I just spent this evening with my dear friend Ruth. We looked through photo albums from Choteau, Montana where Ruth was born in 1909. Our friend, Patricia, unearthed the albums, an ancient suitcase, and an exquisite handbag from Ruth's attic today. So tonight, Ruth and I looked through one of the albums. She had not seen it in years. In this album, all the photographs were taken in Choteau between 1903-1913. It was interesting to sit with Ruth as she looked through pictures of her hometown, the jail was here, she'd say, we lived down this street, over there. The pictures were full of men on horses, men posing in front of a herd of sheep, men sitting atop a wagonload of wool, a dozen horses harnessed and ready to pull out of town (25,ooo pounds of wool was written below the picture in Ruth's mother's careful hand). There were photographs of Charlie Russel paintings, pictures of Flathead Indian encapments, and landscape photos of gulches and canyons, waterfalls and peaks.
It was incredible to open this book with Ruth and see bits of what she saw, see the care her mother had taken in composing shots and laying out the album. When I came home, I started back to work on an essay I've been fiddling with about growing up in Ipswich and, while trying to think of the way to describe the pleasing simplicity of First Period houses, found myself thumbing through photos. I hadn't meant to mimic with myself what I had just witnessed with Ruth, and, oddly enough, didn't think about the concurrence until later. But the activity of looking at scenes so familiar made me realize the odd impossiblity of ever communicating the fullness of what is meant by we lived down this street, over there.
There is not much to report from our wing of the world. Seth continues in his pursuit of all things sport, while Corin continues with craft projects and imaginary play (the living room was a zoo today and Seth a rabbit - you can guess who the zookeeper was). Yesterday, we marked Corin's half-birthday and, this morning, he was pleased to find he could still fit into his nook on the counter despite now being five and a half. Since he was proud of his half birthday he decided it should also be the birthday of his current favorite stuffed animal, Stripes the Dragon. Corin proceeded to host a birthday party for Stripes complete with party hats he made and several presents wrapped in the majority of his beddding (which somehow had migrated to the living room). Despite my protestations that the cupcakes I baked were for St. Patty's Day, Corin somehow transformed the evening into a celebration of Stripes and by the end Than, Kara, Tim and I found ourselves chorusing Happy Birthday to a stuffed animal. We drew the line at lighting a candle for Stripes to blow out, relying on the logic that, as a dragon, Stripes blows fire and thus would have difficulty de-flaming the wick. And so goes life with a child gifted dually with a full-bodied imagination and the powers of persausion to draw us all along.
Stripes' Birthday Hat
On Saturday, Seth was lent a skateboard from his buddy Marquez and has spent every day since his prize borrow practicing the technique. So far, he seems to be gaining a knack for powering it along and has completely mastered the art of the dramatic fall. Recently, Seth also built a bike trailer for his indoor trike, which is useful for giving Eeyore rides. Between the two of my boys, I am continually amazed at what they come up with and how they are each so entirely, unmistakably, themselves. Besides keeping me on my toes, they keep me full of humor (most days!) and always in fresh wonder.
Stripes' Birthday Hat
On Saturday, Seth was lent a skateboard from his buddy Marquez and has spent every day since his prize borrow practicing the technique. So far, he seems to be gaining a knack for powering it along and has completely mastered the art of the dramatic fall. Recently, Seth also built a bike trailer for his indoor trike, which is useful for giving Eeyore rides. Between the two of my boys, I am continually amazed at what they come up with and how they are each so entirely, unmistakably, themselves. Besides keeping me on my toes, they keep me full of humor (most days!) and always in fresh wonder.
Boarding
5 comments:
Lindsey, kara's friend katie here...I just read your post and smiled...as I too was celebrating a 5 and a half birthday party on Monday with the family I am living with on the farm. I feel like half birthdays may be a trend right now. It seems that September 16th produces very creative children. Hope you all are well...Katie
Hppy hlf brthdy, Prnce Crin!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
yr gdssters 4
Happity birthiday Stripes the Dragon!
You're fabulous!
i MEANT gdssters 3.
3!!!
!!! is enough!
This lovely post reminded me of my Grandma Louise. A few years after her short-term memory bade farewell, she told us a story of the barn that her father built in the same valley that our own family farm is nestled in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains.
The barn had been the prize of the valley, until a wealthy doctor bought the land and burned it down... it was obscuring the view of the hillside from his new ranch house picture window. Sixty years later, the locals were still incensed by such senseless, wanton wastefulness.
Trying to visualize where the barn had been located, I said "your father's farm was down the road about a mile, right?"
"No." She said firmly. "It was up the road."
This swift correction both puzzled and delighted me. Since the road by our farm went up and down in elevation as it wound through the valley, I wrongly assumed "down the road" meant "down the hill" as the road was cut. It turns out that the up/down designation was dictated by the direction the creek ('crick') water flowed.
My grandma lived in a world that was as big as she could shout. 99% of her days, family and friendships took place in the same zip code.
The "down this street, over there"-ness of such a life continues to beckon and sometimes taunt me. But as for today, I am thankful for the memories I have been given to steward in the midst of my outpost in suburbia. Mine is a true case of absence making the heart grow fonder!
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