Sometimes seams open on a violin. Everything could fall apart. This hollow body of wood and glue works hard, but it’s astonishingly fragile. Worry gripped my heart for a beat.
When I picked it up from the luthier, I was relieved. It cost just twenty dollars. The price was so reasonable, I considered my second violin. Uncle Brian had unearthed it at a flea market in rural Texas, a dusty relic with a forgotten past. The patch-work of improvised parts includes a cranked gear replacing one tuning peg, a wooden spoon fashioned into a chin-rest, and an elegant scroll carved with flowers. It’s a mess of cracks and dings, the resulting tone makes me wince. Maybe the people at Oklahoma Strings could work their magic again.
When I picked it up from the luthier, I was relieved. It cost just twenty dollars. The price was so reasonable, I considered my second violin. Uncle Brian had unearthed it at a flea market in rural Texas, a dusty relic with a forgotten past. The patch-work of improvised parts includes a cranked gear replacing one tuning peg, a wooden spoon fashioned into a chin-rest, and an elegant scroll carved with flowers. It’s a mess of cracks and dings, the resulting tone makes me wince. Maybe the people at Oklahoma Strings could work their magic again.
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