Sometimes I stayed at the school, in Peliatan, near Ubud. The recording engineer, Dave Stewart, specializes in recording birds and frogs. I seized the opportunity to fulfill a career long fantasy. Dave set up a field microphone at a lily pond and I improvised at dusk with frogs croaking, and at 5:30 AM with a chirping bird. One night, after a brief rainstorm, Dave came running up to me saying " now's your chance to hear an incredible frog chorus". I was busy making oboe reeds and didn't want to go, but he persisted and finally, not realizing where he was taking me, I simply got up and followed him, oboe and reed in hand. It was pitch black out, and our only light was on Dave's head in the form of one of those headgear flashlights. Imagine my surprise when he started jumping from rice paddy to rice paddy encouraging me to follow. For those of you who have never taken your oboes into the rice fields, let me explain that they are pools of water with rice plants shooting up from below. Around each paddy there is an uneven grassy area about three inches wide, just about wide enough to almost fit one foot at a time. And so it was on these narrow, bumpy, invisible in the night pathways that I scurried, off balance, my oboe in my right hand, my reed in my mouth, and my left arm flailing up and down, serving as the (dear God, please if I fall in let me keep the oboe above the water) balancing element. And then we arrived. There I was, surrounded by the unmoving, hidden frogs, on a moist but solid surface. The frog chorus was extraordinary. I cannot say how many frogs were there. Lots. These were clearly all the same species of frog. The rhythms and melodies were consistent, though individual and complex. In an instant I understood Doug Myer's theory that Balinese classical music could have evolved from the music of frogs. I said, "OK, let's record". Dave had not brought his equipment! So while Dave went back to get his gear, I stood alone, in the dark, mosquitoes feeding on my naked arms, and played the oboe. I imitated what the frogs sang. Dave had suggested that I focus on one frog voice to dialogue with, and I did. I played the oboe conventionally, beautiful melodies and phrases, and I played unconventionally, without a reed, making little insect like noises. Thus I was totally immersed for about ten minutes, one lone human immersed, engaged and connected via the oboe voice amidst that choral community, and then I continued for another ten minutes while Dave recorded.