(Peaceful music) - This episode of Wish You Were Here with Eliza Blue is brought to you in part by, South Dakota Public Broadcasting and the South Dakota Arts Council, thanks for watching.

(easy guitar music) ♪ Back roads and byways ♪ ♪ Campfires we lie awake ♪ ♪ Sweet grass and summer sage ♪ ♪ Come on baby come and take my hand ♪ ♪ Take my hand ♪ ♪ Take my hand ♪ ♪ We're Dakota bound ♪ Join us as we travel to share stories and songs from the Prairie (twangy banjo music) Down dusty, rarely traverse roads throughout the upper Midwest, one often finds ghost towns, lonely country churches, one room school houses and abandoned homesteads nestled amongst the wild flowers and tall grass.

Some of these buildings are testaments to a time nearly forgotten.

When railroads were promised but never materialized.

When a horse drawn cart couldn't travel more than a few miles in a day to get supplies, or when church and school needed to be within walking distance.

Paved roads, better vehicles and farming techniques that allowed family farms to grow larger and larger have been the death nail for many country schools and country churches.

Very few remain in use now because it's easier to get to more populated areas than it used to be.

The same is true for tiny towns that no longer can support main street businesses.

The buildings that remain are sometimes put to use as hunting lodges or community gathering places.

Remnants of the not so distant past, when life was necessarily a little slower and a little smaller.

Others are landmarks standing sentinel.

One of my favorites of these is the Brushy School.

Standing on the precipice of a wide open expanse of short grass Prairie, passing by the Brushy School always gives me a moment to pause and savor the grandeur of the Plains.

The infinite sea of grass and sky, a landscape of quiet, stoic, beauty.

Hello, I'm Eliza Blue and I'm at the Brushy School House in Northwestern, South Dakota, and I wish you were here.

Now today, we are going to start our journey inside the school house and I'm going to play you a song that I just wrote.

I'm calling it a found song, because I actually had recorded it on my iPhone almost complete and completely forgot about it.

So I went back through some old recordings and discovered that it was basically just waiting to be finished and I thought it would be perfect for this episode.

So let's go on inside.

(soft guitar music) ♪ The beats the thing keep your feet on the ground ♪ ♪ The weather will lead when the wind finds the sound ♪ ♪ Sometimes I wander don't want to be found ♪ ♪ That's why I say keep your feet on the ground ♪ ♪ The grass is all faded it's not winter yet ♪ ♪ The weather's still warm but it's not gonna set ♪ ♪ The wind it will carry your troubles away ♪ ♪ The things you are thinking but don't wanna say ♪ ♪ A string of bright boughs leaves the key in the door ♪ ♪ Sing me a song of a comforting shore ♪ ♪ Hang the bells high let the wind take the song ♪ ♪ And I will know when I am close to my home ♪ ♪ I'm sometimes afraid of the things that I'll say ♪ ♪ I don't know I am feeling this way ♪ ♪ The world keeps on changing and I'm changing too ♪ ♪ The thing that won't change is how much I love you ♪ ♪ A string of bright boughs leaves the key in the door ♪ ♪ Sing me a song of a comforting shore ♪ ♪ Hang the bells high let the wind take the song ♪ ♪ Then I will know that I'm home ♪ ♪ The beats the thing keep your feet on the ground ♪ ♪ The weather will lead when the wind finds the sound ♪ ♪ Sometimes I wander don't want to be found ♪ ♪ But you are my home so keep my feet on the ground ♪ ♪ You are my home so I'll keep my feet on the ground ♪ Not all things that are lost, can't be found again.

And not all things that are abandoned, remain abandoned.

The next place we are going to visit is a ghost town that isn't a ghost town anymore and in fact has found new life.

On the windswept Prairie's where once stood a small town, now stands a music barn.

It was built by bonafide big city rockstar, Billy Talbot basis and founder of the band Crazy Horse.

Yes, the same Crazy Horse that records and tours with the legendary rocker, Neil Young.

Later in life, Billy found love and a place to call home on the Prairie.

He and his wife, Karen own land bordering a long forgotten spot on the map, but it didn't take long for the couple to create a new and very special place.

The music barn is where I recorded my last solo album, as well as sang backup vocals on Billy's most recent solo album, Dakota.

