Every year I stop in at a canyon system in southeastern Nevada. It is the official beginning of the crowded desert camping season. As a newbie camper I made an effort to talk to my 'fellow'' campers. The ambition has died over the years. So it was a pleasant surprise to talk to three camping neighbors on the first day. Perhaps some momentary good luck at conviviality is the perfect way to start the holiday season.
Why have I disliked the Holidays so much? Perhaps it is the music that we are tortured with, in virtually every store, and these days at the gasoline pump. Can I do better than listen to soft-rap versions of 'Frostie' or 'Rudolph' blaring over crappy speakers at the grocery store? Yes! It works great to listen to sprightly baroque music, played by small ensembles.
Such music evokes images of folk traditions, feasting in the village, folk dances, flirting between the young people, and everybody's dog frolicking with the other dogs. And who deserves winter merriment more than my ancestors in dark and soggy northern Europe? There is a lot of You Tube videos on this kind of music. Rather than a sprightly piece consider this adagio, featuring oboes.
Soon the little dog and I hit the canyons. It was the perfect place to walk into with vague, wafting notions of wind ensembles. Long vertical flutes have been eroded into the mudstone. The thinner ones are too dark to photograph sometimes. They are all different shapes. It is easy to see one as an oboe, clarinet, or bassoon.
Does the desert wind ever catch these eroded flutes at just the right angle in order to make some sound. I doubt it, but it was fun to think about.
Of course the best wind instrument is the human mouth, face, tongue and larynx. And the canyon offers that, too. This one even has an epiglottis:
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