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Since our last two posts have featured guest contributions from my cousin Sam, I thought perhaps we’d use this turn in the series-go-round to feature photos from our recent family outing in celebration of things Mom introduced us all to. These all come from probably her favorite place on earth, Storm King Art Center, which is named after nearby Storm King Mountain. Sam’s one of three Oberlin graduates you’ll find the gallery below, the other (thanks for joining, Chris) being an additional contributing photographer for some shots. Thanks, Mom, for helping more of us get to know this fabulous place.
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Above, the Bear Mountain Bridge with the mountain named Anthony’s Nose to its right, on the east side of the Hudson River. At the bottom, and in the gallery below, Bear Mountain Inn & the mist-shrouded Bear Mountain (on the east side of the river) as seen on the misty, drizzly afternoon of Sunday May 5th when Steve & I arrived. We were here for another personal celebration of our mother, who hiked us as teenagers across that bridge, where the Appalachian Trail crosses the Hudson River and immediately climbs to the top of the Nose, having already scaled Bear Mountain and various other peaks in both Bear Mtn Park & the neighboring Harriman State Park. To really focus on our memories of the trails and be close to Storm King (which, yes, we’ll be showing you also soon), we splurged to stay in this lovely old Inn – and were so happy that cousins Sam & Maria also joined for the Mom-celebration stuff, that Neal and Elizabeth came for an evening, and Chris for the Storm King day. Thanks, everyone and especially Mom who was certainly with us in memory and spirit :-).
And Now For Something Personal
Above, my mother (older) and aunt around 1942 in a spring field of Texas bluebonnets near their then-home in Texas. Four years ago today, Mom passed away, so I and a number of close family have gathered in Texas to appreciate these and other lovely spring wildflowers of Texas in her honor, and to create new memories with each other, and with my aunt, who’s now 80+ years more experienced that she is in the (colorized: this photo was originally taken before photos came in color) photo above. It was on the morning of March 30th four years ago that I posted an earlier Ode to Mom, which I’m revisiting now myself because our loved ones do live on in our memory.
We don’t yet have a photo of all of us now gathered here in Austin, but in the days or weeks ahead I hope and expect I’ll have a chance to show you more. But for the moment, for any friends and readers who’re curious how and why pics from the US have begun to reappear in this li’l ol’ blog that’s been sleepy since January…this is why :-).
Art & Family in Nature (Storm King 1)
Ok,so since I’m on a roll I’m putting up the first photos from a completely **glorious** day at my own personal very-favorite day-trip location near NYC: Storm King Art Center, which I certainly remember visiting in the early 80’s if not before. As you’ll see here, and in upcoming posts, we had simply the most perfect possible weather, and Mom mustered the energy to hold up more than her half of the sky, even as she juggled a few health challenges of her own. If you’ve not been to Storm King, do go. And support your own local gardens & arts places :-). Peace, out.
Springtime in the Park with Mom
When I returned from the two year assignment in Haiti, I landed first in a late Canadian winter/early Canadian spring, then came south to spend a week with my mother in New Jersey. A thing that’s changed since I was a youth here is more wildlife — time was when it was rare to see deer even in larger state parks; now they roam our little local streamside parks, where some of these photos were taken. So, as autumn advances in the northern hemisphere, a reminder of this spring and springs to come :-). Enjoy.
Goodbye, Uncle Bill
I’ve woken this morning, for the first time in my life, to a world in which I can’t visit, see or phone my uncle Bill. Having grown up without a father around & with both grandfathers passed before I was eleven, uncle Bill was the only adult male relative that I really felt close to, growing up. I always had the sense – once I grew up enough to take note – that he tried to step in and do what he could for me and my brothers whenever we were together: from miniature golf when I was a kid and we were all visiting our grandparents, to the summers that he and aunt Judy let me spend at their home when I was a teenager which were an opportunity to spend time with my cousins also, to more recent conversations about my humanitarian medical work, given his role as an eminent MD and medical researcher. I know that it’s one of those essential realities of being human, being organic life, that generations succeed each other and, yes, that generational succession means our elders will not always be with us. Since my work takes me so far away, so much of the time these days, this is one of my greatest fears: losing someone dear to me when I’m thousands of miles and many long flights away. I take slim consolation in my own loss this morning, from my very fond memories of the visits I was able to make to Bill and Judy at their lake house in Wisconsin just last summer, and the time spent at that wonderful family reunion (also known as my niece’s wedding) in New Mexico just weeks later. I haven’t seen Bill since, but with me on the continent we’ve talked by phone a few times. I know with time I’ll adapt to the idea that we won’t talk on the phone or see each other in person again, and that Bill will join my grandmother as one of the people with whom I wish I could share the moments when I’m living most richly — as I’ve done since that other sad family reunion nearly 30 years ago when she had left us all. I know that others feel this loss even more deeply than I, and I send my thoughts to all of my cherished extended family this morning, along with some photos I’ve scanned and pulled from my archives. Though I’ve rarely gotten so personal on this blog, uncle Bill absolutely merits special treatment and this review of my lifetime’s worth of memories of the closest uncle I’ll ever have is the best I can do right now. Good bye, uncle Bill…
(so much world, so little time....) 