[In response to One Word Prompt]
As a child, my family and I took week-long camping vacations to Ricketts Glen State Park in the mountains. We’d spend the week encountering wildlife, hiking the trails and falls, roasting marshmallows over a campfire, swimming at the Lake Jean beach area, and biking around the camping loops. I loved every minute of it.
I remember one trip in particular that stands out. It was the summer I met Tom. Tom was an elderly gentleman who played the bagpipes at the wooded amphitheater across the water. He enjoyed playing there because of the acoustics. The beautiful and mysterious melodies that danced across the lake drew me in; I was entranced. I remember racing around the lake at dusk hoping to catch his evening performances. He was the first man I’d ever seen wearing a kilt and traditional Scottish regalia, and I was in awe of his bizarre plaid-bag-with sticks looking instrument and its oddly haunting sounds. I vaguely remember him letting me squeeze the bag and being delighted by the honk it made.
I wish I could say that I remember more about the man or that I’d somehow remained in contact, but that isn’t the case. I do, however, remember half expecting and later hoping to hear his music each year as we returned to our family camping spot. I don’t recall ever seeing him again though.