I Dug It Up!

I Dug It Up is here. The weeks leading up to Thanksgiving were a full-on sprint of recording, mixing, hating my voice, tweaking, liking my voice a little better, adding in harmonies, mastering, wondering why I ever thought of this, etc.

But it’s here.

First off: MAJOR thanks to all who helped make this record a real thing you can play and make music go in your ears: Al Hill, Dave Francis, Paul Griffith, Troy Engle, Mary Bragg, Pru Clearwater, the Saloneers, Kira Small, the East Nashville Song Salon, Marv Treutel and especially Jeff  Thorneycroft for his wonderful, evocative, perfect graphic design and photography.

It is now available at  my website:

 www.whithill.com 

and at cdbaby:

 http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/whithill3

And here, as promised, is a play-by-play of each song on the record, its lyrics, and how it came to be. Maybe a couple of pictures of finds.

1. I DUG IT UP

I love me any kind of equine shoe.

This title had been rattling around for a while. Then I went to the Five Spot with Al one night to hear Tim Carroll and I was leaning up against the bar drinking a Yazoo Dos Perros, when I started kind of chanting “I dug it up… I dug it up… for my bay-bee” to the beat the drummer was playing. Sometimes I just need a new groove to get me going. Came home and wrote the song pretty quickly. I choose to believe it is the only song in the world that has the lyric “Mule shoe, you’re so sweet.”

Deep in the woods, deep in the woods

It was ringing real good

10 inches down, 10 inches down

With a solid sound

Mule shoe, Mule shoe

You so sweet, I’m going to take you home with me

I dug it up I dug it up for my baby

But he doesn’t want it, no

he says Go, wash your hands

Look what I found underground for my baby

But he doesn’t want it, no

Just because I dug it up.

Out in a field, out in a field

with my ears peeled

All alone All alone

Got a good tone

Silver dollar you’re so sweet

I’m gonna take you home with me…

I dug it up…

Under the sand, under the sand… Found a gold band

Diamond ring, Just the thing for my baby’s hand

Gold ring, gold ring

I say to myself…. I’m gonna save you for someone else

I dug it up, I dug it up

For my baby… But he ain’t gonna get it, no

I’m gonna go wash my hands

Look what I found, underground

For my baby

He don’t deserve it no

It’s my love… I dug it up.

2. THIS WAS A BATTLEFIELD (Al Hill and Mary Bragg on harmonies)

Not part of a sprinkler system. At all.

One day, Cheryl and I were detecting a lawn in a beautiful neighborhood just south of town. The elderly homeowners had given us permission to come any time, but I’d never met them. This was prime Battle of Nashville land and we’d both found some bullets and buttons. I got a good signal and dug something that I thought might be part of a sprinkler system. Not that I know anything about lawn irrigation. Turns out it's a rare Confederate Brooks ratchet plate sabot. I’m so continually struck by the contrast: how that beautiful lawn was the scene of unimaginable bloodshed, not that long ago.

A ranch house, on a hilltop

The lawn is manicured

It’s a lovely neighborhood

Inside, an old man and woman sit

They keep their windows closed

To keep the air cool.

150-something years ago

this was a battlefield, this was a battlefield

Beneath the grass and the magnolias

lies the blood of soldiers

bullets shells and sabers

                                                   

Peeking out of a patch of dirt

There lies a copper disc

Weighs about a pound

It was part of artillery

And when the lawn guy sees it

He just mows around

150-something years ago

This was a battlefield, this was a battlefield

Black men and white men fought together

Old men and young men

Fathers, sons and brothers

They shot each other

I wonder if the ground remembers… remembers

The middle of that cold December… Does it remember?

3. ROBINS (Pru Clearwater sings harmony)

The robins were happy when I found Cincinnati.

I was detecting a patch of grass near a bank parking lot. Just two years earlier, there had been a sweet, old house here, and a huge maple tree. Now, just one small strip of un-bulldozed land remained. It hadn’t rained for weeks and I noticed that as I moved from dig hole to dig hole, two robins hopped after me, hunting in the dark earth I’d uncovered.

This song was about half done when I went a meeting of the Middle Tennessee Metal Detecting Club. Bill, one of the regulars, took me aside and said, “I woke up in the middle of the night thinking the words ‘Out here, I feel like a kid again!’ and I thought, ‘I have to tell Whit Hill.’”

