Celebrating 25 Years: A Look Back (& Forward) with Ben Finley
One of my first gigs was as a bell ringer for Sound of Music at St. Johns in Campbellford before the break of the millennium. I was nine or so. Backstage, I patiently waited till my cue in the wedding scene. Ding dong. Ding dong. DING DONG. Pace it out. Third time, the loudest, most joyful. Final... boom!
Time it with the energy of the crowd and cheers. All without seeing the action on the stage. That was fun! Jump to 2000. Eve and I took the day off school to sit on a dirt pile created by the bulldozers in our family's field. It was pretty high up and a good view of the action—a timber frame barn filled with dreams of making music in nature and bringing people together. Whenever I tell someone this story now, I love seeing the sparkle that often emerges. Often, some kind of lean-in happens. Somehow, people can picture it even if they haven't been there. Why is that?
From the ding dongs of the dark backstage to the ruckus of the construction to the opening symphonic notes, to the 25 years—25 years!—of making music in a dreamlike setting, I consider myself an incredibly fortunate human. I have pursued music in my professional life. The family trade, I suppose you might say! And I recognize how deeply fortunate I am to have witnessed music in this setting—and continue to witness at Westben. It's been a deeply enriching experience. I think of all the different kinds of musicians coming through our kitchen in the nearby farmhouse, eating diners, warming up, saying hello or hanging out after the concerts. I remember thinking, wow, musicians are not one kind of person! At all! I was fascinated by how different musicians carried themselves, how they were concerned about vastly different things, and the variety of their inspirations. I'm challenging myself right now to think of a similarity. It would be quite simple: I would say that every musician I've met in the kitchen has some inexhaustible seed of joy brought to life through sharing music. But that's not unique to people who play music. I notice that with Westben attendees and volunteers. Perhaps for some, it's not even always music that awakens those seeds. Maybe it's the air on a nice day. Maybe it's being and sharing a walk down the path with loved ones. Maybe it's watching the trees grow up. Maybe it's the air-conditioned washrooms?!? Credit that joke to Mr. Brian Finley.
I think being at Westben can help bring those small joys out of us—not by forcing them out, but by opening a space to nurture that inner desire for connection. Ok, big thoughts coming! What does music's enlivening tell us about humanity in general? What forms of resilience are waiting behind a few notes of a melody or a familiar greeting? With life's heartache, loss, pain… what seeds remain throughout it all for us to continually re-nurture in each other?
I'm thrilled to continue being part of Westben's journey over the next years. I'm so proud of our work in the Performer-Composer residency to support over 170 artists making music in diverse ways over the past seven years. I'm proud of our environmental sustainability work, even though we've just taken a few baby steps. Jump back to the bell ringing backstage for a instant. I relished the feeling that at any age I could participate in that celebratory scene. I appreciated contributing with my small tolls to a feeling of momentary collective uplift. Westben means a lot of things to different people, and so many people have helped keep the dream rolling. As Westben enters its 25th season, I feel grateful for how so many have nurtured this garden. Thank you. To many more resonant seasons!