The Piper

It didn’t take long for the small caravan of cars in the funeral procession to reach the cemetery after leaving the church. Arlington, Oregon is a very small town that is nestled within the path of a steep canyon that drops in to the Columbia River. The graveyard is set on a high bluff with a vertical drop overlooking the town and the rocky outcroppings into which it has slowly stretched over the past few years.

The mourners moved toward the burial site accompanied only by the sounds of their shoes in the gravel and a breeze whistling down from the higher cliffs. The preacher held his Bible for a moment of silence. At that instant, the familiar strains of a bagpiper's Amazing Grace began to waft over the hills. As though merging with the survivor’s tears, the continuous notes poured over them and on down into the slow churning water of the mighty Columbia. The family members nodded their gratitude to each other for the thoughtful tribute.

About fifteen minutes before this scene unfolded, the hubby and I were sitting and enjoying time with dear friends and admiring their recently purchased retirement home. They constructed it in on a high sloping meadow chosen because of the grand vista. To the north, you can see across the ravines that curve and meander to form the wide gulch where the town meets the river. The quiet solitude and the lofty view cultivate a feeling of contentment.

As we sat on the deck bringing each other up to date in our lives, Kari turned to her husband and said, “Hon, why don’t you play the bagpipes for Pam?” He had started lessons a few years earlier and his performing skills were already well known at community events. My hubby was intrigued when she suggested that he dress for the part. So Michael kilted up…. in the real deal….right down to the sgian dubh in his sock.

He lifted the blowpipe, started filling the bag, and was soon expelling the reedy notes of the hymn Amazing Grace. The mournful piping flowed like water over the hills and through the rocky crevices, as have thousands of years of streams that carved out the Columbia River Gorge, the only sea level route through the Cascade Mountains. We sat in silent awe as the final notes echoed across the miles to the river’s Washington side.

It was the sincere thank you they received a few days later that made them aware that in a moment in time a piper’s melody had intertwined two stories... one of welcome and one of farewell.