I wish I could remember their names. But one thing I do recall: Could she ever sing!

Mary and I were exploring Niagara wine country with another couple on July 11, 2007—that perfect sort of summer day with just a few lazy white clouds drifting through an otherwise clear blue sky to keep things from getting too toasty.

It was our last stop of the afternoon when we pulled into Trius Winery just outside of Niagara-on-the-Lake, where a local three-piece band was entertaining guests in the courtyard with jazz classics.

I eventually found myself in the queue of the shop inside when the musicians outside began to weave their magic—to tune of Ray Charles’ “Georgia on My Mind.”

The woman in front of me, impeccably attired in a black and white patterned dress, with a Panama-style hat to match, began to sing …in tones as sweet and rich as molasses.

Georgia, Georgia
The whole day through
Just an old sweet song
Keeps Georgia on my mind…

I can hold a note or two and desperately wanted to join in, but I certainly wasn’t about to step upon the sublime vocal toes of this Etta James in front of me.

As fate would have it, a few minutes prior, Mary had begun chatting with a silver-bearded American gentleman outside.

“What do you do?” she inquired.

“I’m a part-time musician,” he informed.

“What do you play?” Mary asked.

“I used to play in the Ray Charles band.”

“What?! Seriously? Oh my God. Why don’t you play something with this band? Can you do ‘Georgia?'”

Then she turned to the band: “Can you do ‘Georgia?'”

In no time, this fine fellow secured a trumpet. I think it was from his car. You must be pretty good if you travel with your own horn.

And he was.

As was his wife. His brand new wife, whom he had just wed a few hours ago—the woman standing in front of me in the wine shop.

Turns out ‘Georgia’ was her favourite song. She figured the groom must have requested it. But it was mere serendipity. A chance meeting of Mary and this gentleman, and Mary’s fortuitous request. As the woman strode outside, continuing to sing as she closed toward the band, every guest and staff member within earshot was transfixed—some poking their heads out windows and doors.

At song’s end, they embraced and kissed, and you couldn’t help but feel privileged to have shared that intimate moment.

I emailed them these photos afterward, but have long lost the brief chain of correspondence, along with the accompanying address. Which absolutely breaks my heart.

You can only hope the two of them are as vibrant and in love today as they were on that idyllic summer day 15 and a half years ago.

As least they are for me, every time I hear that song.