Living in the Woods in a Tree: Remembering Blaze Foley

Chapter 14: Livin’ in the Woods in a Tree

14 Livin’ in the Woods in a Tree F or the record, I was a Depty Dawg fan before he ever wrote a song about us. His name (albeit misspelled) and then his voice beguiled me, though I was not alone in that. Wherever he sang, the music flowed out from him, and that grace extended to me, reflected in his star shine. Then, in those first smitten weeks in the tree house, Depty Dawg began to write. He composed two songs, one after the other on the same day, in an explosive burst of creation. The refrain of the first tune went Your brown eyes/your brown eyes/oh what they do to me. Zonko Joe pronounced it possibly the most annoying love song he’d ever heard. Personally, I was thrilled—but then no one expected me to be objective. The second was a John Prinesque portrait of our life in Udo: Met a kinky little woman with crazy hair Big brown eyes and a faraway stare Mamas wouldn’t think we’d have made a pair Now we’re livin’ in the woods in a tree Some folks think we’re a little deranged That’s the way it is, probably never will change We don’t care ’cause you got to be strange When you’re livin’ in the woods in a tree Cook our breakfast whenever we rise Play a little music for the butterflies Say pretty things lookin’ into our eyes Laughin’ in the woods in a tree Got a lot of friends we can go and see Some got kids that’ll sit on your knee I love her and she loves me 59 60 | Living in the Woods in a Tree: Remembering Blaze Foley Sleepin’ in the woods in a tree Gonna have a party when our boat gets here Try to have some food and a thing of beer Dance with the people that we live near Laughin’ in the woods in a tree We’re both a little shaky with the other sometime Maybe ’cause of things that we left behind But we watch our steps as we start to climb To the house in the woods in a tree Depty sang the song for the first time on the porch at Waller, shyly producing the lyrics on crumpled legal pad paper. Across the top he’d printed the title: “Livin’ in the Woods in a Tree.” Billy leaned back in his rocker and gave me a knowing smile. “You’re his muse.” “I think the tree house is the muse,” I blushed. Whatever was inspiring him, more songs followed. And for those of us who knew him then, one of the unforgettable joys of that summer was waiting to hear what Depty Dawg would come up with next. He was writing directly from his life, and so was writing all of ours: Big Chief Hightower Hold you up about an hour Every time you drive through Whitesburg Big Chief Hightower Hold you up about an hour Every time you drive through town Melodies were pouring out of him like an underground spring that had made its way to the surface at a fertile place and time. Lyrics mining longsilent feelings were finding expression now in song. He’d begun the first of these excerpts from “I Won’t Be Your Fat Boy Any More” as a teenager in Irving, Texas: Well, I used to go drinkin’ and look for my bride Walk in the parties and the girls would hide They didn’t want no fat boys in their rooms Always used to tell me we can be good friends And you can sleep on the pallet when the party ends I won’t be your fat boy any more Ten years later, in Georgia, he would finish the song with a happier ending: Now I got a little woman that I kiss each day Livin’ in the Woods in a Tree | 61 She likes my lovin’ and some of my ways Glad I’m not a fat boy any more Her hair’s real curly and her eyes real brown She rubs my belly when I’m layin’ down I won’t be your fat boy any more Sometimes Depty wrote in the tree house. Then I’d circle him the way you do a hot brilliant fire—carefully, and all the while loving the heat. Perched on the edge of the loft, arms akimbo over a guitar...