MELINDA THE MOM: Pieces of Me

Unbeknownst to Jewel, she and I have been close friends since my freshman year of high school. When the singer/song writer’s first album “Pieces of You” debuted in 1995, I loomed over the high school boys at a whopping five feet, ten inches and tried to fill out my training bra. (The boys got taller, my chest never got bigger.)

Things got difficult for my family when shortly after moving to a new town, my father left my mother. The oldest of six kids still at home, I felt angry, betrayed and strangely alone for a teen with so many siblings. I took my mother’s maiden name and increased my Jewel intake.

The breathy voice that alternated between angry, bitter and wistful was tinged with just enough hope to carry me through my adolescence.

As nearly 20 years passed, Jewel continued to create achingly beautiful music in a variety of genres. She became an international superstar and the mother to a son. I survived my parents’ divorce, welcomed seven children into my home, became a writer and eventually relocated to Jewel’s home state.

When it became my job to cover Salmonfest’s finale performance, Jewel’s first Alaska concert since 2009, I was up for the challenge.

The crowd never sat down as Jewel performed old favorites, inviting her father, aunt, brother and son to occasionally share the stage.

I fell in love with Jewel all over again as she told the audience she was roasting in her long johns and when she accidentally hit an incorrect cord, said “ouch” and started over.

Jewel’s phenomenal vocal range has only improved with time. She didn’t plan her set. Instead she talked back and forth with the audience, taking requests -- addressing her fans with the upmost politeness as “sir” and “ma’am.”

More than an accomplished musician, Jewel weaved intriguing stories around each of her songs, describing the inspiration behind their inception.

“Hands,” originally released in 1998 on the album Spirit, always reminded me of an abused family member who struggled to take back control.

According to Jewel, the origin of the song was much different. As a teenager living in her vehicle in California, she stole food to survive. She started with carrots.

“They were the gateway vegetable,” Jewel joked. Eventually, Jewel decided she needed to change her life. She started watching her hands and practicing “mindfulness.”

Another song, “Little Sister,” took on new meaning as I contemplated a younger sibling, now addicted to drugs, whose baby I am raising.

At the end of the concert, Jewel gave credit to her native state.

“It made me the human I am,” she said.

Jewel famously started her music career at the age of 6, touring Alaska’s bars with her father, who taught her how to yodel. Yodeling never sounded so good.

Jewel’s music has always filled a piece of my soul. It continues to do so, two decades later.

Author’s Note: To the balding man in the teal and red plaid who held up his phone, recording the entire concert and blocking my view, karma is coming for you.

Editor’s Note: Melinda Munson is a co-conspirator at alaskafamily.fun.com. She can be reached at melinda@tripodcommunications.com