Unity and Harmony, an Evening with Peter Yarrow

Divisions have become a visible part of our nation and communities. We don’t have to look far to see them—the haves and the have-nots, the urban and rural dwellers, the politically left and right. And while division and dissent in our country’s history go back at least as early as Jefferson and Hamilton’s ideologies, social science clearly shows that we are experiencing a distinctly different element of social bifurcation today.
Called “the Big Sort,” which took root after WWII, communities were losing their melting pot characteristics as more and more people began moving to areas where they can be surrounded by people who think and live like they do. People sort online as well, networking with others over shared lifestyle or values. We spend more time and effort hearing what we already agree with, rather than engage in a process of truly hearing differing opinions and finding a common ground.
As people collect in their camps, these camps begin drifting towards greater extremes. Through the continuing process of the Big Sort, the social middle or even conversations between the divides have shriveled drastically. But this massive social process has not been without its critical voices, calling out for us to take heart in our shared humanity, rather than our differences.
When I learned that Peter Yarrow (of Peter, Paul, and Mary, who turns 80 next month) was coming to the Park Center, I knew I had to get tickets. While most of my friends growing up were listening to Brittany Spears and the Backstreet Boys, in our house was Pete Seeger, Peter, Paul, and Mary, and Simon and Garfunkle. The messages of unity, harmony, and respect for one another were clear. Our actions have consequences, so consider them carefully.
Dedicating a lifetime to the full immersion of bringing these messages forward through song, story, and gatherings fits distinctively within another topic we’ve been studying—social entrepreneurship. While all entrepreneurs create their own businesses, social entrepreneurs are interested in creating enterprises aimed at making social impact. An issue has lain on their heart, and they are keen to create a solution—willing to bridge the political or ideology camps despite a chorus of doubters and critics.
The night of the concert, Kara and I closed up Farmstead (an initiative that has also faced its choruses of doubters and critics), hurried through chores, dodged the muddy spots on the gravel lane, and headed into town. The theater was already packed, and I overheard someone saying they were on a waiting list. Getting those tickets ahead of time had been good planning. But the tickets weren’t for particular seats, so as we filed into the darkened room, we glanced left and right for two open chairs together…with no luck until we came to the very front row, right up to the stage.
Right away, Peter was encouraging everyone to sing along with him, to sing together that night, and to really notice what was in that feeling of singing together in that place. He was encouraging—even pleading—for all people to create and rekindle friendships, despite opinions and divisions. He and his son sang:
Music speaks louder than words
It’s the only thing the whole world listens to
Music speaks louder than words
When you sing, people understand.
Ron Hobart’s introduction to the performance that evening, citing the “defiant hopefulness” of the Peter, Paul, and Mary spirit rang throughout the evening. It was infectious, as people joined in on the songs—sometimes prompted, sometimes not. Kara and I joined in as well, lending harmonies. People clapped in time, swayed, laughed. After a long and lonely winter, it felt like most everyone in the theater was ready for a moment of collective consciousness, of togetherness in a spirit of friendship.
And then, in the midst of “Take My Hand My Son,” Peter looked straight down at the two of us, stopped the song, and asked Kara and I to stand up and face the audience with our harmonies. He didn’t know us from Adam (this was our fist time getting to see Mr. Yarrow in person), but he must have heard our voices rising up in that shared defiant joy. It’s interesting that another attribute of social entrepreneurs is that they are good listeners (in this case, even catching the un-miced sound at age 79).
He even stopped the song again and made certain someone filmed the event. Of course, I didn’t get to film it because I was singing, so if you did (or snagged pictures), I’d love to see it!
Throughout the evening, I just couldn’t stop thinking “This is so incredible. This is a once-in-a-lifetime moment.” The real sparkle in his eye, the mingling voices in the audience, these songs we knew by heart that were written because a message needed to be shared—needed to be heard—rather than just to make the next dollar-generating hit tune.
At intermission, after singing the iconic “Puff, the Magic Dragon” with the stage full of singers, he asked us aside to learn more about who we were before heading off to the lobby to sign albums and books and take musical requests for the second act.
“We’re farmers,” we offered. “And folk musicians too.”
He looked right at me, “Do you write your own songs?”
“Yes, some of them,” I replied, surprised that he would have such personable interest.
“Good!” he cheered, patted my shoulder, and off he went down the steps and up the aisle, steading his gate with a tremored hand. Despite his struggles with aging, it was unmistakable that his heart was still fully vested in his work and mission.
Intermission came and when, and I had a chance to greet many a warm and familiar face of audience and volunteers. With the Park Center entering its second decade, a new element to the mission is to bring in iconic performers once a quarter—Peter kicking off the initiative. And the community had rallied around the event, filling the house and staying through the entire engaging and long performance. The music of Peter, Paul, and Mary is a part of our country’s heritage and story—part of each of us in the audience that night.
But I thought I might very well pop when Peter asked Kara and I up on stage with him to sing “Stewball.” We stood right between him and Christopher (who was playing washtub bass). The only words I can think to describe the experience are pure magic.
When the night was over and everyone was cleaning up, Peter was curious to ask us more about our story, about our farm and upbringing. “Tell me about your schooling,” he added. “Were you two homeschooled?” He wanted to know about the aquaponics, about our outreach work at Farmstead Creamery, and our family. “I’m so proud of you” he offered at the end of the conversation. “The two of you are just glowing, and I know it’s from all the good food you eat. Keep it up. Don’t ever lose this.”
We shared big hugs, and then it was time to head home to the farm. If you were there, thank you for your part in the evening’s magic. If you were not (there are only so many seats at the Park Center), I hope that you can taste a bit of the spirit that was shared, and the continued defiant hope for unity, harmony, and compassion. May we carry that spirit shared by Peter Yarrow that evening as we head into mud season and springtime—finding our friendships and commonalities despite all that divides us. See you down on the farm sometime.