I go to the South Fork Forest Camp on Thursdays when our schedules align. I bring a ukulele, a list of names of the guys in the uke class for attendance, and printed lyric sheets and chord charts.

The guys do not seem to want to share anything personal as we begin class and “circle” time. Maybe music is hard to talk about, to describe. The ineffable qualities of sound and inner experience have little to do with language and meaning. I know. They do talk about needing motivation, needing a class and schedule, a routine so they will practice.

So we move on to music, and they ALWAYS offer me a guitar so I’ll play for them before they play. I have rarely had an audience so visibly absorbing sound vibrations, my human endeavor to make music and bring myself to the song. Every week, I try to be as fully expressive and present as I can, even were it Carnegie Hall. They are uplifted, changed, relaxed, so appreciative, smiling and returning a glow of satisfaction, of being human for a moment. The room is warm and full of hope.

But then we have to put our fingers here, and put our fingers there, and remember the names of strings. We try to create the same musical heartbeat, and sometimes it even grooves. Then the guys’ bodies loosen up more. I actually see smiles. They help their neighbors, assisting with a detail or chord progression. To my wonder, astonishment, and deepest joy, they sing. They can sing in tune, in time, they can sing together. “Lean on Me,” a song by Bill Withers, was one they picked. It doesn’t have many chords or changes, so we slowly learned it. Then they actually sang, softly and then more strongly, more assuredly, and warmly.

I can’t get them to talk about that, and that’s fine. I can see and feel what is happening, and it sometimes seems like the class is for me, not them.

Isn’t that what the best of art and being human can be? The mysterious give and take without naming it, without certainty, often without understanding. But with presence, trust, and, when we are lucky, in ensemble.

Maybe they’ll talk about it someday. Maybe they’ll just keep coming to class. Quietly, those ensemble skills, focus, and warmth will expand into more of their realities.

~Lauren Sheehan