Music to His Ears

"Oh, look! The Farmer's Market!" I exclaimed to my husband this morning. It is held only a couple times a week, and we usually forget about it. "Let's stop, maybe we can find some fresh green beans," I suggested.

We didn't, but we did find some beautiful peaches, which I plan to use for a Father's Day dessert tomorrow. And Howard was fascinated by a hippie-looking man sitting beside one of the vegetable stands singing and playing the guitar. His guitar case was open and several dollars had accumulated in it. (He was living Howard's dream!) They talked at length, and then I heard my husband asking for directions somewhere.

"Where were you asking about?" I asked as we left.

"He told me there's a guitar sale going on about 5 miles out of town, and they have all kinds of musical instruments!" Howard replied excitedly.

Turns out it was an auction, and a pleasant enough setting with goods displayed on tables in a yard, the auctioneer's chant ringing out over each box or item. We watched with interest for awile, then I was ready to go. But on the way out, Howard asked about the musical instruments. "Oh, they're inside," a lady directed us. "Go on in!"

Thankfully, we hadn't missed this treasure trove! The house was packed with beautiful cabinetry of every description: buffets, hutches, bookcases, display cases, shelves, carvings of birds, geese--all handmade--and of course, tables spread with interesting-looking instruments. The auctioneers didn't even know what most of them were, but customers identified them as autoharps, dulcimers, potato mandolin, miniature violins, banjos, a banjolin, and several kinds of guitars.

Howard stood tirelessly waiting for his favorites to be auctioned, while I toured the rest of the house. The other rooms were just as fascinating with huge dining sets, beds, etc. (That would explain all the band saws, routers, and other equipment for sale in the yard.)

In one bedroom, a couple of old, wrinkled pages covered in handwriting lay on a bureau. I picked one up and read, "Dad, you have to make a decision about your clothes. Please sort through them and keep what you have to have. I'm not playing this game any longer." It was signed, "Your son." The next note contained instructions to "Do not go through the barrel, just take two or three suits and keep them. No more games."

The woman who told us to go into the house said it was her dad's home, and he had made all the furniture. Apparently the family was getting rid of all his things. It struck me as unbearably sad, since the father had obviously invested a lifetime of work in all the carefully crafted furnishings, even to the point of excess in the sometimes strange carvings and what-nots.

At last the musical instruments were being auctioned, and by that time, our son, Greg, who loves music as much as his father, had joined us. I saw Howard standing with a dulcimer under his arm, and watched as he and Greg bid several times as other things crossed the auction block. In the end, they had bought a 4-string banjo, the dulcimer, and a banjo uke. "Happy Father's Day, Dad," Greg said as he picked up the tab. Now that's a thoughtful son!