My musical muse has been whispering to me since I was very little. I could play piano by ear but really wanted to make up my own songs. It wasn't until I stopped performing with local bands (as a flutist) and bought an acoustic guitar that I figured out how to begin setting some of my poems to music. Sometimes I find old poems in dusty books and set them to music, too. My Irish bouzouki, banjo and guitars (six string acoustic, resonator and acoustic tenor) keep my creative energies flowing and help me to hear that muse clearly.
The gentlemen below are my two times great grandfather, James Hasbrouck and his son, my great uncle Frederick Hasbrouck sitting outside somewhere in the Catskill Mountains -- where my mother's family has lived for many generations -- playing their fiddle and guitar. I found this picture online just a few years ago while researching my family tree. Another branch of the tree includes William Andrews, a great uncle that played guitar and mandolin (he called it his 'potato bug') in a band in the Utica NY area. I guess they all had musical muses, too.
