Two and a half years ago I flew to Guatemala for the first time with a friend. We arrived late to our Guatemala City hostel and decided to just stay in for the night and play fiddle tunes in the grassy courtyard. A fellow hosteller wandered out, listened for a while, and then introduced himself. His name was Doug, he and his wife were sailors, and they were spending the winter in Rio Dulce, a river town a few hours away where sailors went to hide out from the Caribbean’s dangerous hurricane season.

Doug invited us out to his boat and said that they’d have a barbecue for all the other sailors if we would come play some music. A few weeks later, we showed up (probably to his surprise, but he was a man of his word and a barbecue soon materialized). At the barbecue we met Roberta, a warm and hysterically funny Cajun woman who said (obscenities edited out): “You GOTTA meet Rob! He runs the marina up the river and he’s dying for live music there.”

And so it was that we met Rob and his wife Magda – now close friends with whom many more adventures have been had, including a music festival in Guatemala and Puerto Rican songs in a Connecticut kitchen, both blogged-about earlier.

Anyway, now Rob and Magda live on Martha’s Vineyard, where Rob helps manage the Farm Institute – a nonprofit organic farm and educational center – of which his brother Matt is the head farmer. A few months ago Rob invited me to go out and play for the very fancy benefit they were hosting on the farm in July, so I called some friends and out we went. Fortunately Dillon’s parents live on the Vineyard and graciously opened their house up to us, as well as sharing their beach passes (the down side of the Vineyard seems to be that everything there is restricted: cell phone use, beach access, electricity, affordable housing…)

After a couple of days of lying out and running on dirt roads with Dillon & other dear friends from Northampton, the night of the farm benefit arrived. It was graced with perfect weather – a warm Island evening, soft sunlight, a gentle breeze with a hint of salt in the air. And the farm looked spectacular, all dressed up for the occasion; there were floral arrangements with hay arranged at the base, all the food was made with local ingredients, the green fields were immaculately groomed, and freshly scrubbed kids from the summer camp led garden tours for the arriving guests. In the garden, Matt and Rob’s brother Jesse was serving the farm’s signature drink, the Haymaker. Cucumber and mint….mmmm. (Could this be the only farm with a signature drink?)

My only disappointment was that one of my favorite comedians, who was supposed to be there, wasn’t, at least not by the time I left. But all the same I enjoyed fiddling in the corner during cocktail hour and observing the Martha’s Vineyard fashion. Pretty different from NYC fashion. It seems the fascination was mutual – I got more than a few comments on my cowboy boots (the ones I bought in Guatemala with Magda, actually), including one woman who said “I love how you paired them with a cocktail dress!” I was quite excited, never having known what a cocktail dress was, much less that I was wearing one. It shed a whole new light on my outfit; the rest of the time I was playing, I kept thinking, “It’s cocktail hour, and I’m wearing a cocktail dress!”

The next night, Sarah Alden, Aimee Curl and I played a house concert at a friendly Vineyarder’s house. Actually, it was pretty amazing that this worked out. A friend of a friend mentioned that we were looking for a place to play to his friend Sarah, who promptly looked me up on Myspace, and offered to host the concert at her living room. Sarah rented a tent for the backyard, bought a keg, and ordered a couple pizzas, and generously opened her house to our music. Her father is a banjo player who was on the circuit with Bill Monroe and many other bluegrass greats – so we had a great time with banjo, bass and two fiddles, playing tunes in her A-frame house while a bunch of friends and friends of friends listened, sang along and waltzed way past midnight.

Sunday morning, Jen and I drove back from the Vineyard. I was on my way to a Golem dinner party (while our fearless leader is studying Yiddish in Tel Aviv, her husband kindly had us all over for dinner and wine. The band that parties together…) But what I’ve neglected to mention until this point is that I lost my wallet right before I left for the Vineyard. So Jen and I pulled into New York City with about 75 cents in cash. I had an hour before the dinner party, so I walked up to 95th and Broadway, opened my case, and played for an hour – and made enough money to get me home, do laundry, and buy breakfast and the coffee I’m drinking right now.

And that’s how playing the fiddle my first night in Guatemala City led to a weekend Martha’s Vineyard two and a half years later – and how playing the fiddle in Manhattan got me the subway fare back home to Brooklyn last night.