He did, and I put it in the song. I pay attention to stuff like that.

Granny had a garden way out back

Twice a week she’d hoe that patch

And I would watch her with wide eyes

As robins followed her around

This one’s okra, she’d tell me

Summer squash, ain’t it pretty?

And she’d turn that earth and the worms would rise

And robins followed her around.

And she’d say oh, out here I feel like a kid again

My hands in the dirt, just a little old girl,

in love with the world

And Oh, lookee there, here comes that bird again!

And the robins followed her around

Now I’m someone’s grandma too.

Moving slower than I used to do

But I’m out there digging just like she did

And the robins follow me around

Here’s a nickel with a buffalo

Shotgun shell from long ago

and the worms they wriggle, sayin no no no

And robins follow me around

And Oh, out here I feel like a kid again

But my hands in the dirt look just like hers.

I feel her near.

And oh lookee there, here comes that bird again

And the robins follow me around… robins follow me.

4. HOW’D THIS GET HERE?

Early 1800s India-Bengal presidential "pice"
found near my house. WHAT?

Not much to explain. Anyone who metal detects has muttered this a thousand times.

I have never lost a belt buckle in my life

I have never lost a harmonica

I have never left a Mason jar in the yard

I’m perplexed at these phenomena.

And so I cry, How’d this get here?

How’d this get here?

Tell me: How’d this get here?

On a lovely bluff high above the Cumberland

Digging normal stuff one might expect

Out pops something I have never seen before

A coin from India, dated 1810.

And so I cry, How’d this get here?

It’s got Persian writing

Persian words!

How’d this get here?

Oh the quizzical expressions

As I hold these lost possessions

This metallurgical obsession

Leads me to the endless question:

How’d this get here?

Let’s examine the belt buckle mystery

Buckles plain and fancy lost long ago

And I’m not talking ‘bout the buckles of the brave men who fell in battle

Just the buckles of the ordinary Joes

How’d how’d they get here?

How’d they get here?
did belts fall off?

Did pants fall down? How’d they get here?

I have never lost a belt buckle in my life…

5. CAN SLAW (featuring the Saloneers and Kira Small)

 The term “can slaw” is used to describe the twisted bits of slaughtered beer and soda cans that festoon all dirt everywhere. I hate can slaw so much, I thought it prudent to write a 70s-style country song through which I could express my feelings. Once we recorded it, though, it somehow felt incomplete.

On occasional Monday nights, I host the East Nashville Song Salon – a song critique session attended by some of Nashville’s most talented and interesting people. One night, songs over, we were all chatting in the kitchen. I turned to Al and whispered, “Hey. Could we get them all singing on Can Slaw? Yes, yes we could.

The Saloneers consist of Al Hill, Mary Bragg, Becky Warren, Ben de la Cour, Laura Curtis, Andrew Lipow and Kira Small (who returned at a later date to add more swelling opera.) Thanks, guys!

Evil little morsels

Lurking… waiting in the dirt for me.

Long ago you

Were a can of Mountain Dew

Tossed into a field in Tennessee.

A tractor, or a mower

Found you… twisted you and tore you all apart

And now you lie

Scattered far and wide

Each piece of you a vicious work of art.

Can slaw, can slaw

Shiny as a Spanish real in the sun

I’d cut you with a chain saw

but that would just make maw and maw and maw

God damn Can slaw

Deceitful and mean-spirited

Laughing, laughing as I scrabble ‘neath this root

I reach for you

And you slice my thumb in two

I hope recycling tortures you, you brute

Can slaw, can slaw

I hope whoever threw you out here trips and falls

I’d cut you with a chain saw

But the homeowner would probably call the law

God damn Can slaw

Yes, your demonic claw

Shall never cause this dirt girl to withdraw

God damn can slaw.

6. TRIUNE (Whit Hill/Betty Soo)

 

Carved bullet, found by Butch Holcombe.

The tiny community of Triune, TN was where Cheryl and I found our first CW bullets. Since then, I’ve found many more, but never a carved one. When Austin songwriter Betty Soo was visiting Nashville, she came over to write with me. I brought out some finds and we decided to write about a carved bullet.  I remember thinking “I’ve never heard of a bullet with a rose on it but I guess it could happen.”

Just recently, my friend Butch Holcombe (publisher of American Digger Magazine) posted a photo of a bullet he’d found years before – with a detailed and magnificent rose carved into the side.

