Facing The Music
One of the most enchanting things about the Olympic Music Festival is that it takes place in a beautiful barn,with some of the audience seated on straw bales,
and the mules are right outside the door listening to the Dvorak with you. Either that, or they’re waiting for the applause, after which carrots appear as if by magic. I’d rather think that it’s affection for the music that keeps them clustered near the fence, looking hopeful and attentive.
We were there with our beautiful farmer Rebecca, who’s been feeding us her vegetable jewels for years and who looks better in bare feet than most people do in shoes,
and her husband Bill, who, it is now revealed, looks cuter in my hat than I do myself.
It was a day for hats, hot and sunny, and when we ran into Nan and SueEllen they were sporting their own classic straw versions,
one of which I would have loved to snatch, in order to cut two ear holes and pop it on this guy. I restrained myself, of course, although probably a mule that listens to Fauré and Beethoven really likes to keep his ears free and clear.
It’s likely that the mules paid more attention to the music than some of the humans in attendance, naming no names, you understand. But then, the day wasn’t only about music, or mules.
It was about being with people whom we love and will soon be leaving, about being in a dreamy place that we won’t be seeing again for a long time. It was about feeling truly at home for a few more days before launching ourselves once again into the steady amazement and richness of our life in France. Love and loss and opportunity, and the music to weave it all together. Sniff.
French Letters Visits America