Singing in the Snow. Also, a Note on Church. You Can Skip that Bit.

Well, it's not really winter yet. But music has been increasingly important as the days get shorter and the snow falls faster. Right now I'm listening to tracks off Josh Ritter's truly excellent So Runs the World Away. I might have mentioned that he gave a convocation concert in Finney way back in September. He was an Obie, one of our many "wandering sheep" -- he came to Oberlin to study neuroscience and left with a degree in American History through Folk Traditions. He said, with authority, that if you really have to tell your mom you're not going to be neuroscience major after all, it's better to do so from 3000 miles away.

Anyway, he's quite famous, whatever that means in folk rock, and I'm learning some of his earlier stuff on guitar. (Earlier, because these days most of his songs feature fingerpicking and F chords, neither of which I can handle.) I'm mostly studying chord changes and rhythm, so far, but I get to practice whenever I want to due to Sam's incredible generosity. She has lent me her guitar to keep in my room indefinitely, and I'm progressing ... well, not quickly, but at a pretty decent pace.

Oberlin, of course, is a great place to pick up an instrument if you're curious and not in a hurry to compare your own skill with anyone else's. If you'e apt to give up on something because you'll never be half as good as so-and-so, it might be the worst place in the world. No matter what, it's an incredible place to experience music.

Keep, in particular, has gained a reputation as the most musical co-op, for good reason. Brenna plays violin at the Con level, and Ari, my next door neighbor, practices flute in the laundry room. Peter is mad good on guitar, as I might have mentioned in my post about the jam session a few weeks ago; I can also name at least six other Keepers that play and play well. We also have at least four people who play keyboard regularly and probably a host of others who can bang out a song or five, two drummers, and a voice major, who usually sings while making bread and tasty things. We also have at least one banjo player, another flautist, and a jazz saxophonist.

All of which is to say, if we're snowed in -- which we might be one of these days -- I know exactly what we'll end up doing on cold winter nights.

Cold winter mornings are another matter. After several Sundays in a row spent huddled in a pew picking out favorite hymns, my friend Mia and I borrowed two copies of the hymnal from Father Brian, the rector at Christ Church. We agreed to meet between our MWF classes and sing a fortifying hymn or two -- at first our favorites, of course, but now many Advent and Christmas hymns that we would be singing in our home churches were we there. Serendipitously, another friend ran into us during our first meeting, and now the three of us meet in a silly little vestibule in Peters and sing!

Mia can sight read music, which is lucky, because beyond Hyfrydol and a few Christmas hymns I'm pretty much lost. I have found, however, that after a line or two I can easily follow along. The old hymns are so intuitive! They've had to be, of course, to remain singable centuries after their composition. I have also heard most of these at least once or twice before, and my voice knows them even if I don't. I like the idea that hymns are laid down in my subconscious, like quilt patches, or sleeping embers, waiting to be plucked by searching fingers or touched with living fire.

Many of my friends, even the religious ones, dislike the idea of forcing a child to go to church. On Sunday mornings, I probably did my fair share of moaning and groaning and sitting in the back seat scowling. I probably would have done much more if I hadn't had so many friends there. But now I am walking in the patterns laid down for me when I was baptized, and finding the roads sound. The words I repeated by rote as a child are now familiar and loved.

I should apologize for being sentimental, but I won't. I don't remember being surrounded by people who love me, singing united to God. But I know it was so, and I won't disguise how much that means to me now. I guess this is what they mean by "roots." Now Mia and Brenna and I are little lonely saplings, and it helps to step back and see the forest.