We recorded this song late at night as rain fell outside.

They poured hot lead into the mold.

And born a bullet was I.

Three rings and a point, grew hard in the cold

Of a Triune, Tennessee night.

It was late November. The worst was to come.

I lay with the others of my kind

They longed to be fired, thirsted for blood

But I prayed on that Triune night

Don’t make me fly out on that field

To kill and then to fall

If I were made for this, I wish

I’d not been made at all.

A hand reached deep into the bag

Where my brothers and I did rest

He pulled me out, this gentle lad

Saying yes, this one is the best

Into my side he carved a rose

In the other his sweetheart’s name

And I heard his prayers fall softly down

I whispered up the same

CH

And when bugle sounded

He placed his rifle by a tree

Into the battle he ran holding me in his hand

Then he fell til he was free

Then he let go of me. 

And the soldier on the other side

The one I would have hit…

He died when he was 83

with his family ‘round his bed

And me, I lie in this soft earth

For you one day to find

My simple rose, and the dear, sweet name

Of the one he left behind.

On that Triune, Triune, Triune night.

7. DIG THAT DIME, DADDY! (Mary Bragg and Al Hill sing backup)

British cartridge box plate, circa 1770.

Oh, how I love this song! I put the word out on American Digger’s Relic Roundup (an internet radio show) that I was looking for song ideas, digging stories, etc., and Tonya Lancaster, a lovely young woman from South Carolina, sent me this story about a hunt with her dad, John Mize.

Daddy called me Snake from the day I was born

I wriggled my way into his heart

As I grew, he taught me how

To fish the Charleston dirt

Pennies and pull tabs, high school rings

Minie balls and shotgun shells

Side by side, shovels in our hands

We cleaned that earth so well…

Dig that dime, Daddy

Oh, I remember that sunny afternoon

by the river’s edge

12 inches down in the ground I found

a green, patinaed badge.

With a “G” and an “R” -- the initials of a king

But daddy called it junk

Held up a silver mercury and danced around

Little girl, you done got skunked!

Dig that dime, daddy…

Now everybody knows, ain’t nothing like silver

It’s every digger’s delight

Cool and brilliant, shining bright

like the moon in a midnight sky

But my British badge brought me ten thousand dollars

His dime was worth just one.

Now every time we hunt, I sing this song

And my daddy sings along…

8. HE LIKES TO STAND ON BRIDGES

Doug Drake, our mentor.

This one’s for Doug Drake. Here’s how it happened:

After all the songs for this record were chosen and recorded, I was talking to Doug’s wife, Brenda.

Me: “Hey, Brenda, do you remember one day we were all driving around in the country looking for places to dig and Doug pulled up alongside that little bridge? We all stood there, looking down into the water… Where was that? Do you remember where it was?”

Brenda: “Oh, Whit. it could have been anywhere. That man just liked to stand on bridges.”

I went home, wrote this and added it to the record.  (That’s me on piano. First time ever on a recording.)

He likes to stand on bridges

Over streams and little rivers

And look down upon the fishes in their blue

If he sees one while he’s driving,

he’ll pull over every time

Make his wife come stand beside him

And look down too.

And if you ask, he’ll laugh and say

He don’t know why he likes to stand on bridges.

He was born in 1940

He grew up in Hickman County

Served his country, worked construction, then retired

Now every Sunday after breakfast

He rides around, just aimless

To the Harpeth or the Duck or the Piney

Does the smell of iron and ions make him feel alive?

Is that why he stands on bridges?

And if the water’s low,

 you’ll find him in the creek bed

Looking for old sinkers, wedding rings, and arrowheads

But if it’s rushing, a wild and rising flood

He will be there up above

Leaning out over the edge

Taking a deep breath

He likes to stand on bridges

Over streams and little rivers

And look down as the bluegills dart and swim

And he wonders if they’re looking up at him

9. THE OLD DIGGER

Doug with a rare Confederate button.

This one’s also for Doug Drake. There was just something fascinating about the guy.

The old digger is gone

To that home site, beyond

where the weather is fine

And your shovel melts into the ground

So easy

You don’t knock on no doors

Cause all the land’s yours

Rolling green hills

Dotted with foundation stones

And trees

And the bottles you find

Are rare and unbroken and shine in the sun

The coins and the tokens are gold

And each tiny toy car is your favorite one.

