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A magical time has commenced for some of us, completely unknown to so many others. It’s a secret thing, quietly handled, fueled by the first wee glow of certain anticipation. What is this mystery of shadows and secrets, you ask? Why, it’s the return of rehearsals for the Garrett Choral Society, of course, launched Sunday afternoon. Lots of people arrived in their shorts and tennies, reuniting with others of like minds, ready to jump into another season of song. One of life’s most satisfying journeys has to be making music with other people. I feel so fortunate to be a member of that crowd, because there is hardly anything like it. And the combination of summer’s end with the first read-through of Christmas music has its very own appeal.

I know, I know — Christmas already? No way! I am of that mind, too, about everything else. I hate the arrival of Christmas displays in October, or when stores start playing holiday music the day after Halloween. I loathe that the Christmas rev-up is so long, making people so sick of it all that they pitch out their Christmas trees on Dec. 26. Ugh. The commercialization of the season has been vile for decades — just ask Charlie Brown — in 1964. The rotten love of money has created so many monsters, and the hard-core cheapening of Christmas is certainly one of them. But. The music is different. It’s especially different when it is made early by musicians who are in earnest to learn it well. The non-music folks don’t know what it takes. They might know that we rehearse for a long time, but mostly they know they can go to a December concert and hear pleasing sounds that help fuel their own Christmas spirit. They aren’t thinking of that right now. But those of us who are preparing to present that music must think of it now. We must begin now if we want to learn the notes, the words, the dynamics, the timing, the tempo, and more. The learning process of choral singing can be arduous. And I adore it.

The first rehearsal is always fun. We get to see each other, for one thing. We are singing friends, but may not mingle with one another in other circles. So we are happy to meet again. We are music savvy, so we grab up our packet of songs for the season and look through them. We say “oooh” and “ahhh.” (Sometimes we say “gross,” but we try to keep those comments to a minimum.) There is loud chatter as we all meander toward our seats. We are all there to dive in, to learn, and to combine our voices to make a layered and interesting sound. After a flurry of welcome-backs and rapid-fire announcements about this newest season, we finally get to crack open that first piece and give it a go. At long last.

The first run of a piece is a brain exercise. The singer must read both the words and the notes, stay in time, keep an eye on the director, but not so much that she gets lost on the page. I am always just glued to the alto line, trying to hang on like I’m gripping the sides of a roller coaster. Finding the notes can be tricky, especially right at first. I have sight-read music for much of my life, and enjoy the challenge most of the time. There are people who have what is called “perfect pitch,” which is an innate ability to know how a specific note sounds, or to know what sound is what specific note. I do not have that trait. My friends and co-singers Trevor and Evan do, but it is pretty rare. Over the years, though, I have learned where certain notes fall in my throat. Given a little time, I can probably accurately sing F or G above middle C. I know how to sing intervals most of the time, although fourths give me trouble. When I am looking at the measure, I see where the notes are going, and I stay a little ahead in my brain while my vocal chords follow up just behind, singing that note I just read. It’s a roller coaster, I tell ya.

While I’m doing all that figuring, everyone else is doing it, too, and the blend is sometimes so satisfying, even that first time through. I have often likened it to working out a crossword puzzle. The notes are the clues, and the void ahead of us is that blank puzzle. We all have our clues — all those little black notes — and as we altos make our voices sound those clues, the tenors and basses and sopranos sing out their clues, too. And just like filling in the blank squares in a crossword, we see how the whole thing comes together, all four parts, plus the piano. And it is fun. Sometimes the wheels fly off, though. We lose the thread and fall away. Some singers keep pushing on, able to cling to the coaster for a little longer. Then we just dissolve in groans and usually laughter. Our directors, Sean and Debi Beachy, are easy-going and fun. Debi is the vocal expert, and Sean is an amazing pianist. But both are quite capable in each other’s spot, too, with Sean sometimes directing while Debi accompanies quite capably on piano. They are a talented pair, and rehearsals are more fun because they seem to enjoy the whole experience. They tease each other and exchange quips. But they also both know so much music theory, structure, and terminology, which makes it easy for them to communicate with one another about what is needed musically. And then they are able to relay the information to all of us singers.

