frown Christ laid aside His crown for my soul, for my soul (2) Ye wing-ed seraphs fly – bear the news, bear the news (2) Ye wing-ed seraphs like comets in the sky Fill vast eternity with the news, with the news (2) To God and to the Lamb I will sing, I will sing (2) To God and to the Lamb who is the great I AM While millions join theme, I will sing (2) And when from death I’m free, I’ll sing on (2) And when from death I’m free, I’ll sing and joyful be Throughout eternity I’ll sing on, I’ll sing on (2)

Sorrow in the Wind I hear the soft wind sighing In every bush and tree The sound of my heart crying When you are far from me They say when love grows older It dies and fades away Yet all our life together One ever brightening day When we're apart, my darlin' There's sorrow in the wind When we're apart, my darlin Sweet sorrow in the wind When we're apart, my darlin' There's sorrow in the wind When we're apart, my darlin' Sweet sorrow in the wind You leave me in the morning Your footsteps die away Tho' not a leaf is stirring I hear the wind all day When we're apart, my darlin' There's sorrow in the wind When we're apart, my darlin' Sweet sorrow in the wind

Cool of the Day Chorus: Now is the cool of the day This earth is a garden, the garden of my Lord And he walks in his garden In the cool of the day My Lord, he said unto me Do you like my garden so fair You may live in this garden if you'll keep the grasses green And I'll return in the cool of the day Then my Lord, he said unto me Do you like my pastures so green You may live in this garden if you will feed my sheep And I'll return in the cool of the day Then my Lord, he said unto me Do you like my garden so free You may live in this garden if you'll keep the people free And I'll return in the cool of the day

Poetry by Jean Ritchie

Celebration of Life I celebrate life! I tangle my fingers in its long haired grasses with gladness. I beat upon its breast with futility. I lie across its loins with joy. I give to it and take from it sweet juices of abundance with pain and pleasure. I replenish it with my tears and the vibrations of my laughter. Until it sweeps me off, I will not leave it, This World, this Earth! This Universe, this Time and Space! This Chance at finding God! This Life!

A Little Song About that March Feeling March winds riding! Winter hiding! Nature briding! Spring is here! Unbind your hair and shake it free Unchain your voice, admit to glee Unlock your heart – admit to me, My Love, For Love, Tis Spring! (age 15)

Invitation in Spring Come now and follow spring into my hills You cannot miss her path, she marked it plain; She touched each barren mountain ridge, and left A thousand tender shades of newborn green; Shrouded the hollows in a fragrant mist Of wraith-like dogwoods’ transient loveliness; Scattered her trail with soft surprising pink Where red-buds blush, remembering her caress. Come now and follow her, but carefully – You would not wish to crush with hasting foot The wild sweet william’s fragile lavender, Not slight the violet there, beneath the root; But come, if beauty calls and fancy wills, Come now, and follow Spring into my hills!

Question on a Dark Day What is man, that he cannot care what happens to other men? Even to the few who move within his body space? What is man, that he cannot this beyond his day’s routine, his vacations, his poor possessions? What is man, that he cannot weep for what he has done to his world, except when the weeping does not interfere with his pleasure? What is man, that he cannot love even the little number of his most treasured loved ones with total devotion? What is man, that Thou art mindful of him?

Answer on a Sunshiny Day (1970) Why God bothers with man I don’t know. Man cheats, and lies and steals, and shoots big guns. He hurts himself and others, just for fun. No man or god can tell him where to go. He wants his personal freedom, and if he can, He’ll force his kind of freedom on every other man. He’ll jump through hoops, hand stand, even do hard labor If it gets him a little more money than his neighbor. Myself, I think that God must have up there A great big TV screen and a comfy chair. And occasionally He tunes in on us down here And laughs, or slaps His knee, or sheds a tear. Aye, why God bothers with man I don’t know, He’s so all wise, omnipotent, and such; I guess it’s just that we don’t bore Him all that much. Even God must like a good show.

Cloud Rambler (age 18) I am walking with the clouds today. We are all going in the same direction. I on my dusty, grape bordered country lane, They on their endless stretch of sun barred heaven. On dark and stormy business bent, they roll And pile upon each other in thunderous haste. They let me come, they accept me as a brother. Now and then, to lure me farther on They rift apart and show me squares of space; High blue dazzling lakes to tempt my thirst; Tiny peepholes into infinity A single breathless moment, then they close And the wild race continues on its way. My face is lifted up with wind and cloud. Should e’er I lower my eyes, than all is lost; The dusty grapes are they, and I am I; My steps grow slower and I feel the heat; The clouds boil onward, leaving me behind. But while my eyes are fastened in their midst They carry me, I do not need my feet, For I am one with cloud and wind, and they Are one with me, and we are all the world, Aand all the heaven, and all the universe, Glorying in the thrill of effortless movement, Glad of goin in the same direction.