(peaceful music) ♪ Grown on the plains of Dakota ♪ ♪ Nurtured by the rain and the wind ♪ ♪ Prairie storm hot summer sun ♪ ♪ Black-clouded hail rolling in ♪ ♪ My wild honey's grown ♪ ♪ Green eyes shown by the sun ♪ ♪ Hair like silk ♪ ♪ Spun to gold ♪ ♪ My wild honey's grown ♪ ♪ Down on the Plains of Dakota ♪ - So, Billy.

- Yes, that's me.

- (laughing) You grew up in New York city.

- [Billy] Yes ma'am.

- And then you made your way to the West Coast and lived in the San Francisco bay area.

And now you have retired here to South Dakota.

So I'm going to ask you the question that people always ask me as a person who also lived in urban areas and then migrated here, what brought you to rural South Dakota?

- Well, and thank God, my wife, is what brought me here.

She's from here.

And we met up, late in life and both of us, we fell in love with each other.

And she told me about the Dakotas about growing up here, about living here, about having this place out here.

I said, "Place out there, you have a place out there?"

Yeah, she had 3,000 acres.

What!

To my self I'm thinking, wow, that's amazing.

That's an estate.

That's, you know, you could do a lot with 3000 acres.

Well, mostly, you know, raise cattle on the 3000 acres.

You know, it's like the Prairie.

She's the reason that I came out here, she's from up in Hettinger, which is not too far from here and where she grew up with her sisters.

- So meanwhile, we're going to play a song together that you, so you have several solo albums, In addition to the albums you've made with Crazy Horse, but this song that we're going to play together, you haven't recorded before.

So it's not on any of your albums.

Do you want to tell us anything about that song?

- That's great, that's correct.

It's called Mark Twain and I had written it a good 25 years ago.

And I always knew I wanted to record it, but I wasn't ready to record it myself, personally.

It was a song that meant very much to me.

So I didn't want to cheapen it by being frivolous, about how it was recorded.

Because it's an important thing.

And I learned a lot more about myself and making records, recording, you know, through the years.

And I'm glad I've waited now is a good time to record that song.

So that's what we're going to, why we're going to do it.

And it's great because you're going to sing the chorus with me, and I like the way you sing a lot.

- Thank you, I like the way you sing a lot.

- Well, fortunately we both don't sing a lot, too much.

(somber music) ♪ Outside it's cold ♪ ♪ The summer rain ♪ ♪ Is falling ♪ ♪ A fire burns ♪ ♪ Someone turns ♪ ♪ To see who's calling ♪ ♪ Pacific Heights ♪ ♪ The city lights ♪ ♪ Won't you look at my paintings ♪ ♪ Van Gogh Renoir ♪ ♪ A full wet bar ♪ ♪ Won't you say you'll be staying ♪ ♪ Once had a band ♪ ♪ Played winter land ♪ ♪ We opened for Jimmy ♪ ♪ We paid our dues ♪ ♪ We played the blues ♪ ♪ The sky was the limit ♪ ♪ Got great reviews ♪ ♪ Copped attitudes ♪ ♪ Never thought for a minute ♪ ♪ Had all the girls ♪ ♪ Traveled the world ♪ ♪ But mostly got wasted ♪ ♪ I look through these same old windows ♪ ♪ Day after day ♪ ♪ Fog car lights lining ♪ ♪ The Golden Gate ♪ ♪ One single sailboat sailing ♪ ♪ Out across the bay ♪ ♪ What would Mark Twain say if he were here today ♪ ♪ I never thought it would be this way ♪ ♪ White picket fence ♪ ♪ A thin defense ♪ ♪ From what we are facing ♪ ♪ I sit at home ♪ ♪ I sit alone ♪ ♪ My tapes are erasing ♪ ♪ Out on the street ♪ ♪ Shoeless feet ♪ ♪ They cry for their mothers ♪ ♪ While choirs blend to homeless friends ♪ ♪ All men are brothers ♪ ♪ I look through these same old windows ♪ ♪ Day after day ♪ ♪ Fog car lights lining the Golden Gate ♪ ♪ One single sailboat sailing ♪ ♪ Out across the bay ♪ ♪ What would Mark Twain say if he were here today ♪ ♪ I never thought it would be this way ♪ ♪ What would Mark Twain say if he were here today ♪ ♪ I never thought it would be this way ♪ (crickets chirping) - And now some notes from the field.

