From the article:
Spencer Bohren and his wife Marilyn are spending a rare day at home in their cozy brick cottage on Esplanade Ridge. It’s a steamy August afternoon and the world seems to move in languid rotation as a huge black and gold monarch butterfly floats and glides amid the drying laundry hung on a line next to the house. The barefoot Bohren offers us iced tea and Marilyn’s homemade cupcakes before he begins pulling neatly stacked guitars out of a closet and piling them on the kitchen table. Every guitar has a story. “This one I found floating in the house after the storm,” he says, cradling an 1897 Bruno parlor guitar. “I thought it was ruined, but a friend told me to just keep it in a dry place and it would be okay. Sure enough, it came back.