There are a lot of places in this area that have music on multiple nights of the week. New Haven, obviously, has probably anything you're looking for. However, the shoreline also has some great spots where you can hear just about anything your musical heart desires. You can find jazz, acoustic rock, swing, or blues. You can even find disco, served up as if on a funkafied platter. At a place I call Sopranos a guy plays tinkling piano while old women sit at tables with hair colored and set to look like blue spools and men in shiny suits line up at the bar.

"I love the smell of hair gel in the morning!" Bruiser cries one night when we're there.

But like the music, the clientele at Sopranos varies from night to night. When taking a musical tour of the shoreline, Bruiser and I can run out of energy before we run out of venues. I'm always amazed when I go to hear a great band and find a small crowd. This area is an untapped uranium mine of talent. I would think that more people would jump at the chance to hear it.

One weekend friends tell me of a place even I never knew about. It becomes my favorite place to hear music. It's called the Black Sheep Ranch. I usually make up names for the venues I frequent. Made-up names add to the fun of the column by making people try to guess where the places are that I'm referring to. How

ever, the Black Sheep Ranch is called exactly that. No nickname necessary.

The Black Sheep Ranch refers to a ranch house in Clinton and its tremendous backyard. The couple that owns it holds monthly concerts in the yard from May through October. I'm told to bring a chair, something to drink, and some snacks. That's all I know when I go there for the first time. I arrive within moments of the friends I'm supposed to meet, so that's good. One of the owners of the ranch greets me at the

entrance and gives me a warm welcome.

"Come on in!" he says. "Make yourself at home and enjoy."

That's not hard to do. In fact, in this setting, it's hard not to enjoy everything. The first thing I notice is a virtual wall of large boulders covered in vines and flowers that runs along one side of the yard. The yard itself is level and gorgeous, so there's a lot of room for blankets and lawn chairs. A jar is placed on a table for listeners to make a suggested donation of 10 bucks. The proceeds from the jar go directly to the musicians and nothing goes to the owners of the Black Sheep Ranch.

Children and dogs are welcome, so there's a great family atmosphere and parents don't have to worry about finding babysitters. A fire pit is lit as the sun goes down. Older kids make S'mores for younger ones, roasting marshmallows on long sticks found in the yard.

I settle into my lawn chair, pop the top of a Snapple, and, as the owner said to do, enjoy. While the adults listen to the music, kids are perched like billy goats on the rocks playing freeze tag and hide-and-go-seek, hopped up on sugar and the fun of meeting new playmates.

The owners of the ranch tell me that they choose singer-songwriters to play from all over the country. So here I am, sitting in my chair as the sky turns purple, listening to original music by people with talent to burn. I could do this every Saturday, much less once a month.

The best thing about the Black Sheep Ranch is that the folks running it, the folks playing, and the folks listening are there for only one reason. They're there for the love of music. The S'mores are the icing on the musical cake.

Juliana Gribbins is a writer who believes that absurdity is the spice of life. Write to her at jeepgribbs@hotmail.com.