The old digger is gone

To that camp site beyond

Where the cannons and swords

Locks and harmonica reeds

Lie scattered

And the south and the north

Don’t mean nothing no more

The battles and wars

Have faded away into all

That matters

When you pull out a buckle

The soldier who lost it appears at your side

And you can shake hands with that man

‘cause you’re both in this new life

The old digger is gone

 His burden laid down

Now he stands tall and strong

As his shovel melts into the ground.

10. YOU’RE A SAINT

Yup.

This one’s for Al. Because he’s so nice and patient about my hobby and pretends to be interested in the stuff I find and he’s the nicest guy I know and he’s introverted like me and he did so much to make this record happen.

Every time I bring home another rusty axe head

Your eyes glaze over

Then your love takes over

And you say, “Oh baby, look what you found!”

Every time I tell you another scary story ‘bout

Snakes and rabid Rovers

And mad homeowners

You say, “I’m happy you are safe and sound”

You’re a saint.

Oh yeah, oh yeah

You’re a saint

You’re a saint

Saint Baby, Saint Darlin’

You’re a saint.

 It appears your favorite bathroom is now devoted to

Rust removal

There’s been no disapproval

Just the occasional eyeball roll

And every pretty Saturday I should devote to

Fun with you… it’s déjà vu

As your wife turns into a fanatical mole.

CH

Home is where the heart is baby

Ain’t no place for complaint

You ain’t the type to fuss and fight

If you did I’d fall down in a faint but you don’t

You’re a saint!

11. DON’T DIG TODAY (Hill/Hill, featuring Al Hill)

Al, trying to get me to not dig.

I wrote these lyrics a long time ago and gave them to Al and he turned them into this luscious blues.

Don’t dig today. Don’t be pulling up the past

I got all you need right here. And life flies by so fast.

Don’t dig today. Ain’t no treasures in that ground

I got a heart that shines like gold. So just lay your shovel down.

Don’t dig today. Don't hold history in your hand.

It’ll all be there tomorrow. Today, just be here with your man.

Don’t dig today. Just wait a minute more for me

I’m coming with you, baby, into the fields of Tennessee.

12. ALUMINUM… FOILED AGAIN (Whit Hill/Butch Holcombe; Mary Bragg’s on harmonies)

Anita and Butch Holcombe

When I put the word out that I was looking for song ideas, Butch Holcombe, the publisher of American Digger Magazine, popped these lyrics out and sent them to me. Done deal. We had a chance to play this song together (with Butch on mandolin) at the December meeting of the MTMDC.

For the record, I hate foil.

Scratchy sound

Jumping ‘round

Digital readings up and down

Got me confused

and concerned

If I don’t dig it I might get burned

Whoa… Let’s see what’s down below

Aluminum…foiled again!

Chewing gum wrapper

Or a thin gold chain

Nothing ventured, nothing gained

I’ll dig it up

Can't walk away

So I cut a plug, what the hey

whoa… let’s see what’s down below…

Aluminum… foiled again.

Hope one day

I'll strike it big

And I dig something I should dig

But till then, again and again

I'll curse Alcoa and the Wriggly twins

Whoa…. Let’s see what’s down below!

13. GHOSTS

The eeriest site I ever dug.

There’s a feeling you get, especially when you’re alone at a site, of communing with the past. It feels a little sacred, to tell the truth.

I know.

But isn’t interesting that the words “sacred” and “scared” are so close?

Sometimes in those sacred moments, I feel a little scared. Like I’m being watched.

I wrote this song before I ever thought about making a metal detecting record. My friend, Korby Lenker, came to Song Salon and challenged us to write a song using just 25 different words. It was right around Halloween so this is what came out. I’ve since written several other 25-word songs. It’s a difficult, thrilling and instructive exercise.

Ghosts are here today

Harmless, harmless ghosts are close

Praying on white shroud knees

I believe, I believe, I believe.

Ghosts pray quietly

Powerless, powerless prayers

To those banished to history

I believe, I believe, I believe…

They say, Ah love…

Ghosts on white shroud knees

Fingers tangled here, today

Quietly close to me

I believe, I believe, I believe

I believe they believe in me.

Rivers and Lakes

First things first.

I really want to talk about the new record, but before I do (in the next post), I am going to do a quick recap of recent finds and doings.

