Master Blueprints # 46: "Lights Flicker from the Opposite Loft, In This Room the Heat Pipes Just Cough”

(Personal reflections inspired by Bob Dylan songs)

Song: “Visions of Johanna”
Album: Blonde on Blonde
Release Date: June 1966

The woods.  Campfires.  Hiking.  Why was I thinking about these open-space archetypes all week as I listened to “Visions of Johanna”? I mean, on the face of things, the two worlds could not be more diametrically opposed.  Listen to that Bob Dylan classic off the 1966 masterpiece Blonde on Blonde at any level, and you only get an urban feel for place.  A very urban feel. A New York City feel.  Heat pipes, empty lots, all-night girls, night watchmen, the “D-train”, museums, and fish trucks.  They are all there in “Visions of Johanna”.  Nothing doing for trees, streams and fire pits. 

But here’s the thing: This song transcends locale.  It also transcends any specific meaning, such as the longing for someone who is not there (although that is a beautiful angle on the song).  Much of the reason for this has to do with trailblazing. “Visions of Johanna” and the album it is on, was the thick icing on the cake that Bob Dylan had been baking since he introduced himself to the world four years earlier. For many of us, we can’t help but hear the far bigger and broader narrative.  The song and the album were introducing a significant moment in time; a counterculture period that would ultimately prove to affect multiple generations, including mine, and now maybe even my children’s.

And yet, why the woods?  To flesh this out, I’ll need to first go back a ways. I grew up in a small town in the 60s and 70s.  Indeed, Franklin, Massachusetts was quite rural back in the day.  There were certain unique qualities in that town at that time that helped to shape who I am, which can be hard to define.  However, over the years I’ve taken stabs at this, and I hope some of it has seeped through in these blog writeups.  I’ll be doing more of that here as I try to explain the connection to “Visions of Johanna” ( https://vimeo.com/188544213 ).

Anyhow, that rural Franklin where I spent my formative years is long gone, replaced by suburban sprawl.  Fifteen years ago, though, I discovered a modern-day Franklin of yore; Pepperell, Massachusetts.  I did some exploring.  No traffic lights.  No long lines anywhere.  A neighborly familiarity at the grocery store. And lots of woods.  After some cajoling, I talked my wife Nancy into moving here - she having been raised in the far-more urban Woburn, Massachusetts, where all the creature comforts were within a few minutes driving distance.  We have since had the privilege of calling Pepperell our home.

Why the yearning?  I mean, I can live just about anywhere.  Cities work for me.  So, too does the countryside.  And the ocean.  The mountains. Old. New. Even suburbia.  Well, I yearned because I knew a good thing when I experienced it as a kid, and I wanted my kids to have that same experience.  After moving to Pepperell, we would take Charlotte and Peter out into the woods regularly, and as they grew up, I’d tell them to get out there on their own with their friends.  I’d also tell them that ‘out there’ on the foot trails and under the canopy is where the real magic happens.  They took me up on it and came to understand what I was talking about.

What did I mean by this?  I was not sure how to explain at first, but over time I’ve gotten better at articulating it.  In the woods, you get to experience the dynamic side of your true nature more than anywhere else.  You can probably find that dynamism virtually anywhere and in any way if you are of open mind (as be the case with Bob Dylan when he wrote “Visions of Johanna”), but in the woods, it can manifest itself more readily. 

I think an example or two will best get my point across.  Let me start with a compare/contrast: The use of traditional maps to get from point A to point B vs. the modern-day approach of commanding your car or smartphone to get you somewhere.  I have a strong bias to the traditional approach, although I will admit upfront that in a pinch and tight on time, I will turn to new technology to find my destination.  But I do try to minimize that dependency.  I also realize that some people are simply not blessed with a sense of direction, and so this technology is a godsend for them.  But some of us are blessed with the ability to navigate.  I’m one of them, and I’ve managed to take this God-given skill and make it a career, working as a computer mapping specialist (GIS) at the United States Geological Survey (USGS) for over 30 years now.  In this capacity, I’m surrounded by others of similar ability. 

About 15 years ago I was in Denver, and after a long day of work, a group of us chose a place to eat which was a bit off the beaten path. I reached for the paper map in the glove compartment when one of these colleagues pulled out his cell phone and stated, ‘I got this’.  He then proceeded to establish our location using GPS and then punched in the address where we were going.  Voila! Instant directions.  We wouldn’t even have to think.  A decade or so earlier, I had a sense on where all this was going; long before digital directions became the widespread technology we use today.  In fact, the work my colleagues and I were doing at that time were forging that path.  And now, here we were at the transition moment, heading to a restaurant in Denver.  You would think I’d have been ecstatic, but this was not my reaction.  Instead, I looked at him and the words that came out of my mouth were a half-joking “shame on you!”. 

He didn’t get it, so I explained that he and I had these natural abilities of orientation, and if he was not careful he was going to see them erode.  My colleague begged to differ, arguing the technology had nothing but beneficial consequences.  I don’t know.  I guess he had a point.  Still, I needed to think more about why I felt the way I did.  Not long after, it hit me.  I thought of the woods, just like I did this week.  And from there I thought of Native Americans and other primitive peoples, their connection to the natural world, and in turn their ability to see the God-given skills in their young people as they experience the natural world.  For example, they can see the special ability in one child to track wild animals. They see it in another one who has an uncanny knowledge of where groundwater can be found.  Another can understand the communication among a murder of crows.  Yet another can decipher the medicinal properties of native plants.  And to my point, another who has a detailed map of their world ingrained in his/her mind.  This is all dynamic.  We too have uncanny, inexplicable skills like these.  Most of us will never get anywhere near our capabilities however.  Our world is too contrived to allow it. 

