LITTLE SPARROW CONCERT
Coralie and I biked against strong headwinds that carried the candy-scent of blooming orchid trees. We rumbled over broken mahogany pods, dodged lizards skittering across the path, and brushed against various hedges—coco plum {leathery}, bamboo {silky}, and bougainvillea {ouch}. It's mockingbird season, and their warbling followed us everywhere.
I chided Coralie when she crossed the empty street before the pedestrian light. And just a few crossings later I sailed right through traffic. 'And you were saying about the law?' Coralie asked when she had caught up with me.
Pride goeth.
We dismounted at the concert-grounds, and tried not to seem too wobbly and breathless as we wended our way through the fresh linen crowd. The musicians were already arranging instruments beneath the green pagoda—mandolin, guitar, bass guitar, dobro, a robin's egg drum-set.
We pushed our bikes across the lawn, past enticing visions of icy watermelons and cold margaritas beneath Tommy Bahama umbrellas. We pushed past a sign that warned of crocodiles in the canal. We found a place apart from the crowd—off to the side—and spread our blanket in the meager but welcome shade of two royal palms that towered far above our heads before exploding into bright green fronds.
'We're here,' I texted my mother. 'How is the crowd and the weather?' she asked. 'Old and hot. It should be clear which is which.' 'Very funny.'
We refreshed ourselves with lukewarm Zephyrhills from the backpack, and savored the breezes that came off the riffling water. Golden dragonflies with black-banded wings winked in the grass and tottered with every gust. A boat hummed past, playing the classical radio station at top volume: 'And those were the Cambridge Singers...'
We had time to catch our breath before the MC took the mic to introduce Little Sparrow, a small music group from the New York Catskills. He had taught the lead vocalist her first song when she was five years old—'a song that shocked my Grandmama when she heard me sing it,' Carol Smith added.
This was a 'wedding tour' for the Little Sparrow. Carol Smith and Aldo Trojani {mandolin, banjo, guitar} had been married on Thursday and this was their third concert since. 'It was the best wedding I've ever been to,' Trojani quipped. Coralie remarked on the way they kept looking at each other during the love songs.
And so the concert began—'an acoustic mix of traditional bluegrass, sixties rock and Americana music.' It was quite different from the kind of music I listen to, and while I may not be adding it to my repertoire {except to get ‘Deep Elem Blues’ stuck in my head all week}, it was a nice experience. I got my introduction to Bob Dylan, Taj Mahal, Steve Earle and the Neville Brothers. The program closed with 'Yellow Moon' but the musicians didn't need much prompting to play a final Bob Dylan favorite. Smith always responded to our applause with, 'Thank you, folks.'
Mandolin and dobro played against the sounds of that very beautiful afternoon. Peacocks screamed, children played basketball, dogs barked, glasses clinked, friends laughed, and palm fronds clattered in every breeze.
In the middle of the concert a manatee was spotted in the water; sandals and linen pants rushed past us to get a better look under the spreading bottle-brush tree. Coralie and I didn't get up; we were too comfortable. She was in her socks and nibbling on a brownie. I lay back and closed my eyes against the brilliance of the sun.
We had to bike back, after all.
And we did, against strong headwinds that carried the candy-scent of blooming orchid trees. {Both ways, no kidding. This is South Florida.}
• This is not my own picture of an orchid tree flower, but I thought I’d share it since I’ve mentioned the flower numerous times in recent blog posts. •
March 25, 2014