I learned to play the flute in fifth grade band class. The band teacher just happened to be my uncle—my mom’s baby brother. I was not allowed any input as to what instrument I would play. It was a given that I would play the flute because that was the instrument that my older sister played. And she played the flute because the school had a flute that she could use—for free! Therefore, my ultra-conservative parents did not have to purchase a flute for either of us. Case closed.

The flute I was given to play was really ugly. It hadn’t a hint of shine and it came in this crappy black case that didn’t even have a handle. So how were you supposed to carry it? It wouldn’t have been so bad except that ALL the other fifth grade girls who had chosen to play the flute had shiny new flutes. Even Brenda Kramer, who had the shiniest flute of all! Brenda wasn’t smart and she wasn't pretty and there were nine kids in her family!! So how come had such a great flute?? Brenda’s flute was a “Bundy” which I later learned you could order from either the Sears catalog or the back section of a comic book. And many many years later I found out that a beginning band student could rent an instrument for a small monthly fee. So that’s where all those shiny new flutes had come from!

What I remember most about learning to play was how dizzy I got from all the blowing. Somebody told me that the flute actually took even more air than the tuba---like I’d really be dumb enough to believe that!

Still, I stuck with it. By the time I was in the eighth grade I was the only flute player left in the junior high band. Even Brenda Kramer had given it up by then. Of course, none of those other girls had an uncle for a band director. So I was under a different kind of pressure.

In 8th grade my uncle hooked me up with two sixth grade flute players. We learned a song called, “Elfin Dance,” which won us an honorable mention at the Fontbonne Music Festival. We didn’t get to perform in the final concert, but we did get a mention in the program: “The St. Vincent Grade School Flute Trio—Honorable Mention.” :-)

I stayed in band all through high school. At some point I upgraded to an older cousin’s flute, which still wasn’t great but at least the case had a handle. By senior year there were only two seniors left in the band. All the other seniors had dropped band because it interfered with their schedules. The only other senior left was my cousin Marcia and guess what? Her DAD was the band director!

I abandoned the flute for about seven years—until after I got married and moved to my husband’s home town. His aunt invited me to join the church choir. I was a second soprano. One night I noticed that there was a flute part in the song we were working on. I told the director that I knew how to play. I borrowed a flute from somebody and then my husband (bless him) bought me a new flute for my birthday. It was a basic student model (the kind they rented out) but it was shiny and new with a nice case WITH a handle. I played that flute with the choir and at various civic functions for the next few years. Then I started having babies and put the flute away--again.

I did not play again until my daughter left for college and I joined the church choir in my home town. We had moved back there when my husband built the local radio station. I offered my services to the choir director and began playing regularly with that choir. Then one day I just woke up and decided that it was time to upgrade to a better flute. So the next Saturday I drove to the nearest music store, showed the guy at the front desk my flute and told him that I wanted something better. He brought out three flutes which I promptly took to a sound room to try out. After blowing around on them for about 15 minutes or so I made my choice. The guy gave me a good price on my old flute as a trade-in and I left a happy customer.

My husband thought that the new flute was an unnecessary splurge but he later admitted that it did have a much better sound. Typical.

The next spring I played my standard numbers during the Easter season at Mass. But several times the choir director told me that I was playing flat and that I should push in the head joint. Well, the head joint was already pushed in as far as it would go! This happened a couple of times. Feeling somewhat helpless and frustrated, I decided that there was obviously more to this than what I knew. So, that summer, at age 54, I decided to take some lessons. The closest university had a Music Academy and they hooked me up with a flute teacher named Sherrie. Sherrie was a few years younger than me, very down-to-business and also very encouraging. I learned more in that first lesson than I had expected to learn the whole summer. In fact, I became so elated in the middle of the first lesson that I had to stop and give Sherrie a big hug. I think poor Sherrie was a bit caught off guard and didn't know how to respond. But I didn’t care. I was on cloud nine!

I became addicted to practicing. At the second lesson Sherrie said that she thought my tone had improved by at least 50%. She gave me this somber and difficult Bach piece to work on. Later somebody told me that this song had been played at JFK’s funeral. I practiced very hard on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. At that point I was tempted to email Sherrie and tell her that I really sucked at this song. But by Thursday it started to come together.

After the 5th lesson it was time for me to make my annual summer retreat. It was a week long, there was no keynote speaker and it was a silent retreat which meant—no talking! This was my 6th time to make the retreat. There were mostly lots of retired nuns in attendance plus a handful of “regular” people like me. My friends all wanted to know what in the world you did all week, if you couldn’t talk. "Well," I said, "you take walks, you eat good food, you take naps, you read, you pray, you meditate, you go to Mass, and you look for God." “Do you ever find him?” they wanted to know. “Sometimes,” I told them. “But mostly he finds you.”

I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the flute at home and besides, I had promised my spiritual director, Sandy, that I would play for her. There is one exception to the “no talking” rule at the retreat. You are assigned a spiritual director and you meet with that person for about 45 minutes each day and talk about whatever is on your mind. So at our first meeting I played a song for Sandy. She made a big fuss over me and then asked if I was going to go out in the woods and play among the trees. I told her that I had considered the idea but didn’t know if I had the nerve to follow through. “Oh you have to!” she encouraged me.

So that evening after dinner I took off. I followed a path that I knew led to some huge pines at the top of a hill. The path was muddy—we’d had rain off and on all day—and I slid a couple of times. But I was determined to keep on going. By the time I reached the pines my shoes were a mess but I’d worry about that later. Still feeling a bit self-conscious, I hid behind a large tree and started to play. I could hear the sound of the flute as it echoed through the trees. I had never heard the sound carried that far. I stood and played for a while. Then, feeling a bit more comfortable, I sat down on the bench and played some more. I played and played and played until it felt like enough. And then I just sat there on that bench and listened.

I could hear the cicadas calling in rhythm over and over. Then I heard a bird singing a beautiful song that I did not recognize. I knew the songs of cardinals and jays and robins and most common birds but this was a song that I was unfamiliar with. As I sat on that bench enjoying the bird’s song I tried to get the melody in my head, so I’d be able to remember it later. Then suddenly I heard a loud crack and this very large limb from a huge pine tree came crashing to the ground about 50 feet from me. It landed with such an impact that the sound of the crash echoed through the woods for what seemed like a very long time. It happened so fast that I didn’t have time to be frightened. But I did look up into the tree directly above me, hoping that none of those branches had the same idea. Then I just sat there, trying to take it all in. The songbird was gone now, obviously frightened by such commotion.

After a while I put my flute back in its case and headed back to the retreat house.

What would I tell Sandy at our meeting the next day?

Would I tell her that the sounds of my flute had echoed through the pines?

Would I tell her that an unidentified bird had responded to my playing with its beautiful song? (She had told me once that “nature always responds.”)

Would I tell her that a large limb made a loud cracking sound and came crashing down to the ground, not 50 feet from my bench?

And would I tell her that maybe---just maybe---when that branch fell---well, maybe that was God’s way of applauding my flute?? :-)