O Stanny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

My cultural heritage is all over the European map. I suppose most dominant would be Norwegian, but there is also some Polish, English and Irish in there (among other, smaller fractions - I wouldn't be surprised to be 1/256 Liechtensteinian).

Well, I don't know what it is about September that brings out the Irish in me. Perhaps it's the cooling of the weather, or the increasing clouds over the greenery, or who knows. All I know is that around this time of year, I really like to listen to Celtic music.

A few years ago, it was 1996, I think, there was a Celtic music festival at Champoeg Park (pronounced "shampooey") southwest of town, and I went with my then-girlfriend to take in the authentic and beautiful sounds. Note that this was also around when Riverdance became popular, which brought a spotlight to Irish/Celtic music in general, and, in turn, I started appreciating the genre. Well, the turnout for the festival was much lower than anyone expected it to be, mainly because of the downpouring rain that dominated the weekend. I felt like such a die-hard fan for staying, even though my interest was still new. The only stage was in an amphitheater, and most of the audience (only in the tens) were huddled under umbrellas. My girlfriend and I were fully under a tarp, unable to see the stage.

After a couple of hours, we gave up our struggle to remain dry, even though we wanted to stay all day (and we missed the Solas show, which was the one I really wanted to see). We drove back in the warm rain to her house, where she lived with five other roommates. Nice conversations and cocoa, and some of us played Scrabble, with the window open to hear the rain dance on the trees outside.

And now, as September is upon us again, it's the only time of the year that I look forward to rain, because the first rain is always the best. And I'll sit in my house with the front door ajar...the sounds of rain in one ear, of the uilleann pipes, tin whistle, fiddle and bodhrán in the other.