After camping in the rain for three days, we went into town for supper. The town was Munising, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, and the restaurant was the Falling Rock Café & Bookstore. All we wanted was a dry place and some good food.
The bonus was live music! A dozen gray-haired musicians were sitting in the front window, playing their hearts out on fiddles, guitars, mandolin, dulcimer, and ukulele.
I could feel my spirits rise as my shoes dried out. It was exactly what we needed, and the only people having more fun than the audience were the musicians.
When I was growing up, my mother made me take piano lessons, promising it was the key to popularity. After six years and no change in my social status, she let me quit. What she didn’t tell me was that playing an instrument was a source of joy—for yourself and others. Forever.
Listening to those musicians at the Falling Rock Café, I felt envious of their delight and camaraderie. I wanted to belong the way they did, so alive and in tune, making something beautiful together—for everyone.
