Mandolin player Robert Hudnall has his "own tree" at the Vandalia Gathering, across the steps from the Cultural Center, buttressing the state Capitol. He even has a song for the tree - "The Vandalia Song."

Hudnall, who turns 78 today, has gathered with family and friends under this same tree for 25 years. Friends and family call him the "Old Man," but the sound pouring from his mandolin would make listeners think otherwise. His music has zest, spunk, verve.

A crowd mushroomed until Hudnall, positioned dead center, was no longer visible. Many in the packed crowd cried because he still had the mettle in him to play.

That's because earlier that morning, he was in a Marmet nursing home, recovering from a stroke he had two months earlier.

He was reluctant to come to Vandalia this year, said his daughter-in-law, Cindy Hudnall. But they persuaded him to go.

"We will never let him give up," she said.

Hudnall wore three pins on his white cowboy hat: a God Bless America pin, a Vandalia pin and a gold-edged mandolin.

"It's hard to find mandolin pins," Hudnall said with a laugh.

Hudnall learned to play the mandolin standing up. Once, at a 1978 fair in Washington, D.C, Hudnall played on his feet for nine days, taking only small breaks.

Now, he has to learn how to play sitting.

"These little instruments will whip you harder than a big man," Hudnall said. "You have to keep standing, keep practicing."

Hudnall is from Holly Grove on Paint Creek. As a child, he practiced in cornfields near his home, "anywhere they couldn't find me," he said with a grin and nod.

Mandolin player Robert Hudnall has his "own tree" at the Vandalia Gathering, across the steps from the Cultural Center, buttressing the state Capitol. He even has a song for the tree - "The Vandalia Song."

Hudnall, who turns 78 today, has gathered with family and friends under this same tree for 25 years. Friends and family call him the "Old Man," but the sound pouring from his mandolin would make listeners think otherwise. His music has zest, spunk, verve.

A crowd mushroomed until Hudnall, positioned dead center, was no longer visible. Many in the packed crowd cried because he still had the mettle in him to play.

That's because earlier that morning, he was in a Marmet nursing home, recovering from a stroke he had two months earlier.

He was reluctant to come to Vandalia this year, said his daughter-in-law, Cindy Hudnall. But they persuaded him to go.

"We will never let him give up," she said.

Hudnall wore three pins on his white cowboy hat: a God Bless America pin, a Vandalia pin and a gold-edged mandolin.

"It's hard to find mandolin pins," Hudnall said with a laugh.

Hudnall learned to play the mandolin standing up. Once, at a 1978 fair in Washington, D.C, Hudnall played on his feet for nine days, taking only small breaks.

Now, he has to learn how to play sitting.

"These little instruments will whip you harder than a big man," Hudnall said. "You have to keep standing, keep practicing."

Hudnall is from Holly Grove on Paint Creek. As a child, he practiced in cornfields near his home, "anywhere they couldn't find me," he said with a grin and nod.

Music has been the cornerstone in Hudnall's life. It ties him to his son, Robert Jr., who plays the guitar, and his great-grandchild, who played "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" on the fiddle at Vandalia two years before.

Music also has turned strangers into friends. One such companion, Wanda Collins, was at Hudnall's side when his wife passed away.

"I feel like it was a blessing from God that we met," Collins said as tears formed in her eyes. "It was only because of the music." 

Vandalia also has created a surrogate family for Hudnall, centered on the towering tree and the shade it casts. 

"If you learn to sing and play, you see a beautiful light around the people," Hudnall said.

Across from Hudnall's tree, a tent caught the sun. Inside, children handled and played instruments on display by Allegheny Echoes, a nonprofit organization based in Marlinton.

In the summer, the group offers music workshops to the public. On the back of the group's brochure is the quote, "These mountains echo with the tunes the old ones play."

But at Vandalia, they also echoed with the fiddle tunes of 9-year-old Michaela Farmer of Poca.

In school, Farmer plays the oboe, but she said she taught herself how to play the violin. She also can pick tunes on the guitar and banjo.

After playing a piece, Farmer cocked her head to listen.

Nearby, a woman rolled a fiddle-filled wagon through the crowd. Behind her a passerby remarked, "It's peculiar, the higher the gas prices rise, the more people come to Vandalia. It must be for the music."

To contact staff writer Paula Kaufman, use e-mail or call 348-5100.