An enigmatic folk song

The National Park Series; The Sounds of Shenandoah; Randy Petersen, composer

Dr. Eph Ely conducted the South Dakota Honors Choir in July of 1982. He compiled an outstanding program for our end-of-the-week concert. To this day, some of my favorite choral anthems come from the repertoire that Dr. Ely chose for our ensemble. “Oh, Shenandoah”, an American folk song arranged by James Erb, played romance with each of us in the choir with its quiet unison lines, transitioning to deep, rich chords that underpin the magnificent, yet lonely, melody and inevitably bringing the outside to the inside with an enterprising section where the first sopranos, second sopranos and altos create an echo effect with the melody. It was one of the greatest four minutes of my life.

Nobody really knows where the folk song originated. Nor does anyone know the exact point of view of the rover-lover who originally sang the song. Is it a man or a woman? Is the object of affection a man or a woman? Or does he or she miss the Shenandoah River? Maybe he or she misses living in Shenandoah, Iowa. The words don’t provide enough information. But, know this: Someone misses someone, or something, passionately:

Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you,

And hear your rolling river,

Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you,

Away, we’re bound away

Across the wide Missouri

__________

I long to see your smiling valley

And Hear your rolling river,

I long to see your smiling valley

Away, we’re bound away

Across the wide Missouri

__________

‘Tis seven long years since last I’ve seen you

And hear your rolling river

‘Tis seven long years since last I’ve seen you

Away, we’re bound away

Across the wide Missouri

I suppose that the lack of details lends an element of charm and tender sentiment to our lovestruck roamer’s pinings. It reminds me of the telephone shtick of Bob Newhart where he plays the world’s first solo “straight man” in which the audience only hears one side of a telephone conversation. It seems to me, here, that we don’t get to hear the answer to a splendidly written love letter.

Mom, Uncle D. and Aunt J. came to visit me in Annapolis, Maryland, in September of 1999. I was preparing to fry some homemade chicken flautas in my wok when Mom called me from the parking lot right outside my apartment to announce their arrival. Forgetting to turn down the fire under my vegetable oil-laden wok, I ran outside to receive my guests. Forty-five seconds later, I returned to my kitchen to find, as you can imagine, the doorway to hell emanating from the bottom of my wok, welcoming my visitors with pitchforks of blaze and the pungent redolence of Hades. Don’t worry. We put out the fire. Nobody got hurt. My wok was scorched, as was my pride. But the flautas were delicious.

During their visit, we took a sojourn on Skyline Drive in the Shenandoah National Park in western Virginia. We found a spot from which we could watch the sunset and drink in the peace and stillness of Shenandoah Valley’s tranquility. Recalling the song, I thought to myself, Yeah, if I came from here, I would miss this – probably enough to write a song.

Credits: To the people who make impassioned pleas on behalf of our National Parks to the U.S. Congress. Your work is so important. Thank you.