My mother was the singer in our family. She had a lovely, lovely soprano voice. She could just get those high notes light as a feather. She’d sing in church and for funerals. As a little kid, I sang too. I sang outside, it was a farm so animals, maybe cows, heard me, whatever. There was a windbreak; it was a grove of pines that my grandfather had planted to save us from the northerly wind. I would go out there and climb the trees and I would sing in there. I don’t know if anyone’s sung in the pines, but it does amplify the sound rather beautifully. It wasn’t until maybe 4 or 5 years before my mother passed away she told me she did the same thing when she was a new young bride on the farm before kids came along. She also went to those pines and sang. Maybe it was two years ago I thought, I do enjoy singing, I might as well learn how. So I started taking singing lessons, and I found the group the Family Folk Machine. I keep thinking what my mom would have thought if she had heard me sing on the stage that night.