MacKerricher State Park, California
Nearly ready to leave after a  walk on the beach, I sat in my car in the parking lot along Warren Drive watching waves and listening to a perfect sound track of rhythms from a distant conga drum.

A station wagon parked nearby and half-a-dozen rambunctious five and six-year-old burst out of the wagon ready for sand and water. A couple unloaded picnic baskets, bucket and shovels. Children leading they headed off away from the path I had taken to the beach and were soon out of sight. In a moment the group appeared on the beach.

I left my car to investigate their shortcut. I found a long, eight- feet high corrugated steel tube cutting through a sand dune. A tunnel! Inside the wavy steel cylinder I could hear the conga clearly. I began to sing with the beat.

As I sang, a slightly disharmonic echo of the wavy walls excited unusual combinations of sounds. The conga player came to find me. His shirt had full, bloused sleeves. He wore an earring and covered his shaved head with a fishnet kerchief. He invited me to have a cup of tea in his home at the beach, a converted stepvan. Wooden benches lined the van. A small table served for desk or dining. A propane stove filled the front passenger side seat where he soon had a kettle boiling.

We sipped tea as we talked of music and sea sounds and the people we meet in our travels. Spicy sausages, onions and tomatoes simmered in preparation for his pasta supper.

Several years later, I visited that tunnel again. Time and the salty air had grown a patina on the shiny steel surface of the tube. The sound had changed and mellowed. A marimba and flute player joined me this time. A very different experience, but a day full of music and beauty.

I remember these times of sharing and music with much pleasure.