Sitting on the old glider on the screened back porch of my cousin Fred’s house, one of my favorite places in the world to be. Although we could have stayed at my sister’s house down the road, which is much, much nicer, we chose to come here this weekend because we have such an affinity for this place. I’ve been coming here all my life, and Sandy and I spent our wedding night here almost 29 years ago. I can’t count the number of nights I have spent in this house. It is well into the hundreds, I’m sure.
Fred left this earth on the day that we came down here. He was our only living cousin on my father’s side, and was more like a brother than a cousin. My sister was closest in age to him and loved him dearly. She is trying to decide if she will be able to speak at his service on Monday.
He had been in Hospice for more than a year, so his suffering was great. His wife is an angel.
I don’t know what will happen to this place.
The birds are amazing here. So many songbirds, many different water fowl. The mornings are filled with the chirps, chitters, knocks, squawks, and melodies of more variety than I’ve ever heard anywhere else. We have heard the wild laughter of loons as they prepare to fly north.
Today my brother will come for a family Easter dinner, and we will hang out on the pier at my sister’s house and share memories of Fred.
I have collected a wealth of driftwood and other objects for a new Lake weaving, and there will be many photographs uploaded later when I have a better Internet connection. In the meantime, I am going to enjoy the rest of this pot of coffee looking out at the lake, and the bones of my favorite tree who is still undressed from the winter, and do a bit of stitching in time with the music of the birds.
slowly she turned 