I grew up in a little country church far from any paved road. Sunday morning service always began with one of the musically talented ladies of the congregation tickling the ivory keys of the old piano in the corner to the tune of Old Rugged Cross, or some other old hymn. The music would flow out the open doors of the church and into the dirt parking lot welcoming all those in attendance. If that piano could tell stories, I wonder just what it would say. It might tell of the first sermon ever preached in the building, a building built at the intersection of two dirt roads far away from any town or highway. The old piano might tell stories about weddings held that start new families or share memories of loved ones that had gone home to Glory when their race was through. One thing is for certain, through good times and bad, that old piano in the corner has been there for it all.

                  There is something very elegant and simple about an old piano. The sound of the music reflects the person that is playing it, everyone to their own unique style. Sometimes the piano would almost seem to cry with the congregation as we mourned the loss of a loved one. Other times it felt like the keys were dancing in the aisles with songs of praise. The old piano in the corner always brought life to the walls of the little church on the corner.

                  I am not musically inclined in the least. I play a mean radio and that is the extent of my musical talents. I do however enjoy music made by those who are far more talented than I. That could be part of the reason I was so drawn to my wife. She plays piano and I have witnessed her singing talents firsthand. From the national anthem at a rodeo, to a simple lullaby to soothe a crying baby, her musical talents are far richer than my own. Some of my favorite nights, however, are when we can turn off the television and just listen to the music coming from the piano in the corner while my wife quietly puts on a concert in our home.

                  The piano in our home, like the one in the little country church, could tell all kinds of stories. It could tell of my wife and I’s first home together in a small house in northern Nebraska, where aside from that keyboard, there were few furnishings and mostly hand me down furniture. The little house was warm, however, filled with sounds of music coming from a piano playing softly beneath the dining room window. Times have changed a little since then, our home, along with our family, has grown, but it’s still warm and there’s still welcoming music coming from the keys of that piano from time to time.

                  I am very thankful to whoever invented the piano so many years ago. I wonder what they would think if they could hear Jerry Lee banging out Great Balls of Fire or hear one of the great composers symphony’s playing. Music has changed a lot over the course of time, but the old piano in the corner hasn’t. That’s about it for this time, keep tabs on your side of the barbed wire and take time to appreciate the music from an old piano once in a while. God bless!

Meinzer is a fourth-generation rancher raised on the southeastern plains of Colorado. He and his family live and ranch in Oshkosh, Neb.