A few weeks ago, while re-watching Sigur Ros’s Heima, I developed an intense longing for the outdoors. I attempted to fill the void by taking a walk on Belle Isle early the next morning. It was a bit like treating a concussion with a Band-aid: it helped greatly if you used your imagination.
Then, yesterday, I tried again. Thanks to a lesson cancellation, I found myself with the whole day free. Since I was already planning to drive out to Charlottesville in the evening for a concert, I decided to immerse myself in the beauty of the nearby Shenandoah National Park.
I couldn’t afford to take the entire day, however. I needed to practice a good amount for a wedding which was to include unusually challenging (i.e. rewarding) music. My fingers never really felt warmed up during the two solid hours I put in, but I did make a break-though. Nothing huge, but big enough to dislodge a loathed familiarity somewhere in my brain. We should see some results in the next few weeks.
Feeling reasonably wholesome, I decided it was time to take the rest of the day off. First stop: the new Lamplighter on Summit, where I picked up a Mockumentary (the sandwich that transformed my relationship with tempeh from cordial if not warm to warm if not lustful), two grapefruit sugar cookies, and a housemade ginger ale. I’ll just tell you, so you’re not kept in suspense, that the cookies did not make it to the top of Loft Mountain.
I chose Loft Mountain after a brief googling of hikes near Charlottesville. I don’t remember my criteria. I think one important thing was that it be in the outdoors.
Now, some might say that the amount of time driving was disproportionate to the amount of time spent hiking. And to them, I would offer a ride in Little Red. Sunshine glistening on the hood and sparkling in the windshield, the little wheels hugging the curves of Skyline Drive (which offers alternating views east and west), the rumble of the engine as it bravely ascends the switchbacks…the driving was at least half the fun.
It’s a good thing I felt that way, too, since I inadvertently drove to the top of the mountain I had come to climb. No matter! I blithely “hiked” back down until I reached the trailhead, then hiked without quotation marks (and with gusto!) to the top again, ate my Mockumentary triumphantly, tried to ignore the fact that I had 3G up there, and came back down, with unusually challenging wedding music playing in my head all the while. There was certainly enough time to do all of this without hurrying, but there was not more than enough time. Turns out, that’s what I was after. In the end, it was kind of like treating a concussion with a nap. (Do not do!!!)
But I didn’t want to miss the concert. It was Three Notch’d Road, the baroque ensemble founded last year by my friend, Fiona, and other C’ville musicians. I swear, even if Fiona were not my super-duper-good-friend-people-think-we’re-sisters, I would still drive an hour and pay money to hear these guys play. They are truly excellent.
I scooted in next to Fiona’s parents just a few minutes before it started. Her mom looked particularly radiant, but when I asked how she was doing, she surprised me by complaining about how exhausted she was. At the risk of sounding disingenuous, I complimented her on her radiance, trying to pinpoint what was different. ”That’s what happens when you put on red lipstick,” she ventured. No. No, I’ve tried that.
Then she patted me on the knee and said that we must exchange notes on being vegan (I am not vegan). That’s when I remembered that she had gone from steak-lovin Texan to plant-based diet Texan with the occasional steak just a couple of months ago. As the concert started, I began giving serious thought to being vegan with the occasional steak.
If you’ve been to a baroque concert before, you know that it’s all about sonority. The music seems to be taking place somewhere above the musicians themselves as their sounds mingle and rub against each other in the air. Utmost attention is paid to perfect intonation, resonance, tone and shape. You know the music is alive because it is breathing.
Other than seeing my incredibly talented friend shred some baroque fiddle and hearing a Grammy Award-winning, former Chanticleer countertenor, the highlight of the evening was hearing Sian Ricketts sing. Sian went to CIM with me (and before that, Brevard) as an oboist. Looking back, I guess I had heard that she was also a singer, but nothing could have prepared me for the mastery of tone and inflection that I heard out of her last night. Within the ensemble, her voice was like that creamy part on top of the full-fat yogurt that you know you should probably stir in to the rest of the tub but instead you take a non-chalant, mostly runny bite with some of the creamy part still in tact, secretly savoring only the creamy part.
I wondered if they’ve figured out how to do that with soy yogurt yet.
Epilogue: I went over to the violist’s house after the concert and was fed pizza and brownies with ice cream. Yes, “was fed”.