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As the crow flies, Crow Creek runs east to west about a half mile from my house and empties into the Illinois River a few miles further downstream. But on April 17th, 2013, Crow Creek ran north, south, up, down, east, west and everywhere between.
It rained. And it rained. And it rained. The Crow swelled over its banks, over roads, over bridges, over fields.
There would be nothing to do that evening. Nowhere to go. I stopped at a liquor store after work before making a big loop out into the flatlands east of my house to make it home by an indirect route up and away from the river and Crow Creek’s swollen belly.
And it rained. And it rained.
I sat in my living room with a bottle of Jameson whiskey. I wrote a song. Friends from down the road came over. They sat in a circle around me, as the Crow crawled across their property. I sang my song and we passed the Jameson around the circle, hand to hand, mouth to mouth. Our bellies burned warm. We stayed dry.
I hope you’re enjoying my record Memoirs and the stories it has to tell.
To listen: ffm.to/memoirs...
To order vinyl and merch: www.joestammba...