Because I haven't posted since SEPTEMBER.

And because I found a couple of really special things.

Sometime in October, I discovered a little-known park along the Cumberland and explored it a few times.

There’s a cool, old boarded-up house still standing off to the side but I didn’t find much.

Found this…

Here’s my best find:

Copper and meerschaum. Or however you spell that.

 Posted on a vintage pipe website, but no one had any info on it.

Then, a friend had posted on FB about a “deserted” beach on the Cumberland, not far from me. So I nagged all my friends and my buddy Jeff Thorneycroft took me kayaking so we could MD the beach.

 Lots of bullets, but none very old, I don't think. Except for the musketball...

Another bullet Stonehenge.

Jeff dug this old hook, probably from a riverboat.

Needless to say, I must obtain a kayak.

One weekend, I drove east trying to find a field Doug took us to a couple of years back. Never found it, but I got up the courage to ask a man if I could dig his property. The result?

I didn't find anything that day, but returned the next day with my friend, M.J. We failed miserably at finding anything other than part of old hoes. Not even a freekin' horseshoe! But we had fun anyway. 

M.J., trying to look enthusiastic about not
finding anything while trying to avoid snakes.

In early November, I returned to northern Michigan to attend Lamb’s Retreat – a fabulous songwriting getaway. Didn’t have much spare time, as I was busy writing a song about a piece of religious statuary, but I made it down to my beautiful Lake Michigan a few times...

 ... and at the very last minute – right before I had to leave – pulled this out of the sand during a snowstorm. As long as I’ve been doing this, and as many cool things as I’ve found, I just never get used to it.

Pre-electric soup. 

Post-electric soup. This is a personal pistol, probably
1830-1850, probably European.

Right before Thanksgiving, I went over to Kathy Hussey’s house to sweep her back yard before they begin building an addition. Found this sweet thang but nothing else of note.

Beep. Beep beep.

Undeterred, I hit a nearby park. I was by myself; it was a gray, deepening dusk.

As usual for this park, all I got was pennies, pulltabs and bottle caps – and plenty of’em. I remember sighing and saying, “Hmm. Sure has been a long time since I’ve dug any SILVER. How ‘bout it?”

Not one minute later, this:

Then – I kid you not – a white dove flew over my head.  I had to sit down.

Ok. Now I can write about the record…

"One of Them There Things..."

That's right: two Dirt Girl posts in as many days.

This one is short and to the point.

In April of 2013, my dear friend (and renowned Michigan videographer) Terri Sarris, came to Nashville to make a short film about me and my metal detecting. Here's the finished product. I just love it. There was hours and hours of footage, but she has edited it down to a compact 10 minutes that says so much, so beautifully. And seeing the great Doug Drake again is just so cool.

Here's the link.

http://vimeo.com/105877741

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

I had this dream the other night.

I am going to the airport to pick up a friend. For some reason, Al and Jakson (dog) are in the car too. We get to the airport and pull into one of the spaces where you can only stay a few minutes. Sure enough the guard lady comes over to us but instead of telling us to open the trunk or needlessly circle the airport, she starts talking about DOGS, of which she has six. She tells me that her friend is looking for a new dog. Well, I say. I know someone who is fostering a stray dog that needs a home! Here… I say: here’s my card. Email me and I’ll get you the info.

The guard lady takes my card and studies it closely.

“Dirt Girt?” she asks, puzzled.

“What? No. Dirt GIRL,” I correct her.

“Well, this says ‘Dirt GIRT’ – with a ‘T’,” she says, handing me the card. Which I notice does in fact refer to yours truly as “Dirt GIRT.”

And then I woke up.

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

It’s been way too long since I’ve posted and there’s lots to tell you.

In the middle of July, my family gathered on Cape Cod. It was kind of a homecoming for me. I started going there when I was a toddler and spent all or part of every summer there for decades, in a little gray-shingled cottage owned by my godparents. My first husband and I moved to the Cape to live in 1980 and my daughter, Maya, was born in the front room of an 1830s home in South Yarmouth the following year.

Brand-new Maya, brand-new mama, 1981.

When my godmother died in 1998, the summer cottage was sold and I hadn’t been back since. I was a little afraid that being there again would unleash a torrent of tears, and that did happen, briefly. It also unleashed a torrent of family fun, swimming in the salty, seaweedy sea, playing “tennis” with a grownup Maya (anyone watching us play would know why quotes are needed), late-night games of Mexican Train Dominos, and eating a lot of really good food.

