It was in a workshop like this one that Alfred discovered his love of instruments. Twenty-five years ago he was an aspiring musician in Bonn, Germany with a violin in need of repairs. When he found a violinmaker who could help him he was shocked by the fine craftsmanship that was being practiced without the assistance of modern technology. "I had never been in a shop like that," Alfred said, "Right then and there I realized it was what I wanted to do. 17th and 18th century technology was still being put to use, that's right up my alley," he exclaimed, throwing his head back in laughter.

Alfred requested an apprenticeship on the spot. "It took me a while to convince the shop's owner that he needed an apprentice, but I was there for awhile. The official apprentice time was something like three or four years, but I stayed with him until I moved to the United States."

During one of his many visits to the United States he met his wife who, at the time was living in Ashe County, North Carolina. "Most of my customers are not from Ashe County," he conceded as he held a smoking pipe firmly gripped between his teeth. Staring at a nearly completed stand-up bass he said, "I've been working on this off and on for two years. This bass might end up in Asheville, but it might end up in Oregon. I've got people interested from both places."

It is word of mouth that has brought Alfred his business. "The only advertising I do is to put my name in the phonebook and sometimes even that seems to be too much," he said reveling his reclusive nature.

Regional musicians have come to depend on Alfred's expertise. Their instruments line his workspace begging for his attention. Small repairs and minor enhancements make up the bulk of his workload, but it is the crafting of new instruments that makes his eyes beam bright against the mahogany hues of the shop. "Hopefully, I'll get to put the strings on today," he said motioning towards a bass.

Alfred spends most of his days in the shop, as well as some nights. Some things are better done after dark. Daylight doesn't work for everything. When you scrape wood, you can see better by one light in the dark.

Holding the elegantly shaped bass bridge in his hand, he whittled at its legs. "This job is all about fitting things together," he said, holding the bridge up for inspection before continuing his meticulous labor. Alfred prefers to do most things by hand with what he refers to as "stone age" technology. He rarely uses sandpaper. He explained, "Sandpaper is a relatively new invention. Some people think you need it, but you really don't. People didn't used to have that stuff. It seems to be easier and, in a way, it is, but you never really get the same results."

In demonstrating how some woodworkers fit the bridge to the belly of the bass, He rubbed the bridge against polished wood. Watching the bridge roll across the imaginary harsh grit it seemed as if the instrument almost winced. As Alfred continued his loving, slow scrapes with the smooth blade of his knife, the instrument seemed almost relieved.

Classical music played from a small radio perched high on a shelf filled with the rich magical elixirs of cherry varnish. "I never had much use for any music younger than me," Alfred said. "When I was a teenager it was the Beatles, but they never really mattered to me much. I liked Jazz and classical. When I was a teenager I started listening to old country too. I like old-time music."

In a moment of rest, Alfred picked up a fiddle and began to bow, his fingers dancing across the strings in a playful style born of the mountains he now calls home. When the music stopped, he turned his attention back to the bass, which, compared to the delicate violin seemed almost cartoonishly large in size.

Measuring the length of the finely crafted ebony fret board with a roll of twine, he paused a moment to answer the questions of his apprentice, Alex Hooker. Alex began working with Alfred after he brought in his fiddle for repairs. Alex's story is Alfred's revisited. Alex had never seen a shop quite like the backyard workshop that uses century-old techniques to create quality instruments. He said, "I was getting my Masters in Appalachian Studies when I came in here. I was looking for an internship and Alfred offered to let me apprentice with him. Offers like that don't come around often. I said, alright, here we go…"

Nearly seven years later Alex is still spending time in the shop, lovingly crafting and repairing instruments in addition to teaching classes at Appalachian State University where he passes on his love of traditional music to the Appalachian String Band. Nodding his head toward Alfred, Alex whispered, "He's excited to be stringing that bass today."

Late in the afternoon, Alfred's bass was no longer naked. Its smooth neck had been adorned with strings stretched tight across the belly and fastened to brass tuning keys with knobs shaped like hearts. Alfred pulled the strings and let the instrument's voice be heard. It filled the small workshop with a deep bellow. He leaned in closer to hear the sound roll through the cavern of his creation.

It is like witnessing a birth, to hear an instrument speak for the first time. It is as if the wood has been waiting to yawn, to wake from a slumber if only to speak eloquently of dreams. Sometimes, if an instrument is not played for many years, the same phenomenon occurs.

Alfred said, "I have some fiddles that may not have been played in 50 years. People find them in their grandparents' attics and bring them to me. If they have not been played in a long time it's as if they go to sleep."

Instruments have personalities and a sense of ownership, Alfred explained, "If a certain person plays an instrument, it will take on certain sounds that person makes. If you give it to another person sometimes it has a hard time adjusting. Also, if you keep it tuned at a certain pitch, if you change it, it will try to go back to the first pitch it's used to. It doesn't want to let go of it I guess."

The personality of an instrument is something that even Alfred cannot explain. It is part of music's magic, part of the inexplicable order that creates a universal language. If a musician becomes part of an instrument's consciousness then maybe, just maybe, the voice of the maker lives on as well - singing in a German accent softened by Appalachia, speaking through the F-shaped curves that give the instrument its unique tone.