Golden Gate 07

I’m home now from the third annual Golden Gate Singing, tired but in a good way. It was my first time being secretary, meaning I kept a list of all the songs and leaders. It’s not that hard and I did like doing it, but it meant constant responsibility. It helped when I finally figured out that, as I was not sitting on the front bench, I did not need to sing the shapes for every song or beat time through each song. And the man next to me kindly shared his book so I didn’t have to juggle my own book, the registration cards, and my clipboard back and forth. It occurs to me that in order to completely relax and enjoy a singing, I’m going to have to travel.
My heart is full of the small sweet details that make each singing just a bit different than the others:

• this cake (Okay, Natalia, I concede that the cake pictured above may be Sacred Harp dorkiness, but it is aesthetically pleasing sacred harp dorkiness.)


• meeting the lovely woman from Eugene who was knitting a Fair Isle sweater from wool she had dyed and spun herself


• listening to Greg and friends playing and singing folk songs between the singing and the social


• getting to spend time with my friend Catherine L., who brought her delicious fudge for the potluck


• Susan’s ingenious “food tags”: as food maven, she had us fill out little forms to tape to our dishes with our names and if it was vegan, vegetarian, or “flexitarian”


• Carolyn’s red velvet cake and Natalia’s corn pudding


• seeing everyone in their Sunday best


• baby Oliver


• not spilling anything on my white shirt


• conversations in the car with Will and Inder, as well as having their navigational assistance


• knowing enough songs that my nose wasn’t buried in the book


• getting to sit next to Betty for the first time in a while, as she rarely sings tenor these days

One aspect of the singing deserves much more than a bullet point, and that was the post-singing social that Philip hosted. I think his home is the most beautiful I’ve ever visited. I nestled into one of the couches and soaked in the art, the view of the garden, the candlelight. I had a series of conversations that went beyond the ordinary party chatter, and I credit the gracious and inviting atmosphere.

Over lunch, someone asked me what I thought the draw was to Sacred Harp singing, and I punted the answer, saying something inane about how I loved the sound. A truer answer would have been, “it’s one place I hear God.” It’s an interesting parallel to Quaker meeting, where we gather in silence in expectant waiting for God to be present with us and to speak through us. In a singing, we gather to produce a virtual wall of sound, and eventually, our tongues break out in unknown strains and sing surprising grace.

More pics at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/fasola4mi/