![cant play club marian cant play club marian](https://fasrarmy265.weebly.com/uploads/1/2/5/8/125808007/426461396.jpeg)
Socialized isolation that pays dividends, I guess… you could call it. When you make your own entertainment, if you have music around the house… You might wind up playing your instrument longer, you might wind up actually practicing, you might wind up experimenting with it. You wouldn’t even bicycle into town, it’s so far. We were 5 miles away from the nearest town. She stated: “It makes you a practical person, an unfussy person. While I tend to invest a lot in the psychology of the farm lifestyle, Susan sees things in more practical terms. That’s all I wanted him to do.” Her brother played in the folk mass and then, Susan followed suit. I said, ‘How do you do that?’ He showed me three chords, and that was it. As she recalls, “My older brother learned guitar from Sister Marie Claire of the Franciscan nuns of Saint Mary’s Chapel School in Manchester, Iowa. We present here… Susan Werner.Īs with most prodigies, Susan’s musical life began early. The girl blossoms as a musician whose talent usually dwarfs those around her and leaves audiences enthralled. Case in point: A musically gifted girl raised on an isolated hog farm in Manchester, Iowa, surrounded by a loving, supportive family. There may be a stronger sense of purpose, a drive to overcome any obstacle, an unshakeable emotional center. The effect on those who live with that contract can be profound. In all that quiet beauty, I could not help pondering the delicate, sometimes brutal, sometimes violent contract made between the farmer and nature. Under the cerulean blue of the sky, with clouds like cotton pulled apart, floating in tufts, there were no people in evidence. Aside from varying road traffic, there was a solitude, an isolation in the landscape. I was passing through farmland, marvelling at the quiet beauty of corn rows, of the silos that peeked out from beyond them, and the stately, weathered white of the homes and barns. On either side, the stately procession of Queen Anne’s lace swayed as I rushed past. I was driving home from the 2010 Falcon Ridge Folk Festival, the two-lane blacktop of Route 22 South stretching out in front of me.