The Voice of an Island

“But O, for…the sound of a voice that is still!” Tennyson

It’s early summer, and the Island Choir is tuning up. “Get out, get out,” it sings.

Movement is everywhere. It mingles with morning walkers, joggers and bikers. The beach teems with teenagers, small children and exhausted parents. The sun and the water offer them relief from the past pressures of life. Colorful umbrellas—green, blue, rainbow, yellow—dot the seascape. Activities abound. Voices blend into a Beach Choir, crooning a united but indistinguishable song.

The island has a voice and a language all its own. It’s alive. It sings through a cacophony of sounds. Listen quietly. You will also hear its chorus.

The Island Voices are diverse…the wind, the ocean, the sands, the stars, the mossy oak trees, and the Pavarotti of them all, the still, quiet voice of The Marshes. Who has not heard The Marshes’ refrain while driving across the causeway, “Come home, come home?” With such a synthesis of voices, it’s difficult to hear the individuality, only the collective unity of a Single Choir.

I know something about choirs. In the small town of my youth, the United Methodist Church ruled most Sundays. I can still see the faces of some choir members there, gazing from their lofty perch above the pulpit. Their eyes seemed to bore into my very soul, saying, “Repent, you worthless sinner,” especially as they sang Rock of Ages.

One Sunday years ago my guilty conscious and I visited the church. And, O, my God, there they were, The Choir, singing away, like nothing had changed. Among them, mixed in with the new members, were still some of the old, familiar faces. For a moment I thought I’d been Raptured in the Second Coming, as they sang with one voice the old Wesley favorites, like Standing on the Promises. With the exception of one octogenarian, who still sang a half-note off key, their individual voices were indiscernible.

Would you like to hear The Voice of an Island, and to feel its pulse? Then stop in mid-motion and absorb the sounds. Here are two ways I’m able to isolate the voices.

Shaded by mossy oaks, the island’s ‘farmers market’ sings under a tent on a dusty patch of sand by the airport. Kathy is the conductor. She’s easily recognized by her trademark pink cap and blonde ponytail. Quick with a smile and a hello, her enthusiasm is contagious.

Rows of boxes are filled with fresh produce. Alive and colorful, the fruit and vegetables, like an assembled choir, sings collectively. They sing of memories of family dinners, past and present. And they sing of the possibilities of more family gatherings to come.

I once asked her where the produce came from. She said it came from mostly small farms in South Georgia. She said it’s a way for the farmers to supplement their income and, at the same time, feel a sense of connectedness to a community larger than their own. She added that it represented a microcosm of the region, because under her tent the hands of people come together, one way or another…growers, harvesters, deliverers and purchasers. She concluded by saying that we’re all part of a larger community.

I’ve also heard the Voice of an Island while strolling on the beach. In some strange way the beach draws from us the anxieties of life. Its rhythm slowly restores our balance. A simple beach walk touches all of our physical senses by the action of the sand, the sea, the sky, the sun and the wind. Our ears open to hear the singing of nature.

What exactly is The Voice of an Island anyway? Is it not each of us who join to sing a part? Perhaps it’s only a small part, and maybe we often sing a half-note off key. But in the larger sense we’re members of a huge choir. Though we sing with individual voices, we echo The Voice of an Island every day.

Yes, there are new faces, and voices, in The Island Choir each year. They mingle with the old, familiar ones. But collectively we all sing the familiar tune of Amazing Grace… which is perhaps the reason why we’re all here!

Bud Hearn
April 8, 2011