The front gate to Quiet Valley wasn’t quite this grand in 1982!

(I’m sorry, but we got absolutely NO photos of these people.)

Ake Pecha — I was told this means “Start fresh, my friend.”

It was probably around 1982 when Kerrville Festival Producer Rod Kennedy took a trip to the southeast, where he met a group of travelers from the Scandinavian countries. This was the “International School Ake Pecha,” two men, teachers, and three students, Preben from Denmark, Marten from Norway, and Arne from Sweden. We learned that the boys were considered worse than incorrigible, and that the countries really didn’t want them there. Thus, the five-some was traveling the U.S. with dual purpose of presenting the students their academics while showing them that, if you treat the world right, it will treat you right.

Rod asked them to come to Quiet Valley Ranch, and they accepted. They drove up on three motorcycles, two of which had sidecars for the non-drivers. They stayed in the men’s bunkhouse for several months and Christmas was among that time.

I lived in the reconverted women’s bunkhouse, made into a home for me by several volunteers. Ten by 20 in size, but room enough for my bed, dresser, a chair, a small dining table, and an old love seat with the legs taken off, for my Great Dane, Mandy.

Jan, the lead instructor, and I decided to share our Christmas that year. We set up a Christmas tree on the stage, where we could pull that portable backdrop around us for protection against the chilling wind, while we sang carols and exchanged gifts. Jan and I went to H-E-B to shop for Christmas dinner. Two things: they had a special dessert called “rice cream” which Jan prepared and included a prize for the one person who got that bowl of the delicious confection. Another was his choice of veggies – little cabbages, he called the Brussels sprouts he said was traditional in their home countries. A friend from town cooked the turkey and dressing (as my cabin had no stove or oven, just a little propane-powered double-burner). We invited six people from town out for this special dinner. They all came, and contributed traditional American Christmas foods.

Preben, Marten, and Arne pulled all the furniture out of the cabin and installed two folding tables from the stage. Folding chairs, too.

Then, we prayed together and sat down to eat together, an international dinner, prepared and served and enjoyed by everybody from both sides of the ocean.

One of my all-time favorite Christmases, in spite of sorely missing my kids, who were up in North Texas with their dad.

I could tell you lots more stories about these wonderful people — and maybe I will. They did not always act 100% within the rules of “niceness;” but were wonderful, because they were learning how not to be incorrigible any longer.

Mary Jane Farmer and Gail Barbee

I wrote this for the newspaper with which I worked for 14 years, in Sherman. Wrote it in September 2004. It could have been written yesterday, as the feelings I wrote then were exactly what I felt on my recent weekend at Kerrville Folk Festival.

The color of the day was tie-dye; people stood in the road talking and no one honked at them; and handshakes were extinct, replaced by hugs.

It was the Kerrville Wine & Music Festival. I went down there Friday, felt a warm chill as I passed under the “Welcome Home” sign, and set up tent. Welcome home, Mary Jane.

Kevin Welch, even if he’d been the only performer, would have been worth the trip. When he concluded with his “Til I’m Too Old To Die Young,” I cried from the intensity of the lyrics. Written when his daughter was born, the now-teenager sang with him on the chorus. I didn’t get a chance to ask her what that must have felt like.

There were kids’ concerts, a musical church hour, songwriters’ showcases, wine seminars, (which I missed, being a non-drinker), bike ride, and yoga.

And rain. But not until Monday, when it was over. I have a wet tent to put up

Nancylee Kennedy and Dorothy Hammond

in the yard to let dry, and about half the Hill Country in my back seat, in the form of mud pies. Actually, by Kerrville standards, that 1-inch ranch was just a slight mist.

But it wasn’t all about that. It was about getting back to friends — many from as far as 30 years ago, dining with others in Kerrville, and meeting new people who became more friends. It was about being kind to one another, respectful of each person, no matter what differences there are, and about honesty.

It was about family. Like I said, some of these friends I hadn’t seen in lo-these many years. Yet, ol’ home turned into yesterday, then into today, and it was like we’ve never been apart.

It was really hard to head back home, but I did. And it’s OK. I’m back in Lois Lane mode. The other side of that “Welcome Home” sign reminders departers “It can be like this always.”

Like the overhead flocks of birds heading south for the winter, I’ll return in the spring.

‘nuf said.