It begins simply enough: a room full of fifth-graders, wide-eyed and curious, holding instruments that still smell of brass and varnish. No one knows exactly what to expect—but that’s part of the magic.

“This is my favorite part—beginner band,” says Becky Lewis, who teaches fifth-grade band alongside Allison Grace at Herrin Elementary. “I love that light-bulb moment: ‘Hey, I can be good at this.’”

The sounds of progress aren’t always pretty. They squeak, clatter, and sometimes honk. But to Lewis and Grace, that imperfect noise is the sound of something beautiful—sixty-two students discovering the language of music for the very first time.

Clarinets, flutes, trombones, and saxophones rest in shiny new cases, each waiting for the day’s first note. “It’s like Christmas when they open them,” Grace says. “Their eyes light up, and they can’t wait to make that first sound—even if it isn’t perfect yet.”

Among this year’s beginners is Harper Storm, whose name fits the clarinet she plays—bold, bright, and confident. She’s the third generation in her family to pick up the instrument. “My mom played it, and my grandma played it,” she says. “I wanted to carry on the tradition.”

Nearby, Abigail ‘Abby’ Jolliff smiles behind her flute. “My brother is in band,” she says, “and I wanted to try it, too. My old school didn’t have a band, so when I got the chance, I jumped in.” Her friend Crosby Jones plays his brother’s old saxophone, laughing that “there’s already a story about leaving it in the rain.” Henry Melvin chose the trombone because his sister plays the oboe. “I just thought band sounded interesting,” he says. “Now I love it.”

Each had a different reason for joining, but the common thread was curiosity and pride. That simple word—love—comes up again and again. It’s what drives Lewis, who grew up in Du Quoin in a family of bluegrass musicians. “I couldn’t play the instruments they did, but I always loved music,” she says. “In band, I found who I was. You’re part of something bigger, and you know your part matters.”

Grace nods. “Beginning band isn’t always the best sound, but to us it’s the best music,” she says. “They’re proud of every note. They’re learning, they’re trying—and it’s beautiful.”

That joy carries forward into the year’s two major performances: a holiday concert in December and a spring concert in May. The first features Hot Cross Buns, Jingle Bells, and Mary Had a Little Lamb. By spring, the pieces grow richer, the harmonies tighter. “It’s amazing how much growth you see between those two concerts,” Grace says. “They start out just trying to make a sound, and by May, they’re musicians.”

Lewis, who has taught everyone from beginners to high-school seniors, calls the early stage her favorite. “I’ve seen what this becomes,” she says. “These are the roots. Without this beginning, there’s no band.”

Her philosophy reaches beyond music. “There’s no bench in band,” she tells her students. “Everyone plays, everyone belongs.” She reminds them that band teaches lessons they’ll use for life—teamwork, listening, accountability, time management—and that the reward is in building something together. “They don’t even realize it,” she says. “They’re soaking in an amazing opportunity.”

Those lessons are already taking hold. Many students also run cross-country, play baseball, or shoot archery. But when they come together in band, competition gives way to collaboration. “We all make something together,” says Harper. “And when it sounds good, you feel proud.”

Lewis often tells her classes about the 95-year-old clarinetist she once played beside in community band. “He’d had that clarinet since college,” she recalls. “There were kids in the room eighty years younger, and we were all playing the same song. That’s what music does—it connects people who might never even speak the same language.”

Grace smiles. “It’s the same here. You see fifth-graders learning notes today, and ten years from now, they’re the ones leading the marching band. It all starts here—with this sound.”

Every band story, it seems, begins the same way—with a note that wobbles, then finds its place, but to anyone listening in Herrin’s band room, those first hesitant tones aren’t mistakes. They’re the beginning of belonging—the sound of something starting.