We’ve had this mandolin for years. It’s got a crack in the body right where the bridge sits. Dad never wanted to get rid of it, like many things around the house. “It’s still good,” he’d say, “just needs some love.”
I’m no luthier but I do love the sound of a mando. Tried to fixed it a few times. I put a dowel in the body, the exact size to hold the weight of the bridge. Didn’t work, surprise.
Rather than “throw good money after bad,” I decided it might make a sweet decoration – at least it’d get appreciated – and hung it next to the front door of the house. Dad couldn’t handle an instrument being treated that way so he took it down and ferreted it away with all the other instruments we have hanging around the house in various states of disrepair.
Well, yesterday I fixed it…to the wall of the “Shack”… to watch the weather take it back from whence it came. Part an ode to all the music we used to play in that shack, part a way to deal with some of the piles of stuff we were left in the house, part a rebel yell.
I can just hear him say, “that’s a good mando!”