♪ From the fount of every blessing ♪ ♪ Tune my heart to sing thy grace ♪ ♪ Streams of mercy ♪ ♪ Never ceasing ♪ ♪ Call for songs of loudest praise ♪ ♪ Teach me some melodious sonnet ♪ ♪ Sung by flaming tongues above ♪ ♪ Praise the mount I'm faced upon it ♪ ♪ Mount of thy unchanging love ♪ ♪ Ode to grace how great indebted ♪ ♪ Daily I'm constrained to be ♪ ♪ Let that grace now ♪ ♪ Like a feather ♪ ♪ Bend my wandering heart to thee ♪ ♪ Prone to wander Lord I feel it ♪ ♪ Prone to leave the God I love ♪ ♪ Here's my heart ♪ ♪ Oh take and seal ♪ ♪ Seal it for thy courts above ♪ ♪ Come thou fount of every blessing ♪ ♪ Tune my heart to sing thy grace ♪ ♪ Streams of mercy ♪ ♪ Never ceasing ♪ ♪ Calls for songs of loudest praise ♪ - In addition to renovating the original homestead and building the music barn, The Talbots have also taken a country school house that was no longer in use and moved it to serve as a guest house.

We're going to go on inside and I will tell you a little story.

There is something about this time of year that always makes me feel a little strange.

An eerie reckoning like goosebumps of the spirit.

Many preindustrial societies considered this season the thinning of the veils, a time when the spirit world and the material world were overlapping.

It's easy to see why, shadows fall longer and earlier, the harvest moon over the fields leaves them glowing and somehow unfamiliar.

Even the garden still producing, is dying back around the edges.

The descent into darkness and decay has begun in earnest.

Dawn arrives a little later each day, the children run out to play in the early morning, then run back hunting for sweaters and socks.

By midday they will be in short sleeves and bare feet, but the honk of passing geese won't let us forget that winter is coming.

Perhaps that's why I often get introspective this time of year, especially since moving from the city to the country, where the rhythms of the seasons beat so much louder.

In the spring on a ranch, we are busy bringing calves and lambs earth side, sowing seeds, welcoming back sun and warmth.

In the summer we labor in the light and heat.

Now some of the animals we've cared for will become food for our table as do the fruits of the seeds we've sewn.

Things grow quieter as the birds begin their long journey south.

Leaves, berries and grasses begin their return to the soil.

It's a time more than anything else, for endings.

Out for a walk in the early evening, I spot a rough-legged hawk calling to her husband, circling higher and higher until she is just a dark speck reaching with two broad arms against the crimson and gold of dusk.

I stop for a moment and stretch my hands up.

My fingers, spread wide, thankful to be another wild thing in this wild place.

I didn't start here, and this time of year, more than any other, I still can't believe where I've landed.

This place, so full of ancient truths, the circle of life, always turning and me just one small spoke in the wheel.

Living here it is easy to see why this season has a holiday devoted to all things spooky and one devoted to gratitude.

There is much to be thankful for, but it is also a time of transition.

The soft brush of leaves fallen to the path, the ghost of summer grasses in the field.

Of course, there's also my fretful puttering habits of mine to contend with.

And those seem to increase with the shortening days as well.

I find myself worrying more, the muscles of my memory fretting over all the things left undone.

Who knows how long it'll be before snow flies, and there are still fall crops to plant, barns to clean, seeds to sow in the greenhouse.

But there are these words on the page, black against white, the story I am writing leaves a trail so I can find my way back to the beauty of this season on the Prairie.

Plus there are the chores that shift with the season as well, the necessary mundane, the small details of daily life that need my consideration.

And below all else, the vast silence of the Plains, where I am called back to my own wildness with an invitation to welcome the stillness in.

What is there finally to write about, but the wheel of life and the way it keeps turning, the sun setting in a ring of rosy fire, and then rising up again, just the same.

Overhead the hawk calls out again and circles down looking for a place to land.

(peaceful music) ♪ Back roads and byways ♪ ♪ Campfires we'll lie awake ♪ ♪ Sweet grass and summer sage ♪ ♪ Come on baby come and take my hand ♪ ♪ Take my hand take my hand ♪ ♪ We're Dakota bound ♪