By the time we walked down to Farrell Field, dusk had fallen and the stadium lights were on. Judging by the oom-pah sounds all around, competition
was well under way, too. We skirted a couple of utility trailers bursting with kettle drums, passed several groups of excited teenagers clutching bassoons, and
made our way around to the stands.
The bleachers were filled with parents, teens, and odd loners in nylon jackets (viz. the fellow in the nylon jacket with the flag patch on his arm.)
Everyone was talking, laughing, catching up with friends, having a nice late-summer evening. A voice came over the loudspeakers:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Emmaus High School Marching Band will now take the field!"
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