Okay campers, time to take a bow
After my first day of fiddle camp,I'm not sure if someone is playing in
the distance or the joyous music is only in my head
By LORETTA GARBUTT Wednesday, August 18, 2004 - Page A14
Fiddlin’ About or What I Did on my Summer Vacation.
I went to camp this summer, but not any camp.
A fiddle camp! Why, you might ask, well....my 72 yr. old mother decided that the next addition to her assortment of played instruments would be the fiddle and that camp was the best place to learn it. The Orangeville Fiddle and Step Dance Camp is offered only one week in July and having recently picked up my own violin again, my mother could not contain her excitement with the possibility of bringing me, her daughter along. Oh what fun! Not. I imagined the worse; transported city girl/rock’n roller leaves comfort zone. I was only familiar with East Coast fiddle music, which I love, not the old-time, home-grown music of Ontario and the Ottawa Valley. Despite my apprehensions, I thought that the time with ‘mother’ would be valuable and also, I might actually learn a thing or two. So with my young teens and husband left to forage for themselves, I peeled away the city pace and traversed the path of the unknown. Not only would I be learning and playing fiddle music, I would be going to real-life, wash my hair in the lake, eat in the mess hall, camp. Arrival: 7pm – registration. By 8:30, total immersion. Bows are flying with a small introductory concert given by staff and returning campers. I can’t get the smirk off my face, not because I’m feeling out of place, yea, ok, I’m feeling out of place, but also because I have just witnessed what I don’t think I will ever be able to do: play the fiddle effortlessly with the bow sliding cleanly over the strings. The music is amazing. I was excited when some of the young teachers announced St. Anne’s Reel, I know that one! Then, deflated. It really didn’t sound much like the way I play it at all. It’s 1:00 in the morning and as I lie on my slab of a mattress, my sciatic nerve throbs to fiddle tunes swirling in my head. My mother is in the bunk beside me and every other minute I reach over and give her pillow a short, sharp tug to interrupt her snoring. By 2am I’m not enjoying this exercise anymore so I drag my pillow and sleeping bag over to another bunk in our dorm. By 2:45 I am lamenting the pillow top mattress that my husband is no doubt burrowed into at home. By 3am I imagine a prison for women some where just like this.
Day one: Rise at 7am Breakfast at 8am Class at 9am I move up from beginners to join an intermediate class and in the first 2 1/2 hours of the day, I can play sadly, but with enjoyment, 5 new pieces I’ve never heard before. 12:00-lunch – swap stories with mum. Her advanced class has her quite giddy. 1:30 – class. By 3:30pm, I can add 3 additional pieces to my scratchy repertoire-2 waltzes and a jig. Oh my gosh, I think I am having fun!. 4:00 – There is a workshop. I can’t do it. I’m full up with thinking. I take a long walk in the woods, the sound of dancing reels follow joyously along. 7:00 pm - jam session- introduction to more music. There is so much I don’t know but somehow it’s an exhilarating feeling. 11:00 pm- Like a dripping, saturated sponge, I lay flattened and oozing on top of my sleeping bag. I have played my violin for 7 hours total today. I can hear sets of fiddles resonating in my ears. I am not sure if someone is playing off in the distance or if the sound is only in my head. With eyes closed, I see bow tips reaching and dipping like the bobbing thrusts of a canoe oar. There must be fiddle music in heaven.
Day 2: Same as the first but better. Is that normal?
Day 3: Same as the second but I notice a change in myself; I skipped my break to continue practicing. Evening: My fingers are tender and throbbing, my shoulders and neck tight and achy, but after 6 new pieces today, nothing has been more worth it. Over dinner I miss my fiddle. 7:00 pm - I go with great anticipation to jam.
Day 4 – Today, 6 new pieces and 2 from a West Virginian fiddler who plays old-time Appalachian tunes. This 36 yr. old plays like the end of the world is dawning. His fingers and bow mover faster than a runaway subway on the Bloor Line.
Day 5 – Almost time to go home which is not a good thing because the bug has set in. Like a slow infestation, the obsession has enveloped me. I’ve learned how to double shuffle bow (can’t wait to show my teacher at home) and 4 new pieces today.
Last evening: The entire camp gives a concert to parents, families and guests. I am proud to stand up with my class and my teacher Lloyd to play a couple of waltzes. This week is over much too soon and has been one of the coolest weeks of my life.
I can’t begin to organize, categorize or utilize the information I have been bombarded with. One day it will all fall into place and I will recall the lessons these amazing teachers have shared, but at this point, I am saturated beyond belief. I am awed beyond my expectations. Many of these musicians at camp, including small children are awesomely talented. Yup, they’ve got me – hook line and sinker. I’m only sorry I didn’t do this 10 years earlier. So I will continue fiddling but more importantly, I plan to return to camp. It just feels right. This new awareness is like a spark of light that must be followed. So this city-girl has found a new comfort zone and guess what, I can’t get the smirk off my face.
