Bitterness and Sweetness Squeezed through a Bagpipe

 Bitterness and Sweetness Squeezed through a Bagpipe

By Bobby Neal Winters

Country music is the fruit of the tree whose roots are in Celtic folk music.  I say this without reference, argument, or justification.  I say it just as  a person who has two ears and a heart.

Jean and I have returned from a tour of the Highlands of Scotland. After a challenging day of hiking--much more challenging because I didn’t listen to Jean at the correct time--we went out for dinner at a location that was featuring traditional Highland music.

I can’t remember the group; I can’t remember the songs: I just remember the feelings as they flowed through me.

Celtic music has a flavor.  Even in the bitter, you can taste a bit of the sweet; even in the sweet, just a wee bit of the bitter.

We sat and listened.  We were at the outdoor venue of a theater.  It was their summer concert series. There were young people there from good families who were selling “taco bowls.”

There were various choices of meats. We made a familiar choice: Chili.  Rest assured of this, whatever the name they called it, it was completely, totally, and utterly, unlike chili.  One day the chef may actually meet a Texan, taste some chili, and understand.  In the meantime, the chili we ate produced through a Scottish lens was lovely, nonetheless.

We sat at a picnic table in the twilight and let it wash over us.

The venue was crowded and a man of about our age asked if he could have the other end of the table.  We obliged.

As we are Americans, we introduced ourselves to him.  As he was a Scot, he was fine with that.

He was an oilman who’d worked the rigs in the North Sea.  His wife joined him, bringing drinks.  She was English.

Scottish music, like country music, has a sense of place. Maybe more so.  Hear a bagpipe, and you will think of only one place.

This sense of place may be made perfect in Loch Lomond.

You take the high road and I’ll take the low road/ 

and I will be in Scotland before you

The story of the song is that two soldiers have been captured.  One has been sentenced to hang and the other is to be freed.  The one who is to be hanged is comforting the survivor: Don’t worry about me, I am going to be back in Scotland before you.

From this tradition, we come to “Tulsa Time,” “Texas When I Die,” and “Rocky Top” just to name a few. (To those of you who spend time on YouTube, I recommend searching Runrig Live in Loch Lomond.) 

The Scots were never occupied by the Roman Empire.  

Genetically, all the peoples of the British Isles are almost identical: A few more Vikings one place, a few more Norman French, other.  In the stew, they are all Celts with a little salt and pepper.  

One might argue, after a day of walking through the Highlands and then filling yourself with good Scottish soup, bread, and just a tiny bit of Single Malt, that the difference between the peoples is due to a subtle cultural effect: The Romans left the English with the idea they were in charge.

The Scots don’t exhibit this idea at all.  They are in their homes. They love nature and seek to live in harmony with it.  They just want to live free on whatever nature allows them to use for their own benefit, whether that is oats, sheep, fish, or the tourists God sends their way.

I think we country folk from Kansas and Oklahoma and the Scots are very much alike when we are at our best.

On our first full day of hiking, when we were headed from Blair Atholl to Pithlocry, our path took us along a country road at one point.  

There were times when we had to share the road with trucks that were headed to the quarry up the way.  The roads were narrow so that when the trucks came by, Jean and I would have to balance ourselves in the bar ditch.

Every single truck driver on every single passage waved at us.  Every passenger in every vehicle waved at us.  We waved back.

It was just like being here.

So we are back.  I will be walking here, waving at people I don’t, listening to country music, and thinking about the Highlands from time to time.

Bobby Winters, a native of Harden City, Oklahoma, blogs at redneckmath.blogspot.com and okieinexile.blogspot.com. He invites you to “like” the National Association of Lawn Mowers on Facebook. Search for him by name on YouTube.