It was strange to be sitting with my husband in the elegant, 100+ year-old Orpheum Theater. Two days earlier, we had been preparing to shelter-in-place for Hurricane Francine which was expected to make landfall on the coast of Louisiana. I’d filled the tank of my car, bought non-perishable food items, checked and replaced batteries in flashlights, and secured outdoor items that might become airborne. A mere five hours before the concert was to begin, our home, in the wake of the storm, was without power. Many homes and businesses in Louisiana were still dark. Yet, here we sat, anticipating the season-opening performance of the Grammy Award winning Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra. It did not disappoint and proved to be exactly what its storm-weary audience needed.
The first selection, Pulse (2019) by Brian Raphael Nabors, appeared as if it had been written to be performed for this particular night. “The universe seems to have a natural rhythm to it,” Nabors wrote. “It is as if every living and moving thing we are aware and unaware of is being held together by a mysterious, resolute force.” I listened as the orchestra brought the sounds of nature into the concert hall. I was carried away by the “scenic, endless abyss of the ocean,” as waves of music swept across the stage.
Later that night, I couldn’t get the piece out of my mind. I thought back to Tuesday when I was preparing our yard for the storm. The song birds were particularly busy. Jays shrieked as they darted back and forth from the holly trees to the Bird Buddy feeder. Sparrows and chickadees twittered anxiously as they chased each other away from a feeder hanging in the magnolia tree. They pecked frantically at the seeds, scattering them into the garden beneath. Mockingbirds balanced on the fence before diving into the Beautyberry to strip fruit from the branches. The birds didn’t need the Weather Channel to tell them of the approaching storm. The low-pressure system in the Gulf of Mexico had already sent its warning.
On Wednesday, the day of expected landfall, my husband and I had our morning coffee on the front porch, waiting for the storm that was still hundreds of miles south of us. Lush, green resurrection fern carpeted the limbs of the live oak in our front yard. It glistened with raindrops against the grey sky. I noticed a squirrel across the street in my neighbor’s yard. She held something in her mouth. I watched as she scurried to the safety of the roots of my neighbor’s oak, looked around, and then dashed across the street to our live oak and up into the canopy. A few minutes later, she skittered down the trunk of our tree, ran across the street to our neighbor’s yard and climbed over their fence. She repeated this process three times, following the same path each time. I assume that the low-pressure system, which had caused the anxious activity in the birds, had influenced her to evacuate her babies somewhere that she perceived to be safer than sheltering-in-place.
In early afternoon, we walked to a neighbor’s home to share food, conversation,and comfort with others on our block. We humans hadn’t felt the low-pressure system but were responding to news alerts. Indeed, the “resolute force” of this storm united us with the birds, squirrels, our neighbors, and other beings in its path.
Music also connects us…with our emotions, each other, nature, the universe. Pulse reminds us of “our deep connection as living beings to everything within, over, under, and around us.” Not a bad thing to consider in the aftermath of a storm.
Direct quotes are from the composer’s notes in the LPO program.
Kathleen Schrenk 