The Dutchman at La Veta Pass

Barbara Barrow, Anne Hills and Michael Smith at Fir, CO

When I think about Anne Hills, and the times I’ve heard her sing, there is one moment that often comes to mind.

It started, as a lot of things do for me, with Mark Dvorak.

Mark was part of a group called Weavermania, a tribute to The Weavers organized by Michael Smith. Michael took the Lee Hays part. His wife Barbara sang Ronnie Gilbert’s part. Chris Walz was Fred Hellerman. Mark, of course, was Pete Seeger.

I knew Michael and Barbara long before any of that.

Barbara taught at the Old Town School of Folk Music, and my wife Peggy and I met in her harmony class back in 1988. Michael was already a legendary songwriter by then. At one point he did a house concert in our home.

So when my railroad started doing concerts at the top of La Veta Pass, it felt natural to bring them out.

I talked to Mark, and booked Weavermania for two days.

And I booked Anne Hills as the opening act.

Anne and Michael had worked together a lot, and I knew that connection would matter. What I didn’t know was how much.

Both days were wonderful. The setting, the audience, the music, everything came together the way you hope it will but can’t guarantee.

On the second day, Michael and Barbara asked me if I had any requests.

I didn’t hesitate.

I said I would love to hear Michael, Barbara, and Anne sing “The Dutchman.”

“The Dutchman” was Michael’s signature song. If you know it, you understand. It’s about an old man losing his memory, living out his days with his partner, who stays with him and loves him through it. It’s simple and devastating and beautiful.

They agreed.

What happened next is hard to describe but easy to remember.

Michael played his familiar riffs and sang it the way only he could. Barbara was there, steady and grounding, taking the second verse. And Anne added something else, her harmonies, something that didn’t draw attention to itself but completed the picture.

The three voices together carried the story in a way that felt larger than any one performance.

The meadow was quiet.

People were listening the way you hope they will when a song like that is being sung. Not just hearing it, but receiving it.

There are songs that you admire, and there are songs that stay with you. “The Dutchman” is one of those songs. And that day, in that place, it found exactly the space it needed.

Looking back, what strikes me is not just the performance itself, but the way everything around it connected.

Mark was part of the group that brought those songs back to life. Barbara was the one who first brought my wife and me into their world through her class. Michael was the songwriter whose work had already shaped so many people’s understanding of what a song could be. And Anne was there, an artist who knew exactly how to enter a moment like that and honor it.

Nothing about it felt staged.

It felt like something that had been building for a long time, and happened to arrive at that moment, on that day, at the top of a mountain.

When I think about the music we present now at Wesley’s Place, I think about moments like that.

Not because I think I can recreate them.

But because they remind me what is possible when the right people, the right songs, and the right setting come together.

And in our small listening room in La Grange, I come anticipating those moments.