Most of those folks who come listen to the concert in December don’t know that we start working in September. They don’t know that the Beachys take us through the pieces, marking where they want us to take breaths and where they don’t. Breathing in music is a big deal. People who don’t sing may never really consider that, except for maybe the rare and awkward moment of hearing a soloist run out of air. We must always come to rehearsal with a pencil to make breath marks exactly where we are to breathe, and to make other notes in our music. We study where to put a final S on a word so that there is no hissing sound made by people adding the S whenever they choose. We study how to enunciate words like “Bethlehem” and “Hosannah,” and we learn how to pronounce Latin words properly and uniformly. This is why we start in September. It’s a process, and it can’t be rushed if the final product is to be presented with confidence and precision.

The final product — the concerts — are honestly never quite as fun to me as the rehearsals. I love the process of learning and creating. I love perfecting the sound and remembering what chords are correct. I cherish the time with my friends, and with people who share the same affinity for making music together. We ponder difficult passages and come up with solutions in timing to help us get it right. The honing process is satisfying. We make progress every week, quietly working away on music that seems out of time with the just-changing leaves and the singers still wearing flipflops and shorts. The world is not Christmasy yet, thank heavens, but there is some comfort in already conjuring up the images. The snow, the Madonna, the baby…the pine and holly… all the tradition and trimmings. We sing sacred songs of the Christmas story and secular songs of winter’s return.

The singers in this group are of all walks of religion, from the very devout to the not so much. But we all cherish the power of music, and the sensations it can stir in those who listen. For some, and I put myself more in this category, the music itself is nearly a religion. It’s a practice, a comfort, a ritual, a devotion. I have been inspired to make music all my life, and it never fails to soothe my pain and bring me peace. As I sit there in the row of altos, I can hear the bass singers just behind me, singing the lowest notes of the staff. I love sitting in front of them because their sound is so rich, and, more importantly, reminiscent of my dad’s voice. Dad was a wonderful bass singer. He didn’t really read bass clef music expertly, but he learned the notes quickly anyway — somehow — and his throaty, deep voice added so much. I remember when he died that what I longed for the most was just to hear his voice again. I still wish I could. But singing just in front of those guys and hearing those resonating, lowest notes makes me think of him, and it’s a comfort.

My mom sang, too, and still does when her 90-year-old voice doesn’t cheat her out of it. In fact, Mom and Dad met one another for the first time as members of the Potomac State Singers. Dad was just out of the Navy, having served in WWII, and Mom was seeking her associate degree in what I think today would be as a medical transcriptionist. Mom was an alto then, and her alto friend (who can be such fun, by the way) made a remark one day about a certain bass. “That Bob Sincell has the nicest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.” So Mom took a look, and had to agree. Some time later, she was walking to her Aunt Sallie’s house, where she stayed during school, and Dad drove up next to her in the family newspaper’s station wagon. He asked if she needed a ride. She declined, politely. He tried again a little later, asking her out to dinner and dancing. She accepted. And that was the start. It all began in a choir rehearsal. Maybe that’s why I like it so much.

So to all those who now have Christmas music in their folders long before the world is thinking much of it, I say happy new season. We will continue on with our secret and quiet practice, with dedicated lovers of music exploring the new notescapes and working hard to interpret them as the composers intended, and as our audiences will appreciate. As the leaves turn orange and pumpkin spice takes over, we will sing of falling snow and jingling bells, of decking halls and merry gentlemen. We will conjure images of kings and shepherds, and, most poignantly, of mother and son, which always resonates with me so keenly. Often the words convey the joy of a mother as she beholds her infant boy, and I think of my own sons, my joy, my heart. I do admit, too, that I sometimes love that her name was Mary.

Hats off to all those musicians already dashing through the snow, crammed in one-horse open sleighs. Thank you for your dedication and willingness to dive into the drifts before the leaves even fall. I’m with you! Let’s dash!