A year of piano excellence, shared by the Burklund children:
Kellen, Kai, and Emily
Narrated by: Owen Burklund
Welcome to our recital today. We’ll begin with our story, which is, gratefully, short and sweet with some super surprises that might startle and satisfy. It’s a Short Story. Our story takes place in the olden days, when Vikings sailed the seas, knights fought dragons and rescued fair ladies, elves made their homes in the trees, and trolls patrolled the forests. It takes place in the small town of Éccossaise. In that town there lived a farmer. This farmer was so cheerful that you could find him singing his favorite song while working in the fields. The townsfolk had lovingly nicknamed him the Happy Farmer. Behind this farmer’s glorious smile, however, lay deep concern and worry, for the farmer was, in fact, drowning in expenses. He would soon lose his farm if he didn’t do something and quick.
One afternoon, as he was trying to find a way to make a lot of money quickly, his brain spinning in circles, he kept coming back to the same ideas over and over again, just like the Spinning Song. He had tried many things to clear his muddy mind, but it seemed futile. He was at the edge of despair when he suddenly remembered that he was always invited to the annual dances that were held at the castle up on the hill, but to which no one ever went, for everyone knew that the castle was the home to something…. mysterious. Needing a reprieve from his miserable reverie, he decided to approach the castle resident and seek assistance for his beloved farm.
That night, just before dusk, the farmer gallantly set out for the castle, making his way along the winding path that led up the hill. (Minuet III) Treading lightly, as to not offend the unknown shadows on his way to the castle, he was confronted by a deep, growling voice from the gloom.
“Who’s there? Freeze!”
The farmer, startled, froze in his tracks, expecting to be ambushed by the forest trolls known to patrol the path. Peering through the mist he saw what appeared to be camouflaged men from his village.
Hunters! The Farmer realized. (Hunters) But what are they doing so close to the castle? The farmer wondered to himself. Everyone knows this land is prohibited from hunting.
“Whatcha fellas doin’ out here?” queried the farmer.
“We’re out here to catch the vampire!” answered one of the hunters a little over exuberantly, coming out of the gloom. The farmer soon realized that the hunters were poorly equipped for whatever quarry they thought they might attain from their ambitions, holding only their wives’ frying pans, their barn’s pitchforks, and one even held his own holey, worn-out boot, as though tossing that rag would even dent a fluffy sand pit, leaving him bootless on the cold, dusty ground.
“There’s no vampire around here, sillies!” The farmer replied.
“‘Course there is!” Replied the wanna-be hunters. “Can’t you hear the vampire music coming from the castle?” (Toccata in d minor)
“I’ll take care of your ‘vampire’,” assured the farmer to the aspiring, albeit foolish, hunters. “Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll be back in a jiffy?”
Continuing his trek through the forest and making his way up the ornate, grand, granite staircase up the side of the hill, the farmer courageously made his way to the front door of the castle and boldly knocked with enough gusto to catch even the noisiest of mythical creatures off guard. (Tarentelle)
The creepy, cliché music suddenly ceased, and the door slowly creaked open a crack. Out poked the head of a middle-aged man with a pale, pointy face, and prematurely silver wisps escaping from underneath what can only be described as a pointy, purple, star-bespeckled wizard’s hat.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” The man squeaked, “I didn’t mean to disturb you!”
“Not at all!” Insisted the farmer. “Only- what’s with the dreary, depressing music?”
“Ooooh,” sighed the man, “Sometimes I just get so sad and lonely up here in my castle. Music is the best way I can express myself. I keep trying to invite the village to a ball, but no one ever comes, and I’m just afraid they’ll all bring their frying pans and pitchforks. You know- ‘Rawr! Get the monster!’” he continued, pretending to claw the air and rolling his eyes in misunderstood disgust. “We warlocks are often misunderstood creatures, you see. All I want is to bring music and fantastical magicalness to the village.” He sighed a great, deep bellow as he hung his head in despair.
“I may have just the thing for you,” offered the farmer. “But in exchange, I’m hoping you’ll help me with my farm.” And the farmer shared with the warlock his marvelous share, grow, and save plan. Intrigued, the warlock agreed to the farmer’s plan.
In two shakes of a hot frying pan, the farmer skipped down the steep, stony path like the run of Mozart’s Sonata K545. He gathered up the villagers, who reluctantly agreed to visit the castle with the farmer, and returned to the castle to brazenly beat upon the warlock’s door once more. But this time, the castle exterior was lit up with the sparkles of a thousand fairies and their dragon friends, aided by the mystique and magic of the arbor elves. The warlock had been as busy as a Solfeggietto getting his castle prepped and ready to host his marvelous moment
“Welcome, friends!” called the Warlock from the top banister of the grand staircase as all the villagers filed into the front hall. “Please! Come in, have some treats, and find a partner! Our next song will be the Minuet II!” While some pairs danced to the music and others feasted on the delectable vittles, the farmer and the warlock looked around at the joyous people. The warlock, having shown the villagers that magic is not to be feared, and the farmer, having a new magical friend, both smiled and shook hands as the Klavier Suite ended the glorious evening.
Waltzing away from the castle that evening, the villagers’ fears of the warlock were assuaged and they were all abuzz about the plans for the next year’s ball. Putting them at ease for the evening, the Warlock gently played Pachelbel's Canon in D, cradling a sense of peace in the valley.
With superstitions resolved, music and love shared, and friendships and families grown, the village was at peace once more, and the farmer himself returned to his home, where, magically, during the ball, his crops had all blossomed and doubled. His farm was saved. He no longer carried his concern and worry, for his friends were plentiful and his fields ripe. He was, indeed, richly blessed and could now peacefully care for his family. Finally able to rest, he gently rocked on his porch listening to the soothing lullaby of Cradle Song.
THE END
THANK YOU FOR SHARING WITH US IN OUR ACHIEVEMENTS!
No comments:
Post a Comment