The four older girls and I were bringing home ice cream for Daddy and the little ones, when I decided to pick up two cups of coffee as well. Peet's was closed, so we made our way next door to Lo Cubano, a coffee shop we have never once tried in all these months. A sign scratched in chalk read "Music Tonite!" and a string band was playing within, the musicians' backs to the front plate glass window.
If you have ever stood outside an establishment with a band in full swing, you will understand how we hesitated on the sidewalk, not wanting to interrupt or intrude, feeling vaguely like party crashers. A few friendly audience members noticed us teetering there and waved us forward, wearing such welcoming expressions, I almost fancied they would be disappointed if we did not come in. Slipping through the shop's glass door, we left the lamplit street with its cars and concrete behind and entered a country haven of banjo and bluegrass. People of every age and ethnicity rocked, danced, tapped, and clapped, and yet the place felt cozy and soothing. Children swung round in circles, and old people smiled from cushioned corners. An expression of satisfaction spread across each face so that, different though they were, the patrons had the unified look of a loving and boisterous family.
My full attention was captured by a darling baby dancing in the aisle. She reminded me so much of my Eileen with her bright eyes and straight silky hair. The girls noticed her too, and four adoring smiles were trained upon her at once, admiring her whirling, wandering, rhythmic joy. When I ordered my coffee, the woman behind the counter asked if I would mind waiting for a fresh pot. "With this music playing?" I laughed. "Take all the time you want!" She flashed me a smile, and my girls stood tapping their feet looking so happy to be there.
A sweet young woman approached us saying, "Would you like a table? I am following the baby and won't be sitting. I can move my things if you like."
"Are you the mother of that little darling?" I gushed, "She reminds me so much of my baby at home. They must be just about the same age." Within moments, we discovered to our mutual amazement that the two girls in fact share a birthday. [How can I describe how warmly I felt toward her dear mother because of this? It was the kinship of two women who both received God's greatest gift on the same day--one on the west coast, the other on the east.]
It turns out the woman's husband was one of the very talented members of the bluegrass group, Huckleberry Flint. Captivated by the band's arresting and uniquely American music, the girls and I wanted to stay into the evening, but I thought of the ice cream melting in the car and the coffee cooling in its cup. The ice cream and coffee, I would have readily sacrificed, but these things were for Daddy and that made them important. And so, in an almost heroic act of the will, I resolved to return to the world of cars and concrete, leaving our Bluegrass Brigadoon behind.
Huckleberry Flint plucked, bowed and crooned "How Great Thou Art" with a simple sincerity that was enough to break my heart as I prepared to tear myself (and the girls) away. A hopeful thought struck me though, and I asked the lovely mother if the band had CDs available.
"I think we may have a few in the car," she told me, stepping outside to check. In five minutes time, I had purchased two CDs, and just knowing my purse contained an echo of what we had been hearing fortified me to leave. The girls looked regretful, turning last longing looks on both band and baby. We could still hear the muffled sounds of strings as I pulled out of my spot, feeling like a captain shipping away from a friendly shore, with its music throbbing across the water.
Daddy, being Daddy, urged us to return to Lo Cubano when he heard all about it, regretting that his ice cream and coffee had been given precedence, but it was very late and Eileen needed me. Still longing for more Bluegrass, we popped our first CD, "Good Night, Darling," into the computer. I smiled (and was not at all surprised) to see "Micah 6:8," cited inside the accompanying booklet, giving a glimpse inside the band's heart. In its entirety, Micah 6:8 says:
"You have been told, O man, what is good, and what the LORD requires of you: Only to do the right and to love goodness, and to walk humbly with your God."
The strains of banjo and bow and bass reached our waiting ears once more, less completely perhaps, but still as tunefully. Tossed about by the music, Eileen began a whirl, trot and clap with steps remarkably similar to her west coast counterpart. Margaret and Marie swung one another breathlessly, wearing the satisfied, joyous expressions we had seen dotted all over Lo Cubano. I tapped my foot in a cushioned chair, and Patrick danced a hornpipe on the bed.
If a person could have had a bird's eye view of San Francisco that night--perhaps perched in Coit Tower atop Telegraph Hill or striding a tree on Mount Davidson--and if this person's vision was strong enough to see through darkness, distance and fog, he would have found two lively parties on one street--each full of happy children swaying in the bluegrass, rocking to the wholesome, heartening rhythms of a band called Huckleberry Flint.
This video speaks louder than words.
