my magic flute

The Spirit of Denman Island has a habit of knowing what I need most and arranging for me to get those needs met. For example, my daughter has started learning to play my guitar that I bought with my bus girl wages when I was in Grade 10. Watching her strum along with the easy D and A chords, and then strain and stretch her growing fingers to get the difficult G chord, has made me very sentimental for all the music I used to play in high school. Of course, like every budding guitarist coming of age in the 70s, I played a heap of Beatles, Jim Croche, and Eagles songs. For some reason, I was really into playing and singing along to the love song, “I don’t know how to love him,” from the musical, Jesus Christ Superstar. Go figure...

I, also, played first flute in the concert and stage bands. My Dad bought me the best flute he could afford but it was a mediocre instrument. I had to wrestle with it just to get a decent sound. A year ago, I found my old flute and thought I would get it professionally tuned-up and give it a go again. But the flute technician declared that it was not worth putting another penny into the relic. So I put my flute revival aspirations on the back burner. Then again, a couple of weeks ago, my inner high school teen said, “I wanna play the flute again.” But since my flute was dead never to be resurrected, I put the thought of playing out of my head for the second time. That's when the Denman Island magic took over.

Last week, driving down East Road, my husband and I saw a yard sale sign. On a whim we decided to check it out. And there IT was -- a shining Gemeinhardt flute -- for sale. With tingling hands and a big-time-dread in my stomach that I might have forgotten how to play, I opened the case, assembled the flute; thrilled at its just-right-fit and perfect balance in my hands; put it to my mouth; and blew. It had a gorgeous tone, in spite of my unpracticed muddling. To be sure the price on that flute -- though reasonable -- was more than we could afford on our very limited budget. With a sigh, I lovingly packed up the flute and returned it to the seller, told her it was a “beauty.” On the drive home, my husband, Mr Wonderful, talked with me about how I had been wanting to resume playing the flute. He said it was important to follow my urge to play the flute again. So with his encouragement, I drove back to the yard sale and purchased the flute. Imagine my finding the flute I always dreamed of playing when I was in high school band right there in a yard sale on Denman Island! What are the odds?

The woman selling her flute threw in a copy of “Flute Method: Book 1” (1936). A week later I picked up 2 more flute books at the Free Store: “World’s favourite easy to play pieces for flute” (1962); and “Elementary Method Flute or Piccolo” (which let's just say is so old it could have been used to play bedtime tunes to dinosaurs). And now, with my three antique music books helping me clear out the cob webs that have gathered in the 30 years since I last played, I am playing duets with my daughter. And just like a cobra that is coaxed higher and higher by a snake charmer’s flute, as I am playing, it feels like my inner teen musician rises up, flashes me a Peace sign, and whispers, “Cool!” 


My new "magic flute" has touched a young place in my heart and helped me meet my need to play music -- and that is definitely "Cool!"

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Photo credits: Photos by Jessica at Oceanwood.
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