Sunday, January 31, 2010

Under the Cowboy Sky

Just a note. Tomorrow I will have surgery on my right hand. I will get back to my blog as soon as I learn how to type with a bundled hand and no pain.


Trying to conjure up a campfire out under a cowboy sky, I played Dad’s old harmonica. It sat there on the shelf calling to me. I was sitting in my son and his beautiful bride’s condo waiting for her to get home. With nothing to do, my focus landed on the harmonica that was passed on to a grandson.

Dad could really raise a sweet melody from this small instrument. I’m not musically inept but found it hard to find the scale notes. Then I realized I could turn the double scaled harmonica over to create a melody. I tried to imagine myself after a day on horseback, sitting by a fire with a tin cup of coffee. Nothing. I tried to pull a song from the past from this piece of tin and wood. Nothing. Then I thought of Dad cupping this harmonica in his farm-worn hands. Ah, yes, I found the melody.

I don’t think that Dad was ever without music. It ran in his blood. Those who knew him also knew this was a man who could whistle. I received a note today from a friend who just lost her mother. I wrote to her of missing my mother; she wrote back, “Your Mom was a mold for MOM . Any wife that can make their husband whistle all the daylong is a wonderful person.” Yes, Dad’s whistle was memorable. We could hear Dad whistle as he walked across the lawn coming to the house after a long day of work. He was never bored with his music a constant companion.

The whistling is something I gave up on a long time ago. Evidently, the harmonica is something I need to work a little harder on and forget my cowboy night serenade. Neff Road lost music when we lost Dad, but those of us who listened remember.

The sound of a happy farmer……

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