“When people ask how are you,  I say, ‘If I was any better, I’d be twins.’ 

I was going to join the circus but didn’t have enough talent. The next thing down was becoming a park ranger. I worked with the Park Service and Bureau of Land Management for 25 years–from California to Boston and the Cape Cod National Seashore. I lived in a small beach cottage on Cape Cod and completely renovated it by hand. It was a three-minute walk to Cape Cod Bay with the most incredible sunsets. I would invite local musicians to play at the beach for sunset. We created a happening out of it.

I became a musician while I was living in California. I bought a nice guitar, forcing me to play more often. I went to an open mic at a coffee shop. An older guy walked up to the microphone, holding his guitar like a security blanket. Head down. Shoulders slumped. Said he was going to play ‘Simple Twist of Fate’ by Bob Dylan. He started the song. Screwed it up completely. Things got dead quiet. He leaned to the microphone, saying, ‘I’m sorry. It’s the first time I’ve ever done anything like this.’ The audience nearly gave him a standing ovation. He regained his composure and got the song done. We waited for the second song. He leaned to the microphone again, saying, ‘I’m sorry, that’s the only song I’ve got.’ This guy got up and played one hundred percent of the one song he knew. I thought, ‘If he can do it, I can, too.’

Two weeks later, I went to the open mic and played a song I wrote about the coffee shop. They used it as their theme song: it felt so good that I started writing more songs. 

I never had kids, so I had a lot of freedom. I hitchhiked across the country several times. Learned more hitchhiking than at any other time. You have very little control when you’re on the side of the road trying to get a ride. When I retired from the parks, I did four round trips across the country on my motorcycle with my guitar on my back. I hit all the lower 48 states. I started creating a log from these trips but spent more time writing than exploring, so I turned the trips into sand castles. I couldn’t repeat or replace those memories. 

I was going to sell my home on Cape Cod in January 2020 and travel in my van for the ‘grand tour,’  visiting friends, seeing national parks, and playing music. But as soon as I sold my house, COVID happened. I was homeless. There were no gigs, and all of the parks were closed. I lived at the mercy of friends who let me sleep in my van parked in their yard.

I grew up in Birmingham and went to college in Mobile. Never thought I would return to the South, but I got tired of the cold winters. I lived at Ft. Morgan, then moved to Fairhope. There was music and friends all around me. 

I once saw Will Kimbrough play in California. He told me about playing music at the Frog Pond in Sliverhill, Alabama. I had to go. The first show I could attend was sold out. I wrote the owner, Cathe Steele, a note telling her how seeing a show at the Frog Pond was one of my dreams. I would clean her windows and vacuum her floors if she let me in. I signed it ‘I go by Harrison, not Ford.’ My first name is Harrison; everyone fills in the Ford. Cathe replied, ‘Well, Mr. Not Ford, I think we can squeeze you in.’ I became the thing that came for dinner and never left. Magic is produced at the Frog Pond. What you see and hear today will not be replicated again. 

The Tolstoy Hut became another one of my favorite places in Fairhope. I can play here for hours because the acoustics from the dome are so good; sometimes, I invite other musicians to join me. It would have been fun to record a music series like Tiny Desk on NPR and call it Tiny Dome. 

I got a life-changing gift on October 21, 2023. I found out I have pancreatic cancer, a terminal disease. But the beauty is that I had a warning and time to wind down my life. Six of my friends died during the same time with little or no warning, including my brother.

I went through a lot of research and down many rabbit holes about treatments. Even went to Arizona for alternative treatment, with marginal results. I researched chemo and surgeries but didn’t want them. I may live a little longer, but what kind of life would I have? I’m 76 years old. I’ve had a good run. I’m happy. Depression, sadness, or negativity never solves anything, and nobody’s getting out alive. 

I’m comfortable waiting for the last train. I feel it coming, but I have everything covered. I lived a great life and am spending the rest of my time with incredible friends I’ve made along the way. They are my greatest wealth. 

People ask what they can do for me. I’ll tell you what you can do: laugh every day and smile. Listen to great music and sing. Love as much as you can.”

Harrison Not Ford