Sure, it's also the name of the CD we are releasing in April. But I didn't choose that name (or write that song) out of thin air. RMF is a 17-acre farm in Union County, Illinois. It consists of a very small, 100-year-old farmhouse, a small pasture, where my fiance' keeps a horse or two, and a couple outbuildings. Most of the acreage is in woods.
It has a fresh-water spring, which is where our supply comes from through a series of pumps and cisterns. It is home to Banjo, the Australian shepherd, as well as four cats, seven chickens, one horse and two to three people, depending on what time of year ...or week.
RMF saved my life. It was my refuge and a well-spring of hope when I really needed it. And it was where the Lightning Strikes first got together to rehearse a few years ago.
Ahh..and it was also the inspiration for name the band after an atmospheric discharge. It's a story also told in the song, but I'll write about here in a bit more detail.
My girl and I had been looking for a house to buy for several months. We'd been all over Southern Illinois, looking for an isolated, affordable place with decent acreage. We were about to give up when I saw the ad for what turned out to be RMF. I made arrangements to see it asap, as I knew from experience with the market that it might not last. Later that same day, I was walking the property with the owner and taking pics to show my girl.
A day or two later she came out as well, and the owner (who has since become a good friend) insisted on walking us through the woods. While we walked he told the story that had been told to him when he purchased the property years before. Roger, the owner, swore it was true...
It seems that back in the 1920s or 30s, the farmer who owned the place at the time had been out plowing his field with a pair of mules when a storm blew up. As the three of them worked the field, a bolt of lightning crashed down upon them, ending three lives in a flash.
Or so it seemed...for when the neighboring farmer (who had supposedly witnessed the calamity) arrived on the scene to render aid or collect bodies...one of the mules woke up. The unfortunate farmer and the other mule were, indeed, gone. And the surviving mule, the "resurrected" one, was never quite right after that either. But he was too stubborn to die.
To my girl (who writes fiction and is always on the lookout for a good story) this was like catnip. She immediately named the place Resurrection Mule Farm (we didn't own it yet...hadn't even decided to buy it yet). A few months later, I moved in... A few months after that, Tim Crosby & the Lightning Strikes were born.
RMF is a special, spiritual place for me. I'm at peace here. There is a creative energy. I'm home...
Someday, we're hoping to begin an annual tradition concert or jam get-together cook-out and camping thing-a-ma-jig here. But for now, you know the story....;)