Of course, I had to engage in some serious graveyard skulking action.

When I was a kid I spent countless hours
doing gravestone rubbings on the Cape.

Thankful. That's a nice name.

Really, these stones were the Facebook of the 1700s. 

I also spent many hours swinging the old Fisher F75 in a beautiful but somewhat creepy “nature preserve” near where we were staying. I’d heard from the locals that it was a place where the militia practiced during “the war” which, this being Massachusetts, actually meant the Revolutionary War. But all I found for my efforts was part of a spoon and an old file.

Wow. Cool file. Yawn.

Also did a whole lot of beach detecting and found a ton of clad but no jewelry. 

Pretty disappointing. Where was the jewelry???

Oh well. At least I looked like an idiot.

Hello! Have you dropped any jewels? Can I
stand here until you do?

My father and my son, attempting to tolerate my hobby.

My dad and me, shortly after I knocked
over a peerless vodka martini.

Back home in Nashville, it was dry and hot, but Cheryl and I got out once or twice. My girlfriend, Kira, recently bought a house in East Nash with her boyfriend, Sailor Glen, and we hit that yard hard. I found a ton of 70s-era toy cars and trucks but not much else.

Carwash... workin' at the carwash, yeah...

For the record, Kira is not particularly spacey.

One desperate dayjob-hating afternoon, I ventured back to the Never-Fail Wonderland Yard near my house and pulled out this sweet little cufflink, so similar to the “Tallio” cufflink of the last post. Happy happy.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean... roll!

In August, I had two rapturous days up on the beach in northern Michigan where I spent virtually all daylight hours doing You Know What.

At one point, a man came up to me and asked if I’d go look for his wife’s wedding ring; she’d lost it last summer. Sure, I said, and walked a long ways down the beach to the spot he indicated. I never found the ring but found this, instead.

A flurry of posts on various MD sites identified it as a pewter rattail spoon, circa 1750-1760.

Then I queried Wayne Hilt, a renowned pewter spoon expert. Here's what he said:

Nice find.  The spoon is in my opinion an 18th century item...The shape of the bowl an elongated taper oval originated around 1720+_.  This form of bowl was used both in England and the Continent as well as America through around 1760-1780.  During those latter years the design developed into a more tapered form.

The cast decoration on the handle is interesting.  the raised "shell" on the face was undoubtedly produced when the mold was first made.  the additional decoration shown in photo 3 are likely additions cut into the mold by one of its owners.  The quality of the shell is superb while the back of the handle work is far cruder.

The rib up the back of the Bowl is typically early 18th century, while the shape of end of the handle design is more a mid to 3rd quarter design...The form in general reminds me of a European rather than English/American design.

As this is a "relic" I would not attempt any "fix" of the crack...if handled with caution it should be fine.

Thanks, Wayne!

I just can't get over the fact that this item was found about 30 feet from the water's edge, about 12 inches deep in the sand.

Also found this honking pile of rust and almost threw it out, but decided to take it home and de-rust it.

Hmm. Numbers...

This is a silver-plated something or other.
Any ideas? Ashtray? Spoon rest?

Finally, this cool old souvenir thing.

Hard to see here, but there is an image of a
Native American man on a horse, looking
up to the sky.

Summer is over. I’m back to writing (the dreaded dayjob) and teaching the sticky little chilluns to point their feet (wonderful dayjob).

Sigh. Sure do miss the beach…

Last weekend, I ventured south of town to a 100-acre construction site I had permission to hunt. It had been pretty much scraped clean but I managed to find a smattering of the usual ordinary old home site stuff: parts of oil lamps, mason jar lids.

Also found this.

I won’t be exploring it further, but it got under my skin and I wrote a song about it which I'll post later.

That’s it for now.

Oh! I know! One other thing. Recorded THREE more songs for the metal detecting record. They are:

Triune

Battlefield

How’d This Get Here?

They sound fantastic. I think we might actually meet our early November deadline for getting this thing out into the world.  Where it is so badly needed.

And that dream at the beginning? That wasn’t a dream. Every single business card I have handed out over the past year has referred folks to Dirt GIRT Unleashed.

New cards have been ordered.