Handwritten page of a diary dated June 30, 1970
… I mean it’s a commune. It’s supposed to have a mellow vibe. And when Willow invited me to drive down from Maine and join them, she said everyone would make me feel comfortable right away. But I can’t really say that’s how it went down.
It was a rough day. If not for Willow, I woulda been outta here. I got there at dawn, so I tried to help out in the barn, but they didn’t tell me what to do, and I’d never been in a barn. So I offered to help with meals. Someone said ‘hey, brother, you know how to make rolls?’ He said he asks everyone because this chick was here last year, and she made good rolls that everyone dug. She had to head out with her old man, but she left a recipe and a photo of the rolls.
I said ‘sure man, I can follow directions.’ Then I got nervous and thought if my rolls are a big drag, I need to have a backup.
So while I was waiting for the dough to rise I wrote this poem I could read out loud at the dinner table:
There was a man from the northeast
Who learned to bake rolls made with yeast.
He buttered them freely
Four teaspoons ideally
No wonder his waistline increased.
They laughed at my poem (cool!) and they ate all the rolls and said I should make more tomorrow. So I guess I’ll hang here a while after all.
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Original image: http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=1628&picture=dinner-rolls
That One Day 