Report from MerleFest II: the saga continues

Thanks to Louis O'Dwyer for the second chapter in the saga of Irishmen at MerleFest 2010, which captures

... our traverses across the Blue Ridges, meandering our way down the great Smokies, being at one with the natives in a village in the Cherokee Nation, & then onwards to that magnificent citadel of Southern hospitality, Knoxville. There we shared the comforts of a common cultural pillow, upon which there was no difference between visitor & visited & local.

Scene 1: 11.39 p.m. Me standing in a smaller version of Plaza Major, air profused with the fragrance of fresh farm produce & ripened by the dung pungency of the farm animals that had carried their booty to market for those small-time traders. My eyes, enveloped with tears of confusion, led me by my ears to a lone Cherokee musician, playing upon a one-stringed piece of willow wood, proclaiming the injustices, sufferings, of his heritage & people.

I hear you talking, Buddy, I said, & tossed a silver dollar in his threadbare hat. Thank you, Sir, was his response. I have never encountered such gracious good manners in my life.