For someone who describes herself as quiet—shy, even—Anne Pudwill has shaped a life that resonates far beyond her speaking voice. She teaches general music to every K–5 student in Byron, guiding hundreds of children each year toward something bigger than notes and rhythms. She calls it joy. She calls it connection. And for many of her students, Anne is the first person to show them that music is not just a subject, but a lens for being human.

Anne grew up in Pecatonica in a deeply musical family. Her father played guitar, her mother played piano, and evenings often meant gathering around to sing John Denver or Christmas tunes. "I'd rush through my homework just to get to sing with my mom and dad," she says. Singing in church and building harmony across generations was simply what her family did—and that thread shaped everything that came next.

But the person who lit the spark for her teaching career was her elementary music teacher, Joy Wirth. Anne still remembers the solo Joy gave her in fifth grade. "I tried out for a solo, and Joy was surprised by how well I could sing," Anne says. That moment—the quiet girl filling a room—cracked open something she hadn't known was inside her. Now, years later, Anne finds herself standing in Joy's shoes, and she even met Joy's great-niece at a Byron kindergarten program last year. "It was such a full-circle moment," she says. Joy played the organ at Anne's wedding.

Before coming to Byron, Anne taught for 17 years in Savanna, Illinois, including directing the middle school choir. But the 60-plus-minute commute from Pecatonica wore thin. When the Byron job opened during COVID, she stepped in—with optimism and a teaching cart.

Her first year here was spent rolling that cart from classroom to classroom, teaching music without the ability to sing. "I bought a bunch of chopsticks, and they drummed on their desks," she laughs. Reinventing everything she knew wasn't easy, but she did what musicians always do: adapt, improvise, and keep the beat moving forward.

Now her classroom is settled and filled with instruments she once only dreamed of having. "I've always wanted to do a lot more. I love the barred instruments... I never had enough for a whole class," she says. "Now I do." Fifth graders take on "Carol of the Bells" on xylophones. Fourth and fifth graders perform "Crazy Train" and Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" at concerts.

The support she feels in Byron is unlike anything she has known. Administrators Stewart and Hogan show up for every concert, helping with lights, lines, and logistics. Her special team—the PE and art teachers—feels like family. When a music position opened in her hometown last summer, she considered it for a moment. But she already knew her answer. Byron, just 20 minutes away, was home now.

Anne is the first to admit she carries a streak of perfectionism. "I'm a firstborn girl," she says with a knowing smile. But music has taught her how to release that grip. When rehearsals feel messy, she reminds her students and herself: "It's not hard... it's just new."  Sometimes a performance doesn’t always go as hoped in Anne’s eyes; however, it's always great for the audience.  As principal Hogan once said after a concert, “I know this was not how Anne wanted it to go, but it was an awesome performance.”

She knows music holds power that words alone cannot. She sees it when a child hears a concert song on the radio and rushes to tell her. "Oh, I heard our Christmas concert song on the radio," they say, excited to share that connection. She sees it when students who may never pick up an instrument again still leave with a sense of belonging in something larger than themselves. And she sees it when students return as adults to say thank you—proof that even the quietest teachers make echoes that last a lifetime.

Anne still sings on the worship team at her church. She still finds her alter ego on stage—the place where shy Anne can inhabit someone else, like June Carter Cash in that community theater production years ago. "I've always been kind of quiet and shy," she says, "but singing and being on stage, I would rather do that than be in a group and have to speak."

Anne Pudwill may not raise her voice often. She may still feel shy in a crowd. But in Byron's elementary schools, she is teaching hundreds of young people how to find theirs—and in doing so, she is composing a legacy that will play on for decades.