Reub's journey

05 August 2013

A trip home



Sometime in the late 50's. Me with the youngest of my 3 brothers.

The older you get, the more dream-like are the trips back home.


"Home" exists largely in memory; so much time has passed that it's a different place now.  Nevertheless I recently made the annual voyage back to the Midwest,  always bittersweet and a cause for deep reflection.

It's good to pay attention, to draw meaning from the things that pop out along a journey. The trip contained omens from the start.  


The flight from Portland was early, so I spent the night at a hotel just a mile from the airport. Sitting on a terrace in front of a pond, I was nearly alone with my fish and chips and cold beer. Suddenly from an overgrown area  at water's edge arose the clamor of a pack of coyotes: a group sing-along, complete with the deep howls of adults and the yips of pups. Astonishing, this loud family howl, a surprise urban performance just as I was about to head home to the countryside.



Hoof prints
A day later with my 92 year old mother we watched twin spotted fawns gamboling in the plowed field outside the kitchen window. They were on their own, made suddenly and violently motherless by the nearby highway.
 



The next day I stood on tiptoe, holding the camera over a nest on a gutter high above: two robin's eggs. But in 3 days' time, no mother appeared. The nest was abandoned. How many ways are there to lose a mother? Quickly and without warning for the fawns, slowly and intentionally for the robins.





 
I still have a mother, although I'm losing her cell-by-cell as she sinks into the forgetfulness of old age. We drove  to nearby Port Washington where she strolled into the busy-ness of the marina with its boats and bikers, walkers and sightseers. We had a lovely morning together, and I'm very grateful for it. In the afternoon we walked and talked some more, this time in the nearby woods.

That night I was awakened in the middle of the night by the calls of a great horned owl next to the house. Responding to the calls were the squawks of a youngster perched just outside my window. I listened to their back-and-forth conversation, and then fell back into a deep sleep. In the morning I wondered if it had been real.



But under the windshield wiper of the car was a token, left behind like a calling card. It was an owl feather, a vivid reminder that some conversations are more special than others.



A selfie of me and my mother. See the huge mosquito on my forehead? Wisconsin.
 My little trip home was framed with the bookends of animal conversations: first the coyotes, last the owls, and in between, the stark reality of loss.



25 comments:

  1. so very bittersweet. i am glad you still have your mother to return home to...even as she disappears.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Bittersweet, indeed. I'm sorry your mom is ailing but so glad that she has the strength to get around. This aging thing is no fun.

    I searched and searched but could not see a fawn in the photo. Were they they well camouflaged or is my eyesight that poor?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I only captured their hoof prints! When we watched them I didn't take a single pic. :)

      Delete
    2. Not only that, there are no coyotes. They howled like crazy but didn't appear in the open, so I just took a pic of the pond.

      Delete
  3. Very sweet post. There is no going home for me at this point in my life. My family home was torn down when I was about 20 (I still have the occasional dream about reoccupying the partially torn down house) and a high rise business office building now stands in it's place. Both my parents have passed. My father suddenly with a stroke in the middle of the night and my mother through a slow deterioration via TIAs but she had moved to live with my brother which only lasted about 6 weeks before she needed to be put in a facility where she would get constant care so I didn't see her but a few times before she died.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ah. I suppose almost all of us reach a point where there is no going home. For you it is literally true, and both of your parents are gone.

      I'm glad that my family home is still standing & I had a chance to visit my mother.

      Delete
  4. It must have been lovely to stick your toe back into the gentle waters of home for a small time.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I always approach trips with a certain amount of dread. But I was so glad afterwards that I took this trip.

      Delete
  5. This is so beautifully expressed, Kerry. Carol told me you had come home for a short visit. It must be hard to live so far away at this time in your mother's life. I'm so grateful to be in town with Dad and each trip we take, each symphony concert or play we attend together I wonder how many more there will be. Death is an important part of the life journey, but one that is difficult to anticipate. I just try to live each day I have with him to the fullest.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you for your wonderful comment.
      Your dad's health is far beyond what most of us could hope for. He is simply amazing & you are fortunate indeed to be so close both geographically and personally.

      Delete
  6. Oh, Kerry, thank you so much for posting a picture of yourself. I loved being able to look on your face--and that of your mom's--after reading this post.

    Okay, tears just spontaneously sprung to my eyes trying to think of a way to respond to the owl feather and 'cell-by-cell' (wow, I am really crying now!) and the coyote chorus and the robin's egg blues.

    I love this blog.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Hi Suze, I also like to see other bloggers' photos of themselves but I rarely take self portraits & when I do something inevitably goes wrong, like the *@%$! mosquito. But this post seemed to call for one.

      Thank you so much for your lovely words! Strange how I also react that way over the owl feather.

      Delete
  7. I pray to be on my feet and walking with the aid of a cane when I am 92. You and your mother are blessed. Give thanks for her good health every day because it is your heritage. What a delightful return home to memories and love.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you Granny. I am very grateful that my mother can get around despite arthritis and old age. Every day is a gift.

      Delete
  8. Such a bit of poetry. Your mother looks so lovely and I am so sorry that you are watching her drift away. I went through this with my MIL and that was painful enough! She is a fashion plate though.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, look at her in her crisp shirt and blue jeans! She wouldn't be caught dead looking bad, ever. (I didn't get that gene!)

      Delete
  9. I LOVE this...every part of it. Your mother looks like such A wonderful soul.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Hello Optimistic, thank you! My mother remains a strong person in her old age despite the memory loss and arthritis. She is outside every day & always dresses well.I guess that's pretty good.

      Delete
  10. Ah, Wisconsin. I don't know it as well as I know the states around it but I do love the Upper Midwest.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. AS, whenever I return to the Upper Midwest I'm reminded of its unique qualities. There is an unpretentious aura there, and many parts of Wis are very pretty.

      Delete
  11. Absolutely. Iowa's the Midwestern state I know best - college. I also lived in Minnesota for a year. Wife's from Indiana and also spent many years in Chicago. We went to the UP this summer - first time for both of us. I would imagine northern Wisconsin is very similar in terms of terrain - stunning.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The UP! A whole different little nation. It's buried in snow for part of the year, and a distant, wooded paradise for the rest. As you guess, northern Wisconsin is its very own place, studded with bright, quiet little lakes, loons, mosquitoes, and sunfish.

      Delete

Talk to me.