As we ate

our mouthwatering Mediterranean meal, The Yard Man and I kept hearing small snippets of conversation from a group of four who were seated a few tables away from us.  It sounded as though they might be discussing the very celebration for which we were in town to attend.  There was nothing definitive, however,  until I distinctly heard the words "Warwick River."

Reader Dear, I scurried right over to their table and  asked them if I'd heard correctly.  "Are you in town for the 120-year celebration?" I asked, as I studied their faces and hoped I was not making too big a fool of myself.

Turns out, my hunch was correct!  They were, indeed, a part of the Warwick River community ("The Colony" it was called for many years. [ Officially, the place was Denbigh]).  They were, indeed, descendants of the handful of ancestors who founded the community and its church! They were, indeed,  relatives of mine!  (Everyone, you must understand, Dear Reader, who grew up in this place a century or half-century ago was related to me).

However, since age can work its strange magic on people, these four had to give me their names.
I crowed with delight!
We visited!

And then they told me, "We're going to hear Jay Shenk (another one of those connected to all of us by DNA, and living locally) perform with his band at the bar down the road.  It's really close by.  Are you coming?"

Oh, yes.  The Yard Man and I, we were in!
(We had already heard about the performance and discussed this opportunity to hear Jay Shenk on the fiddle, but weren't sure how to find the venue.  How serendipitous, we just followed the other members of our tribe to the spot!)

  
Reader Dear, my body sat sedately on the bar stool and sipped my Smirnoff seltzer, but some part of me was decidedly and delightedly dancing to the tunes!

Listener Dear, tomorrow The Yard Man and I, ourselves, will be helping to make melodies*!
*Different genre, of course.

I.e. to be continued