What does this have to do with “Visions of Johanna”?  Well, first off, as with all the music off Blonde on Blonde, this is a deep song that pulled young people back in a dynamic direction.  Music like this was simply not written in the mid-60s, or any time before that, particularly in the genre of rock and roll.  But it blossomed after. In other words, Bob Dylan brought intellect to rock and roll and to a generation of rock listeners.  This was not just the type of intellect where someone would say he was ‘well read’. The lyrics in all his songs play this out, but all I have to do is use the lines in “Visions of Johanna to prove this point.  And so, it was also a philosophical intellect (“But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues, you can tell by the way she smiles”).  It too was faith intellect (“and Madonna, she still has not showed”).  It was an intellect that explored deeper meaning and emotion related to love (“Louise, she’s all right, she’s just near, she’s delicate and seems like the mirror, but she just makes it all too concise and too clear, that Johanna’s not here”), empathy (“The peddler now speaks to the countess who’s pretending to care for him, sayin’ ‘Name me someone that’s not a parasite and I’ll go out and say a prayer for him’”), and quite often what it meant to be American (“and the country music plays soft, but there’s nothing, really nothing to turn off”). It was even an intellect related to humor (“Hear the one with the mustache say, ‘Jeez, I can’t find my knees’”).  Most important though, it was an intellect based on insight to our yearning for dynamics in our lives (“The fiddler he now steps to the road, he writes ev’rything’s been returned which was owed, on the back of the fish truck that loads, while my conscience explodes”).

Bob Dylan could have kept his voice in the folk world, and he would have done quite well there.  But by ‘going electric’ he opened his brilliance to mass appeal. In turn, he initiated a movement.  The youth of the free world were not only ready for his sound, they were also ready for his intellect. Say what you will about the 60s counterculture, but one thing that can’t be denied, and which resonates to this day, is that there was an underlying effort to grasp a deeper meaning to life.  To separate the real from the fake.  The essential from the superfluous. The substance from the material.  

One place I’ve always felt closer to the flame is literally close to the flame:  Sitting around a campfire.  We have a firepit in the backyard here in Pepperell.  As be the case in the many camping trips we’ve enjoyed over the years with friends and family, this is the spot where you really can unwind.  It’s also where people tend to open up, more so than usual.  And the intellect and dynamics of the conversations ramp up a notch or two as well.  Stare into that fire long enough and all sorts of visions start jumping out.  I occasionally find myself connecting with the elders of some ancient tribe, passing the peace pipe.  And, I find myself connecting with my younger self; many moons spent under the stars, be it winter, summer, spring or fall, with a fire crackling in front of me and my friends.  All those great discussions about love, hopes and dreams.  My conscience exploding in those moments.

My son Peter has spent many-a-night sitting around that firepit with his friends when he was in high school.  And he did this at his friends’ homes too.  But more importantly, he did the same thing in the woods, like I did in Franklin in my high school years. As he grew, and we talked, I could see the experience of dynamic life unfold in his eyes.  It was so cool to see.  I was thankful.  It guaranteed we could connect on many levels for as long as time allowed.

I’m not sure of this next point, but I’m thinking the 60s introduced a new/ancient atmosphere back into the American culture: That peace-pipe circle and its meaning.  As mentioned above, it happened outdoors, but the indoors was not exempt.  In this case, the key ingredients were friends and loud music.  Yes, maybe a bong was sitting in the center of that circle, but it was not essential. What was essential was listening to that music.  There were lyrics to read in the album sleeves.  There was off key singing.  There was air guitar.  There was the requisite Hendrix poster on the wall.  There was nodding in approval.  There was intelligent interpretation.  In those moments, I’m telling you, there was also telepathy.  Bob Dylan gets the credit in my book for bringing it all back home: The peace-pipe circle that is.

As for my daughter Charlotte, well, the fact that she’s hiking in some remote forest in Colombia as I type this speaks for itself.  I remember the moment when I could begin to envision her path in life.  We were on an overnight ferry coming home from an amazing trip to Newfoundland.  Charlotte was around 13 at the time. The week there had a remote rugged feel to it.  Puffins. Icebergs. Fjords. Caribou.  On that trip home, all the cabins on the ferry were booked and so, as with many others, we sprawled out on the comfortable reclining chairs in the general seating area.  Charlotte could not sleep and so she roamed the deck.  When the horns blew to announce that we were soon docking, we gathered our stuff and headed down to the car.  As we loaded, Charlotte looked at me and said “Dad, I saw poster a poster on the wall last nite. It said, ‘you couldn’t be any further from Disney than you are right now’”. 

Today, I’d like to credit Pepperell and Bob Dylan for that moment.

It’s good to have stability, but I think there should always be more than a little room for the dynamic.  So, if you know someone who is not married to their smart phone.  Or they drive a shit box.  Or they like to use paper maps.  Or, they find far more appeal to identifying a plant than living in luxury.  Or they shake their head often at the greed around them. Or they see the forest for the trees, literally and figuratively, then you might not have to look any further than the effect that the ideals of the counterculture 60s had on them. It’s all by choice, folks.  And, it may be the only way to leave sufficient mental space for dynamic life, an open mind, and of course, those visions.

- Pete