—by Mary Ellen Holmes
The call came Tuesday for the Friday gig. “Would you consider playing for our preschool graduation?” asked the young man. “Well, tell me more,” I said. It was to be by a riverside, for a small group of 3 to 6 year-old youngsters graduating from the Nature School.
On Friday I met the young man at the end of a dirt road in a little known, local park. “It’s down this path,” he said. There was a small dirt foot path surrounded by abundant weeds and trees. “I’ll carry your harp for you,” he offered. Normally I do this myself, but looking at the 18-inch-wide path and knowing all the other stuff I had to lug, I agreed. I showed him how to grab it, and much to my surprise, he hoisted it up on his shoulder and started walking…and walking…and walking. We followed several foot paths down about a third of a mile to a roaring river. No sooner did we arrive then the man disappeared. “I’ve got to escort the parents,” he said. How else could anyone find this spot?
The spot was right next to the Poudre River, near a small dam that caused the water to cascade beautifully…but very loudly. The sun was beginning to set—prime mosquito time in the thick woods near the water. Deadwood and various sticks had been gathered to make concentric circles that the children would walk around to get to a center spot where they would claim jars full of strings of twinkling lights—a jar of “memories.”
I realized it would be getting dark soon, and all I had was an LED headlight. So I fashioned a stand light by draping the headlamp over a sturdy stick next so that it illuminated about half of my music. That was the best it was going to get. I began playing for the mosquitoes and the waterfall, as none of the children or parents had arrived yet.
Finally, and after 8p.m., a little band of parents and children appeared on the path. By then I had perfected moving my music from the dark side to the illuminated side of my music stand, not daring to move the precariously placed light. However, my strings were practically in total darkness.
The man had also asked that I dress up and wear wings for the event, so I had a long sleeve velvet top, black feathers, and black wings. It was getting hard to differentiate between the feathers and the mosquito bites.
The little kids made their way through the circle. The parents stood along the tiny trail with their backs to the trees. Then the kids started running around with their jars of lights. One tumbled near me and knocked over my music stand, but fortunately not my light. The man gave a little speech. The kids cried. The parents sniffled. I played the best I could.
When it was all over, the man put on my headlamp and hoisted my harp on his shoulder, while I carried my bag of stuff and lit the trail with his cell phone flashlight. In all, it was a graduation ceremony for the books. •
