The drummer had wrinkled and weathered skin, a crooked nose, fluffy-white beard, and long hair in dreads tied with string and leather strips.

A worn, chocolate-brown, leather hat shaded his eyes from the sun. Uniquely his, it was adorned with a hatband of long beads, a feather, and a bit of fur.

He wore a gray t-shirt layered under a Native American, quill breastplate. Leaning against the wall behind him was a gnarled walking staff wrapped with feathers, beads, bells, and strips of leather and string.

A drum rested in his lap. If you looked closely, it seemed to have been made from an old tree stump.

Pieces of fur were tied to it near the drum skin. It was encaged in twisted rope with a handle so he could carry it easily.

He sat in the shade against the weathered wall of one of the old buildings of the little 1800s town, playing his drum. As he laughed, a joyful, toothy smile revealed he was missing some teeth. At times he just watched people and things going on around him with quiet, wise eyes.

In most places, the drummer’s appearance would not have fit in. But not here, not on this day.

We were in South Park City on the weekend of Living History Days.

Every year the “Old West” of the 1800s comes alive for a few days in this little Colorado town.  It’s a town of restored, old western buildings, some of them relocated from other parts of the state. Each building is filled with furniture and the contents it would’ve originally had in it in the 1800s.

Re-enactors fill the town dressed in the clothes of that time period. They have accessories and tools that would’ve been used for whatever part they are playing. Except for his modern-day, gray t-shirt and sandals, the drummer blended in very well.

No one seemed to know the drum player or where he came from.

Most of the re-enactors were familiar with each other because they had participated in one or more of these events together. But the drummer was a bit of a mystery.

He was intriguing. I knew I had to take his picture. But I kept my distance because he was having a really good time. I photographed him in his moment as he played his drum and laughed.

Who was he? Was he a re-enactor or did he dress like this all the time? What was his story? Did he live and work nearby or was he a traveler, making his way across the country?

Had he made his drum? Why did he have a bell on his walking staff? Where was his joy coming from?

I should’ve asked him his name.

I didn’t ask him where he came from or what his story was.

Why had he come there that day? Did he make his breastplate? Had he made the leather bag that hung on his shoulder?

I should’ve asked…

Looking at the images now, I still wonder about the mysterious drummer man.

I don’t have any answers to my questions because I simply didn’t ask.

I’m an introvert. I often feel uncomfortable and self-conscious in those kinds of situations. I have to will myself to overcome my feelings. He seemed very comfortable in his own skin, I need to become more comfortable in mine.

I’m getting better at it. I make an effort to relax and be more at ease talking to people. But what did I miss out on that day?

He was so interesting. I imagine he’d seen a lot and knew things. When he played his drum he was really joyful.

What would you do?

Would you take the time to talk to him? Maybe you’d be more courageous than I was. I hope we’d both decide to take the time and make the effort.

Who knows? Maybe in showing a little bit of interest or kindness, we would walk away having learned something. We’d be a little more blessed, just because we took the time to ask.

What if he was an angel and I missed out?

“Don’t forget to be kind to strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels without realizing it!”
                             Hebrews 13:2 (The Living Bible)