A Songwriter's Baby Turkey

At a songwriter's forum at Puckett's Restaurant & Grocer this past Saturday in Franklin, TN, an artist named Zane Williams described the inspiration for his song "Hope is a Flame" (I'd encourage listening to it: www.myspace.com/zanewilliams). Watching a PBS special on a leprous community, Zane witnessed a destitute leper woman who would only sit alone with a bag covering her head, refusing help and interacting with no one—a picture of hopelessness. Relief workers released a baby turkey at her feet, despite her husband's warning that she would only refuse it. After an initial swat intended to scatter the turkey, the bird tried to peck at the woman once more and she quickly reached out, scooped the turkey into her arms and cradled it underneath the sack that hid the woman from the world. When the relief workers returned two years later with the PBS crew, the leprous woman owned and cared for more than 20 turkeys—all of which were acquired through her initial efforts at selling the original baby turkey's eggs. "Hope is a Flame" is a song underscored by the power of any level of hope.

. . .

My Western mind is humbled by the woman's joy at such seemingly meager assets. Yet as a songwriter I recognize the same concept functioning in my own life. When I wrote my first song (a horrible tune called "Eight Ball" that I will never play again!), I was given a "baby turkey" in the form of two friends that liked it—purely out of its novelty, I'm sure. A couple days later I wrote one about my late grandfather—my baby turkey's first egg—and the responses from my mother and immediate family encouraged me to write more songs. Two years later I have written over forty songs, am to the point where I play in local pubs and will self-release an album this fall.

. . .

Compared to my relative affluence, the leprous woman has very little—my one dog probably cost me more than her entire flock of turkeys is worth. Compared to professional songwriters and musicians, my forty songs, pub wages and home studio album are a joke. Nonetheless, I am very proud of my humble "flock of turkeys" and the chances I get to share their eggs—my songs and performances—bring me joy. I look back on two years of learning to play the guitar and developing my songwriting abilities and see the little installments of hope that friends, family and strangers have offered me in the form of praise and encouragement. And though I take it all with a grain of salt, knowing that I am far from the best and may never reach a vaunted status or wide audience with my music, I am happy. I am happy to be a songwriter. I am happy to play local pubs—some for free and some for money. I am happy to produce a product that will mostly be purchased by only friends and family. I am happy to articulate and offer my self to the small world around me.

. . .

So thanks to you all who listen and encourage me. You are truly my relief workers and I am forever grateful.