Red Wing Blackbirds, Caragana Bushes and Back Porch Music

I was out for a walk one afternoon plugged into my music when a song by Delbert McClinton (Midnight Communion) came on.  All of a sudden I was a little girl, sitting on a back porch listening to music I've come to call, "Back Porch Music".  It's the kind that just makes you tap your feet and bob your head (while at least that's the effect it had on me).  I can hear an accordion, a steel guitar, my grampa's mouth organ and drums, and a wonderful fiddle.  Every time I hear this kind of music it takes me back to my childhood.  When I think of my Grampa Albert I ALWAYS think of music.  When my Gramma Dot taught at the Hutterite colony, back porch music was a regular thing.  My grampa would pull out his instruments and before you knew it there was a crowd gathered, many having brought their own instruments to play along. And yes, washboards and spoons were really a thing in the day.

 

While I didn't inherit my Grampa's gift for music I did inherit the love of a good knee-slapping, toe-tapping, singalong at the top of your lungs song.  He would be proud of the way my whole family can belt out a song in the car, walking a back road or in the kitchen.  Of course, as a kid, it always sounded better with all of that music backing me up.  Music has stayed with me for all of my life.  It is a place I escape to often and for many reasons.  I am grateful for the history of music in my family but I am also grateful to my own kids and friends who share their music with me.  You never know when that one song will speak to you just when you need it.

 

Sometimes the music takes me elsewhere and I am often also reminded of the times my Grampa Albert took care of our hedge when we lived in Edmonton.  I was at the garden center today when the overwhelming scent of caragana washed over me along with more memories.  My Grampa Albert was the master of the hedge.  He used to sit on a chair in his coveralls, a chiffon scarf around his neck, with the clippers in his lap sharpening them for a long time before he began his handiwork.  He always seemed to be in a meditative state while he was doing this and it always made me feel so peaceful as I sat beside him watching. Every time Grampa trimmed that hedge I could smell it for days.  It’s funny how memories of sounds and smells and feelings take you to one particular person and the way they touched your life

 

As if it was a day meant for memories, on my walk that day I also spotted the first red-winged blackbird of the year.  I always think when I see them that it's my Grampa Albert checking up on me to make sure I'm living my life well.  Grampa called these birds "Sarge" because of the red stripe on their wings.  I used to golf at a little course near where we lived and there was a family of Sarges that we saw every spring.  I can honestly say that whenever I see or hear the whistle of one of these little fellas it also takes me right back to my Grampa.

 

Grampa Albert – a quiet, sometimes grumpy, music-loving man.  If he only knew how his quiet ways imprinted my life.  For today, it’s music, caragana bushes and red-wing blackbirds.  Thanks for the memories Grampa!