Congenitally blind from birth, Mac Potts started tickling the Ivories at 18 months

MANSON – Summer sunshine floods the fields of Blueberry Hills Farms, a postcard picture in waiting. Beneath the painted hills and cloudless sky, small children toting white plastic buckets wander through the fruitful rows in search of their indigo bounty.
The setting’s soundtrack emanates from an elevated wooden deck as the house musician bathes the dining patio with piano notes from his corner perch. Across the deck, a young woman donning a yellow summer dress is lost in contemplation. Should she, or shouldn’t she? Finally, she ambles from her table and approaches the pianist.
“Would it be okay if I sang a song with you?”
“I don’t know if you’re good.”
“I don’t know either.
The pair engage in light negotiations, trying to discern the proper tune. The musician seems hesitant, but the young woman remains determined.
“It’s kind of always been my dream to sing in front of people,” says Kara Laris, 20, of Seattle.  “His piano playing and his saxophone were so amazing that I was like, ‘I might as well try.’”
The trying pays off as they settle on Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” Despite a few lyrical blips, the newly minted duo sing their way through Cohen’s ballad. Patrons eating their brunches applaud as Laris manages a quiet thank you and hurries back to her parents.
This spontaneous scene on a late Wednesday August morning proves quite the sight, although the musician doesn’t see it. He has never seen anything. Congenitally blind from birth, Mac Potts views music less as an obsession and more as a social conduit.
“I don’t just sit down at home and listen to music. I listen to music to learn songs, but I’m not just always playing music in my head,” Potts says. “It’s more something I use to connect to people.”
For the Chelan native, music has spun a web of connections through various venues. His musical journey has led him from his hometown Vancouver to around the country including performances on American Idol and Hollywood Week. Potts, 31, also plays the drums, saxophone, ukulele and guitar. His overture began as a child when worked out rhythms with toys. He started tickling the ivories at 18 months and his parents enrolled him in professional piano lessons. In school, blind to all forms of social cues and sometimes bullied, he often felt awkward due to his conversational quicks, yet found music to be an equalizer.
“I can’t just waltz around the room (and say) ‘Can I sit with you?’ I can’t make friends,” Potts says. “I also can’t just walk around the room without looking awkward and bumping into things, so social gatherings are a bit of a struggle but for me not because I can’t socialize but it’s not exactly the best situation for me to do that. But if I play some music and I’m done, everyone wants to talk to me.”
Potts’ blindness affects his life without defining it. When booking gigs, he does not tell the organizers about his lack of vision, so they seem shocked when he reports for duty. He thinks of himself simply as a musician although at first, some can only see the blindness.
“I often get confused with other blind piano players, even though we don’t look alike at all,” Potts says, joking that to the seeing, all blind people look the same. “All blind people really look the same to each other.”
Potts doesn’t shy away from kidding about his blindness. At a 2019 TEDx Talk, he began with, “All of you in this room, every single one of you, could be naked. I wouldn’t even know it.” Besides piano, Potts also plays humor.
As the brunch rush continues, Potts abruptly flips the script and his body. Back to the piano, he pounds out Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 11 in a Major. At 13, he began playing piano backwards on a dare. Returning to his seat he quips, “That deserves a tip.”
Potts then solicits requests from the reservoir of songs resting in his mind. This involves working on the tunes until muscle memory takes over. When he learns a new song he first listens and plays it based on his well-trained musical ear.
“I’m not a one-time deal where I can listen to it one time and sing it and play it note-for- note, but when I do get it down I think it stays in my brain longer than those savants that have instant recall,” he says. “I also have to check the lyrics to make sure I know what they are so I don’t get them wrong because that’s happened before.”
During an interlude Potts sips coffee as his wife Hailey surprises him with two of their three daughters who have finished picking blueberries. Daddy gives them quick hugs and goes back to work. His 2018 album “Three” derives its name from his eldest, Aria, who increased the family’s size. The record consists entirely of Ed Sheeran covers. So what about the English crooner provides musical inspiration for Potts?
“Nothing,” he admits.
Hailey is the real Sheeran fan. As her birthday approached in 2017, her husband secretly recorded an album of Sheeran covers and popped it in the CD player of the couple’s Honda HRV named Bruce. Alone in the car, Hailey turned the ignition and heard a familiar voice.
“I was halfway through it and then I realized the songs were telling a story. I had to go back to the first one,” Hailey recalls. “I was pretty teary when he put it in the car.”
Several months later, Potts wanted to revisit the songs. He started anew and transformed the birthday present into the full-length studio album. In the inner notes he wrote, “Thanks be to God for giving me a knack for music. It is by his grace that I was able to play my way through a difficult time and bring joy to others.”
“We were going through a hard time, so it was definitely lots of Jesus,” Potts recalls. “Music and lots of Jesus are what got me through that.”
The couple leads worship at Lake Chelan Bible Church. Beyond the pews, Potts’ moral compass affects what and where he plays. 
“I’d already be careful if there were kids around, but there are just some songs I don’t sing, because it just doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t want to sing about that, even if I was allowed to,” he says. “I just don’t like people who are so drunk that they’re just not going to remember me the next day. It would pay the bills, but there’s no joy in it. I’d much rather play for family friendly audiences. Morally, it’s more uplifting. It’s more life-giving.”
Potts ends his set by playing “The Office’’ theme backwards. He sheathes his saxophone and turns off the mic. Hailey takes her husband’s hand and the couple exits down the stairs.
Across the deck, tears well in Laris’ eyes and she recalls singing with Potts. She has performed with a choir in New York City’s Carnegie Hall, but felt more nerves singing in this intimate venue.
“Singing along with him really helped with the confidence. His piano playing is so clean. Timing it and the beat was so easy to follow along because of him,” she says. “I sang to him without the mic and I wasn’t nervous at all and of course the moment I get the mic I’m shaking and my voice was quivering, which I hate. It was my first time ever. I’m glad I didn’t hurt people’s ears.”
For now, music has faded from the dining deck of Blueberry Hills. Yet the invisible notes lingering in the summer breeze leave a memory beyond sight.