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Posts tagged as:
winter
We’re now in the back end of winter here in northern New England, and signs of spring are beginning to emerge. One of my favorites is a more expansive dusk; a month ago, it came and went quickly, now it just lingers, not wanting to miss a thing.
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Nope, just bare ground here in Old Saybrook at the end of January 2019; this photo was taken in 2011, 6-7 miles to the northwest.
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Here’s another shot of my grandfather, with whom we lived, and who helped raise us.
He emigrated from Poland circa 1906, after (as the story goes) his commanding officer in the Austrian army suggested it was a good time to do so, as all hell was about to break loose on the land. He learned the English language early on, and became an American citizen in 1920. He loved telling stories; my older sister remembers hours upon hours of tales that were uniquely his, usually weaving in themes from the Old Testament, the politics of old Poland, and the natural world.
He was a community/union organizer, and an accomplished gardener and mushroom forager. I remember many long walks in the forest behind our home foraging for a certain type of Russula mushroom (called “Pravdzive” in Polish), which would be dried, and given to friends and family to use as a base for holiday soups at Christmas and Easter.
He had a strong faith but also a big love for his family and friends, and he seemed to be as comfortable in social situations as in the out of doors. I never did get a chance to thank him for all that he gave me, particularly the knowledge and presence that he so freely offered, every day of his life.
And on a side note, it might be time to once again read “Report To Greco”, the wonderful memoir of Nikos Kazanzakis (Greco being his grandfather).
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Probably from 1970 or so, a couple of years before this wonderful man, Andrew Wasik, passed away. Photo probably taken by either my younger brother Jim, or oldest brother Stan.
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A meadow? Moor, savanna, pasture, heath, grassland, shielding, veldt? A public golf course?
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The term “freakism” was probably coined by the man jumping off the building here in 1970, Bart Howe. It was mostly a name we used for each other, a nod to those parts of us not in the mainstream. It grew to be a genuine “ism”, and also: a mantra, a rebel yell and outright babble at times.
Three decades have passed since we spent any time together; the last being a midwinter hike to the summit of Camel’s Hump, and an overnight stay under a Wolf Moon, where we fed the fire – literal and metaphorical – all night long.
Fast forward: I play music in nursing homes, and after one performance I emailed this little anecdote to a friend of mine:
“As I was packing up, this old gal with a rolling walker comes by, smiles and says ‘… nostalgic..’ and walks on. Inscrutable Zen Master, throwing down a koan !!! Yikes !!!”
And so I say there is more to nostalgia than first meets the mind’s eye.
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