The Courage to Play

By Tessa Dalton

Photos courtesy of Tessa Dalton

At first, I stood back quietly watching. Around the campfire were a dozen strangers, some old, some young. There were hippies and cowboys, a new mother and a tattooed grandpa. They played guitars and banjos, mandolins and fiddles. There was even a washtub bass. I was twelve years old, and felt completely out of place.

The eclectic group jammed on until, finally, my teacher, Shelby Murdock, turned and said, “You know this one, Tessa!” Nervously, I stepped into the circle.

I felt out of breath. My eyes blurred. My arms seemed so heavy. But then I started playing. The others cheered me on, and my fingers found their notes. When the group moved to a new song, I again didn’t know it, but I stayed in the circle and played on, watching their fingers and following their cues.

I was jamming, and learning something new with each round. Three hours later, my fingers were sore, but I wasn’t tired—and I was sad when we had to quit.

Never before in my life had I completely lost track of time while doing something I loved.

I went back to my tent, in an encampment called “Stickerville” at the National Old Time Fiddle Contest in Weiser. I was nervous about the next day’s competition, but I drifted asleep listening to other campers in the distance as they played old-time fiddle tunes into the night.

My musical journey had begun a few years before this. As a nine-year-old, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into when I took orchestra at American Heritage Charter School just west of Idaho Falls.

I remember the moment in the basement of the historic New Sweden School building when I first dragged a bow across the strings. It was just a note, but it changed my life.