“Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
but only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
so dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.” – Robert Frost
Biking around Prospect Park in Brooklyn this morning, I heard the unmistakable drone of bagpipes floating across the road. It was around 6:30am and the air was already thick with humidity. Eighty degrees and climbing, a hazy sun was quickly disappearing into a swirling blanket of thunderclouds.
Prospect Park.
The bagpipe is an instrument that some people love or that drives others nuts. I slowed the bike and swung back around to listen. Beyond a cluster of bushes and trees, someone was playing a bagpipe, and its sound was brilliant. Turning into a little lane that curved towards a small brick building, a balding man with a shock of white hair stood playing. Are you just practicing or getting ready to blow for a funeral, I asked. With lots of cops, fireman, and Irish-Americans in Brooklyn, it’s common for pipers to play at these services. “No,” he said in a thick British accent, “my son’s getting married this weekend and he’s asked me to play at his wedding.” He was from Hammersmith, outside of London, and was enjoying the opportunity to practice in this secluded spot. He asked if I’d take some photos of him playing, and handed me his camera. A few minutes later, a jogger came huffing and puffing into the little haven and asked, “Are you playing Dvořák’s New World Symphony?” The piper nodded and smiled. “I’m from the Ukraine, I recognized it immediately…thank you,” he said and jogged away with a big smile. I couldn’t have named that tune, but for a moment it felt like I was in a small park in Europe. There was some kind of strange magic in the air.
It’s very beautiful, I said, and asked him how he was enjoying Brooklyn. “It’s wonderful, a great melting pot,” he said. I waved goodbye, telling him there’s no place like Brooklyn. He picked up his bagpipe and belted out the opening chords to Yankee Doodle Dandy and shouted, “I’ll be playing that when the bride walks down the aisle.” Then I rode away with a smile, with those pipes humming in the air, back into my homeland.
Dedicated to Beth (Hendry) Annunziata…the pipes, the pipes are calling.
PORTS ARE CALLING 
Claudia,
What a sweet, sweet, unexpected encounter, to come across a London-based father-of-the-groom bagpiper practicing in the early hours of a midsummer morning for his son and his soon to be daughter in law! And as if, right on cue, the jogger from the Ukraine stops by to breathlessly confirm the name of the tune…..which happens to be “New World”….a metaphor for wedding ceremonies, dewy mornings, leafy parks in summer….and other new beginnings, no? This might be a stretch, but one could not have written a better scene for a modern Oberon and Puck! 😉
But for me it is cool because we get to enjoy an extraordinary slice of life with you. Travel is like that too. Yes, we go for the destination, but somewhere along the way we bump into the unexpected: a musician, an athlete, an expert in our field. Or we get to photograph a whale, spot a hummingbird, witness a sunset, or strike up a conversation in a coffeeshop with a complete stranger who is wearing a tee shirt from our small home town. (And we are halfway across the world.)
But in this case, these travelers showed up in your “backyard.” You were wise enough to say hello. Great story. Thanks for sharing it.
Lydia,
What a great gift to hear that you connected to this piece. Thank you for all of the details of how it resonated for you. When I hit “enter” and put this stuff out there, it’s a mystery to me of who will connect with it, so I’m really happy that you did. Thank you again, and enjoy the rest of your summer wherever you are. Cheers!