I’m writing because, while digging up carrots, I experienced something unusual for this city girl. At roughly 4:00, all across the valley, there rose a horrible crescendo of untrained trumpet, clarinet, saxophone, and flute players. First one instrument, then another from a block away, then another from the hill behind us, until there were some six or seven different squeaking, squawking sounds. I had been warned, months ago, that this day would come: the band students have their instruments. (Read here)