by Ellen McAllister
It sits, brown and smooth with
natural wood swirling, twirling about.
With a blue paisley strap that she
always wears with a smile and
Six golden strings strummed,
plucked, and picked.
I’ve heard the sweet silky notes,
felt them warming my soul.
“Play it again, mom,” I’d say,
asking her to play my favorite
Song that only she plays, and I
never learned the title of.
From Willie Nelson to children’s
songs, it brought so much joy
To so many people. The gift of
music radiating from the strings.
We would all sit around the campfire
and listen to my mom strum strum strum.
My siblings and I grew up on hand-strummed
country songs by hand-built campfires.
There was no bickering among us,
just the sound of three little kids
Singing along with their mother, learning
the words to her favorite songs.
It’s traveled to children’s music classes,
nursing homes, the forest, and more,
All the while, not knowing the special
smile it would bring to people.
My mom used to play by herself
but now my brother joins her,
Both of them playing the classic
country hits, hoping we’re listening.
They add a few new songs to
the mix every now and then.
But I’ve finally learned the name
to my favorite song, and my mom’s
Version of “Tennessee Flat Top Box”
Will be the only one I listen to.