I went by myself to Martha Talbott’s funeral yesterday. Nyel had an obligation elsewhere but, as is always true in our small community, 
being unescorted did not mean I was alone. In fact, I was surprised at how many mutual friends and acquaintances Martha and I had.
George and Martha moved to ‘Greater Oysterville’ twenty-three years ago. That’s one of the things I learned yesterday. I tried to remember when I first became acquainted with them. Ironically, it may have been in 1998 when I, being secretary/treasurer of the Oysterville Cemetery Association, sold them several cemetery lots.
But, I imagine I had known who they were and had been nodding and smiling and saying ‘hello’ long before that – especially at the post office. Sooner or later, all of us who get our mail at the tiny Oysterville Post Office get to know one another at least on a talk-about-the-weather basis. Too, I’m sure we saw them at Vespers now and then, especially when our former postmaster Casey Killingsworth and his family were the featured musicians. Or, perhaps, when the service was conducted by our friend-and-almost-relative, Father Tom, or by the priest from St. Mary’s.
Mostly, though, we knew Martha as a faithful attendee at our house concerts – she and George, always smiling, always together, always enjoying whatever was going on. I can’t think how it happened that we first invited them. Maybe George remembers. Over the years, they became ‘regulars,’ often sitting on the blue velvet couch in the living room and always bringing a wonderful addition for our potluck supper.
There was something about Martha’s twinkling eyes and gentle smile that always made me think she would be happiest with a small child nestled in her lap, so it didn’t surprise me to learn that she and George have seven children, twenty-six grandchildren, and fourteen great-grandchildren! Luckily for us, we’ve become acquainted over the years with daughter Jenny and son-in-law Scott and, more recently, with son Charlie. We hope that these friendships deepen and expand as time passes, for that’s yet another blessing of living in a small community.
These were some of the thoughts that flashed through my mind yesterday. Plus my delight at the photograph of Martha on the front of the memorial folder. I had no idea that she had been a nurse! Which made me wonder about all the other things I didn’t know about Marta.
I thought about that wonderful old Joan Baez song on her Diamonds and Rust album –“Hello in There.” I wish I had known Martha better. I’m grateful, though, that our paths crossed and that I knew her as well as I did.
We’ve been hosting house concerts for twelve or thirteen years now – usually one a month from September through May. It goes without saying that every one of them is different. The variables are multitudinous, from the musician(s) and their performances to the particular mix of audience members and right down to the potluck dishes and the conversation afterwards.
And before the concert ever began, a guest of some friends settled herself on the couch in the library with a small volume she had spied on a nearby shelf. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said in her soft German accent, “but I’ve been looking for a copy of this book for years.” She pointed out to me that it was published in 1908 (about the time my grandmother put the library together) and it was written in “old fashioned” German. What a nice bit of serendipity! ( Carefully handwritten in front was “Cecil Espy,” my grandfather’s youngest brother, who was a college student during that time period.)
Today promises to be equal parts work and play with all of it totally enjoyable. This morning we have a rehearsal for Shoalwater Storytellers scheduled, and this afternoon we head south for a performance of the Columbia River Trio. I suppose we’ll eat around the edges, but who cares? It’s one of those food-for-the-soul days.
And, speaking of enjoying performances from in front of the curtain, we are full of anticipation regarding the Columbia River Trio’s 3:00 presentation at the Inn at Harbour Village in Ilwaco this afternoon. The three – pianist Ron Thompson, violinist Jeffrey Reynolds, and cellist Andrew Emlen – did a House Concert here last Spring.
Yesterday’s House Concert by the Rose City Mixed Quartet was one of those marvelous experiences during which everything else simply dropped away. I didn’t take a single photograph – didn’t even think about it. I didn’t pass around the guest book. I didn’t hear the clock chime. I was totally immersed in their songs, their sounds, their interactions… I was transported.
Their program ranged from the sublime (“Ave Maria”) to the spiritual (“Deep River”) to the whimsical (“Li’l Red Riding Hood”). 
Members of the Willapa Hills band were setting up in our library yesterday afternoon and the thirty-plus house concert guests were expected momentarily when…CRASH! The horrific sound reverberated throughout the house and, even though there were at least three of us who witnessed the cause of said cacophony, it took a few seconds to make sense of it.
In reality, it was our ‘what-not coffee table’ that had collapsed and its contents had lurched and rolled and spilled themselves hither and thither across the carpet. Miraculously, the glass top of the table was still intact. The legs of one end had simply given way causing the rest of the table to fall apart. All of the artifacts, so carefully arranged and displayed, had escaped.
It was the final performance by the Willapa Hills, at least in the configuration that we have grown to love. Jessica and Sunrise Fletcher have now officially retired and it remains to be seen whether Andrew, Jennifer Hanigan, and Kerrie McNalley will continue the group and, if so, by themselves or with others.
A few weeks ago, when I sent out the invitations to yesterday’s house concert, I billed the musician, Larry Murante, as “one of the nicest guys we know.” If I were to resend message today, I might delete the “one of” part, or at least put that entire phrase in boldface. And underline it.
