Skip to main content

Golden memory

Among my earliest recollections of childhood is seeing the golden glow that peeked from under the door of my brother’s bedroom. It was predawn and that glimmer was the only source of light. 

From my bed I could hear him rustling around in there, zipping up the sleeping bag he slept in every night on top of his bedspread and quietly dressing. His fishing, or sometimes trapping, gear waited on the back porch, having been carefully packed up the night before. 

I recall a palpable anticipation about these early morning rituals, frequent as they were. I think the sleepy house itself could feel the excitement.

You wouldn't think that a little girl like me would be included in trips like these, but once a year or so my brother allowed me to tag along.

Believe me, I was a burden. Eight years younger than Rick, I was more suited to hand washing doll clothes in a soapy basin on Sherry’s back porch than cooking a “sunny” with a stick down its throat on an open fire. But that’s exactly what we did.

Photo-encaustic painting from vintage snapshot
Rick Bennett with carp, along the Schuylkill River, March 1962
If there was any trepidation expressed by our parents about the sharp fish hooks, rusty metal animal traps, deep water of the Schuylkill River or dizzying heights of the dam we climbed, I don’t remember hearing it. 

We always made it back. Frostbit (or hot and sweaty), hungry and dead tired.

Comments

Len said…
Holly,

Thanks for the card and the time you have taken to produce, manufacture or whip-up the picture of Rick with the fish. I will take it with me in a couple of weeks when I travel up north for a visit. Rick continues to find time to include other folks in his passion just as you described his annual enjoyment of letting you be part of his world!

Sincerely .... Len
August 18, 2014 at 5:59 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Lost Spirits ~ Found Souls

I’ve been hanging around with artists lately. This is not something new. I’ve always enjoyed the company of creative people -- writers, crafters, gardeners, painters ... They’re not exactly normal, which is how I like it. One thing an artist does is write an “artist statement.” It’s a proclamation, really, and it takes considerable thought. It’s kind of sickening to be so self-focused. But you know what? Without pausing to think through these questions, there is no clear artist behind the artwork. If I don’t know what I’m trying to express, who does? And so, I ponder... What’s my purpose? Why do I make my art? What does it represent? What is special about how I make it? What does it mean to me? Here’s my first-ever artist’s statement; see what you think. Artist Statement Creativity has always been very highly valued in our family. When it came to play, my brother, sister, and I were allowed to go anywhere and do whatever we wanted. So we danced outside in the pou...
3 comments
Read more

Genealogy: it’s about connection

Each one of us has two parents, four grandparents, and eight great-grandparents. For every generation you go back, the number of people who procreated, to eventually make you, doubles. When I first started out on my genealogy journey, these numbers astounded me, and still do. I love to think about my DNA stew. It feeds my soul. Playing with numbers Let’s assume each generation makes a baby at age thirty. Perhaps the age should be 16, 18, 20, or 25, but whatever, I picked 30 for this exercise. After all, in the past, people started having children earlier than today, but they also bore many more children and did so over a period of 10, or even 20, years. Stick with me for this simplified and fictional example: For a child born in 1960, there were two parents who were born about 1930. The baby’s four grandparents were born about 1900. The baby’s eight great-grandparents were born in 1870. (You see, I'm doubling the number of grandparents and going back 30 years at the same time....
5 comments
Read more

A time of beginnings

Perhaps 15 years ago or so, we created a Moon Garden at our Coventryville house and it turned out pretty cool. The structure of the garden was native black granite boulders surrounded by white gravel paths.   We planted it with annuals and perennials with gray, silver, or pale green foliage and fragrant white flowers. Here and there we allowed some purple. A Moon Garden is designed to be enjoyed in the evening and on moonlit nights. It was a labor of love. Over several years, our family had suffered much loss: our nephews Michael and Matt, Steve’s mother, my stepfather Will, and my Mom. Chairs at our holiday tables went from a bustling many to a quiet few.   The Moon Garden felt perfect for that time of our lives -- a quiet spot to reflect, heal heavy losses, and soothe jangled nerves. At night the garden glowed. But now doesn’t feel like a time of endings. Steve and I are settled in our retirement routines. It’s been three years since we left the corporate world....
2 comments
Read more