And then, the hills were quiet

That was after the applause, after the tears, after the bouquets of flowers and the many hugs, of the greetings in the theatre lobby, after hugs from loved ones in attendance, and praise from strangers, after the busy parking lot emptied.

The quiet came when the photos were done – fighting nuns together (then pious), then children and parents (including a newly inherited mother), and an entertaining, profiteering ‘uncle’, a savvy business woman, a few military personnel, hired hands, a telegram delivery boy, three mice, and their directors, captured by Ben’s lens.

The quiet found its way in, between the seats of the few seated there to witness the photos taken, holy witnesses to time and history gathering, placing, posing, still, smiling and eyes open, eyes closed and folks frozen in time, and then fluid and departing.

This was after the costumes were gathered and sorted, after the beautifully hand-painted backdrop was folded and carefully slid into the draw-string bag it arrived in, folded one last time into its box.

It was after the distribution of candy to the kids by one of the stage Mums, after the last half-andhalf winner was announced for the Frontier Animal Society, after hardhats were gathered to return to the Town of Brome Lake, after props were sorted back to their rightful owners or the bins for storage – a giant inflatable turkey leg, a tray of champagne glasses, headbands and a giant gold engagement ring, leafy vines, a tea-cart and teacups, a hand mirror, a laurel wreath.

The quiet came when the nuns’ habits were neatly folded into the box they came in, destined for return shipping to the company from which they were rented, when eight outfits and their matching curtains were accounted for, when military uniforms and the black-and-white garb of ‘the help’ found their way back to hangers. After the laundry was sorted and taken to be cleaned and returned to the storage locker.

This was after the risers were slid into the box of Capt. Von Trapp’s pickup and returned along the winding road up Mont Echo road, to storage in a quiet stable, after café tables and chairs, high, round, two-tops and their stools were re-arranged in the lobby, after headsets were accounted for and replaced into hard plastic briefcases, after shoes were boxed, many sizes of the same style, mostly small.

This was after a young cast member with his personal checklist made the rounds inviting cast mates to a party in the coming weeks, new to the Knowlton Players this year, yet memorable in his roles as Linus at Christmas and now Kurt, a bright future on the stage in future productions ahead.

The quiet followed Dads holding bouquets and bags, waiting in the wings and after Mums wished a Happy Mother’s Day.

The quiet returned after busy work and worn souls, after occasional wonderings of future productions that no one was quite ready to contemplate, but with flutterings of possible pantomimes at Christmas, a reprieve of direction from this crew to those ready to take up the torch again and lead until they too are tired and ready for a break, those on the bench stepping up, their breather through, and on it goes.

Time, a wheel, sound, life, creativity, energy, fatigue, worry, mistakes, forgotten things, remembered things, reminders, score-keepers, back-stage handlers, new, appreciated room to move and slip down to dressing rooms as the theatre grows again with important (and necessary) space for characters and crew to navigate.

Silence – something that sweeps in and lets the theatre rest, the theatre that did its duty and came alive again, and took on a new world again, a new time again, that brought pre-world War II Austria to life, to us, teaching us the music notes and uniting a lonely goatherd with love, greeting us with edelweiss, and allowing one family to escape a reality they did not wish to participate in following a stage within a stage, safely in an abbey and then a long walk through lush hills to a journey that would bring them to North America.

Yet, in that silence, in the theatre breathing again, fresh again, tabula rasa, the hills are still alive, and for weeks to come replayed in the minds of those who went there, for months now, rehearsing together and practicing at home, dance moves and steps, delivery of lines – those months are still delible, for weeks there will be deer and yodeling, mountains, love surviving wealth, chants and even stage light changes running through minds, eventually to wind up in hearts, and when energy resumes, cherished forever.

The theatre is quiet. But hearts are alive.

Thanks to the direction, cast, crew and audiences of the May 2023 production of The Sound of Music. Knowlton Players is a village unto itself, one where teasing is the MO, where fatigue definitely becomes a reality, but where hearts are filled with memories, where community lives.