by Florence Cardinal

Created on: March 09, 2010   Last Updated: March 10, 2010

MY FATHER'S FIDDLE

 During the Great Depression, with money scarce and the living anything but easy, hardworking people sought ways to add to meager incomes. I remember my father packing up his fiddle in its battered black case and heading out to play at a country dance. With faithful old Dollie and Robin hitched to the wagon or sleigh, he would take off to pick up neighbors with guitars, accordions and banjos.

 Many of the dances took place in local halls or schools. Sometimes the musicians had to leave home after an early supper to travel to a dance ten or twenty miles away. Dad would return, nodding off on the wagon seat, as the morning sun gilded the barn roof. He would unhitch and feed his tired horses, then drag himself into the house on weary feet, take his fiddle from its case and hang it on the wall beside his rocking chair. After he handed Mother the dollar or two he had earned from his night's labor, he was off to the barn to milk the cows.

 Mother and I often accompanied Dad to nearby dances. These were truly family affairs, attended by everyone from babes in arms to their octogenarian grandparents. When the guitars tuned up and Dad tucked his old fiddle under his chin, people of all ages streamed onto the dance floor. I don't know which I learned first-how to walk or how to waltz. I'll never forget that shiver of delight I experienced when Dad's bow touched the strings.

 Neighbors took advantage of these get-togethers to visit and admire the new babies. There was ample opportunity for farmers to trade equipment or marshal help for a barn raising. When the ladies weren't dancing, they picked up their knitting or embroidery, their hands seldom idle as they traded recipes and gossip with neighbors they hadn't seen for weeks.

 At midnight, the dancing came to a halt for a potluck lunch of sandwiches prepared from home-baked bread, frosted cakes and freshly baked cookies, washed down with aromatic hot coffee. The musicians and the dancers welcomed the refreshing break. By one a.m., with the leftover food packed away in boxes to take back home and the floor swept and dusted with fresh wax, the dancing began again and continued until three or four in the morning.

 As the youngsters grew weary and small eyelids began to droop, they retired to piles of soft coats in the cloakroom where they slept soundly. Grandmas, grandpas, and even parents moved back into the corners to visit, doze, or nod to the music as the younger people

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