Rachel Whipple wrote us with a funny oboe story the other day:

Today I woke up very early to go to breakfast for Mother’s Day with the entire family. Afterwards, I thought it would be fun to practice my oboe outside for the first time this spring. The birds were chirping, the bees were humming, the dogs were barking, so naturally I thought that I should give my contribution of music to the neighborhood.

I began my practice session playing simple major and chromatic scales. Then I moved onto the Allegro of Handel’s Sonata No. 1. Suddenly, two DUCKS came from out of nowhere and made a perfect 10-point landing in my pool. I was stunned.

It is not a normal occurrence to see ducks in my backyard. After a few minutes, one of the ducks had a long enough bath and flew off into the sky. So one duck remained while I continued to play the Handel. After about ten minutes, I looked away from my music once again and saw that the second duck was finished with his bath and was standing on the patio. Every time I played, he shook his wings and feathered tail. I experimented by starting and stopping the music. Every time I played he danced; every time I stopped he stopped. I played several different notes and ranges. When I played middle range E, Ebs, and Fs he directly looked at me and turned his green neck and head to the side.

Perhaps in another life the duck was Handel and he was stopping in to hear his music. Or maybe it was a famous oboe player in a previous life. But…I guess the reality is that I basically sounded like a duck with some advanced beautiful mating call sound. I guess I should concentrate on those particular notes some more, because forever in my mind they will be known as the “Duck mating call notes.”

So I guess the lesson I learned today is if I never become a truly great oboist, the ducks will always stop on in and appreciate my music.