Patience God wept this morning; I beheld His tears, Steadily fell the sorrowing rain from heaven; Stricken my soul wept with him, conscience -riven, So often had I failed Him through the years, Had been ashamed to own Him, mid the jeers His people suffer, who to Him are given, Had turned again in cowardly secret, driven By heart unsatisfied, and crowding fears I bowed by head, I could not face his grief. “Look on my face, ” his voice fill on my ears. Then, peace stole to my heart, and brought relief The rainbow! God was smiling through His tears.

Crucifixion A scarlet maple leaf first claimed my eye, Then swift my wakening ssenses realized The whole and perfect tree; all joyously My vision widened, and I saw the hill Flinging its glory upward, hue on hue The whole a living Joseph’s coat, offset By dimmer colors of more distant peaks, The jealous brothers paling into blue. Dear God! This sheer perfection is the world Is this the world you had to die to save? You must have been confused among your stars; This beauty could not e’er be Evil’s slave! Slow from the maple’s hear, in veiled surmise I caught the mocking Tiger’s burning eyes.

Jean Ritchie influenced a number of singers and song writers. Scarcely one folksinger in the past 50 years has not crossed paths with the legendary ‘mother of folk’.

May 5 th, 2003 Annual Meeting and Prichard Lecture Library Associates Annual Spring Meeting 2003. Presentation of the 2003 Medallion for Intellectual Achievement to Jean Ritchie and the 23 rd Annual Prichard Lecture to be delivered by MSNBC’s Forrest Sawyer. Dinner and cocktail party: Hilary J. Boone Faculty Club. Lecture: Singletary Center for the Arts.

“I knew a thing now that I wondered if the others had ever thought of. I knew that no matter how far apart we might scatter the world over, that we’d still be the Ritchie Family as long as we lived and sang the same old songs, and that the songs would live as long as there was a family”. Jean Ritchie. Singing Family of the Cumberlands (p. 254)

Jean Ritchie ‘Mother of Folk’!

Jean Ritchie Bibliography Baker, Edna Ritchie. “Memories of Musical Moments. ” Appalachian Heritage 5/3 (1977): 59 -64. “Folksongs for Singing: ‘Pretty Little Pink. ’” Mountain Life and Work 26/3 (1950): 13 -14. “The Singing Ritchies. ” Mountain Life and Work 29/3 (1953): 6 -10. Bluestein, Gene. Poplore: Folk and Pop in American Culture. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1994. Botkin, B. A. The American Play-Party Song. New York: Frederick Ungar Publishing Co. , 1963. Brand, Oscar. The Ballad Mongers: Rise of the Modern Folksong. New York: Funk and Wagnalls, 1962. Brewer, Mary T. “A Golden Memory. ” Mountain Life and Work 40/2 (1964): 21 -25. Carter-Schwendler, Karen L. Traditional Background, Contemporary Context: The Music and Activities of Jean Ritchie to 1977. Ph. D. Dissertation, University of Kentucky, 1995. Caudill, Harry M. Night Comes to the Cumberlands: A Biography of a Depressed Area. Boston: Little Brown and Company, 1963. Dicaire, David. The Early Years of Folk Music. Jefferson, NC: Mc. Farland & Co. , 2010. Eller, Ronald. Miners, Millhands, and Mountaineers. Knoxville: The University of Tennessee Press, 1989. Hood, Phil, editor. Artists of American Folk Music: Legends of Traditional Folk. New York: GPI Publications, 1986. Jones, Loyal. “Jean Ritchie: Twenty-Five Years After. ” Appalachian Journal VIII (1981): 224 -229. The Newport Folk Festival Songbook. New York: Alfred Music Company, 1965. Introduction by Jean Ritchie. Rosenberg, Neil V. , editor. Transforming Tradition: Folk Music Revivals Examined. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1993. Smith, L. Allen. A Catalogue of Pre-Revival Appalachian Dulcimers, with a Foreword by Jean Ritchie. Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1983. Smith, Ralph Lee. Appalachian Dulcimer Traditions. Lanham: Scarecrow Press, 2010. Whisnant, David. All That Is Native and Fine: The Politics of Culture in an American Region. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1983.