The lack of animosity between us reminds me of that line in “Love Can Build a Bridge,” perhaps Naomi’s crowning achievement as a songwriter: “Love and only love can join the tribes of man.” Both couples have since divorced, and I have remarried-making sure to impress an appreciation of the Judds upon my new husband-but we all remain close and in touch. When my husband and I moved to Philadelphia and they stayed in New York, we continued our campground reunions, and there was never a camping trip without a Judds singalong around the fire, under the starlit Pennsylvania sky. Soon we two couples became inseparable, taking camping trips together several times a summer. I had to go to all the way to New York City to find my country people. One night a Judds song came on, I forget which one, and one of my new friends began singing along.
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There, I cultivated a new circle of friends, many of them also from Michigan. Like Naomi, I had persevered and made it out. I went off to college, got married (well, committed-same-sex marriage wasn’t yet legal in those days) and ended up in New York. When cancer visited one of my leg bones after my senior year in high school, I thought of Naomi and her hepatitis diagnosis. Naomi’s single motherhood, a nurse trying to score a recording contract, clicked with my view of my newly widowed mother, another country woman, trying to keep it together while still raising children. My first (and only) sighting of them is forever etched in my mind.Īfter word Saturday of Naomi’s death, I’m now realizing how much I’ve been through with them.Īs I grew older, the story of the Judds impressed me, and I saw bits of it in my own life. I’m not sure what it was, but for me and for most people, the chemistry between Naomi and Wynonna and the feelings they stirred inside the listener were almost tangible. Then, his mother calls to him: “Jeff, get in the car! It’s time to go.” Soon, though, a gentle strumming and Wynonna’s throaty voice carry to him: “I would whisper love so loudly, every heart could understand that love and only love can join the tribes of man.” Naomi, the mother of the duo and the de facto emcee, says something, but even amplified, her words float away in the hot August night. From this distance, illuminated by a spotlight, they are a blur of sparkling sequins and red hair. They step into view briefly, gliding on high heels to the edge of the grandstand stage.
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He is angling for a distant, and free, glimpse of Naomi and Wynonna Judd. SOMEWHERE in Michigan in the early 1990s, a teenage farm boy clings to a chain-link fence at the edge of the county fairgrounds.