the music carries on, and on, and on.
Written by Maria Rosvick, Alto in Pro Coro Canada
The finale of the official Pro Coro Canada 2026 tour came on the climactic ringing chord of Laura Hawley's Warrior at full volume, but the true conclusion for us singers happened in stages over the next eighteen hours. It felt almost like a slow fade back into the real world; by the time I was walking through the airport arrivals door, actually alone for the first time in ten days, it almost felt normal.
Pieces of the group bled away in ones and twos, starting with our virtuoso Nightingale, Vincent, off home to Québec even before our final days in Elora. One singer went to join family before the end of the last evening. A handful, including our director Michael, took part in a last celebratory appetizer at Chuck's Roadhouse before turning in at our hotel in Guelph and heading in their own directions come morning. The remaining group of us climbed aboard the rented school bus that would take our weary souls on to the Toronto Pearson airport, where the group split once more. Some were extending their trip to snag a few days of vacation; others came just to bid the rest of us safe travels. When we finally took our seats on the plane back to Edmonton, only a dozen of us remained, and by three o'clock on Sunday it was over.
The last ten days have been such a joy for me. The music was inspiring, the sights and sounds of our various stops were breathtaking, and every single place we stopped to eat was an absolute hit (along with the several dozen different matcha lattes I sampled personally), but the true stars of the experience were the people.
Our hosts and sponsors in all of our tour stops were phenomenal. Every single person was so incredibly welcoming and warm, especially those who welcomed us into their homes in Owen Sound for our local billets. The singers, choral directors, and volunteers for each choir we met unanimously opened their arms for anything we could possibly need, and our audiences were some of the most enthusiastic I've had the pleasure to perform for.
But, even more than all of that, this tour could never have been as amazing if not for the ones who were sharing it with me every second of every day.
As one of the newest members of Pro Coro, I went into this tour confidently able to remember maybe six other singers' names, but by the time we made it to our first concert on day two I could fly through the roster. By the second concert I could pick out individual voices just by their particular sound, and at the end I felt like I was saying goodbye to family.
We had a lot of freedom and independence in our schedules, but no one needed to be herded into the right place. A lot of us forgot something—IDs and medications left at home, laptops left on the train, hats left in green rooms, and concert clothing left on the bus—but no one was ever left behind. Compromises were made, friends of friends were contacted, and an entire set of performance blacks (complete with suit coat) were rustled up one piece at a time from five different places, but not once did it feel like anything but a group effort to make the best of every crisis.
I'd say I spontaneously broke into song at least a dozen times a day, and each time was met with an answering voice singing along. People I had never really talked to were suddenly matching my energy, and I quickly came to realize that all these professional singers, these highly successful performers and teachers and composers...
They're all just choir geeks having fun. Just like me.
Laying back against my obnoxious stack of pillows with Nettle the orange puffball pinning me in place for the foreseeable future as punishment for my absence, it feels almost like I never left home. But the suitcase is still waiting for unpacking—stuffed with sweaty concert clothes and a two-inch thick music folder—and my feet are very firmly staging a protest against bearing weight for at least the next twelve hours. My voice may be aching from singing, but I think it's equaled by the amount of amazing conversations and laughs we shared over the course of our journey.
As I've done for the past two weeks, I'll likely dream of music. I hear the soaring dense harmonies of Praulins' Nightingale or the bouncing rhythms of Jamieson's Forty Words for Yes. The plaintive opening of Esenvalds' Legend of the Walled-In Woman echoes even without any other voices singing. Tallis' forty-part Spem in alium, some singers' once-in-a-lifetime wish to sing, spins its tapestry on the fabric of my eyelids. But, best of all, the sound of my Pro Coro family seeps into everything and reminds me that behind the beautiful music are truly beautiful people.
Ten days. Five concerts. Hundreds of fellow singers of all levels and backgrounds and ages. Twenty-four very talented people who shared the entire thing with me. The journey may be over, but luckily the music carries on, and on, and on.