Thursday, 7:30 AM. 17 degrees, wind NW, light. The sky is overcast and the barometer predicts sunshine. The moon was bright early, but it has set and the clouds have moved in.
It was a cold, clear November evening in 1953 when I went down to the basement to see what my father was up to. He was standing at the open door to the cellar under the stairs, which held row upon row of jars of homemade preserves; pickles, pears, apples, peaches, grape juice, tomatoes, pickled eggs…a hundred pond sack of potatoes stood in one corner. “Whatcha doin’, Dad?” I asked. “Surveying my wealth,” he answered. “When your mother has filled the shelves and the coal is in the bin, I am a king in my castle.” And so they were, my parents, a king and a queen in their castle, having survived the farm depression of the Twenties, the Great Depression of the Thirties and the War, cruel blows each, a generation of trouble and toil, with determination and good will. They were American Royalty, beholden to no one and nothing but their own dreams. Role models for us in today’s times.
I have to go to Ashland today and expect to see wild swans on the Bay.
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