Whatever He Says

Brenda posted this aerial photo Maplewood Lodge in the mid 1970's, on Facebook. That is my yellow  Lada ; a Russian car; parked behind the house. Paul bought the car for me, and Rob painstakingly taught me to drive standard, which I needed to learn, to drive it.  The house was not a mansion by any means; the old farmhouse is the building at the front, with a newer part at the back, surrounded by two acres.  There was an oil furnace and no air conditioning and the walls had little insulation. On cold nights the walls would bang loudly as they expanded and contracted with temperature changes. The pipes froze in winter and the septic system regularly gave us problems. Yet we loved living there. We moved there in 1974, intending to stay two years, but lived there for almost ten, leaving at the end of 1983. It was the place that shaped us into who we are today.

One foggy January morning, 35 years ago, three years after we moved to Maplewood Lodge, I walked down the long driveway to the road, to wait with our children; Brenda (5,) and Peter (7;) for the school bus. The bus emerged from the fog and they climbed on board. I turned to walk back to the house.  One minute the children's voices rang out--"Quick Brenda, get a kiss from Mommy," and, "Mommy, will you look after my snowball?" Then the whining hum of the bus driving off into the distance. Suddenly silence, hanging in the air. P alpable  stillness. There had been a light fall of snow the night before; enough to cover the trees and bushes with a  magical  new coat, but it was quite mild, and a mist hung all around the edges of the fields. The hills that rose on the other side of the fields, were hidden, and in the quiet I was in a world at once timeless and peaceful. From high in the misty treetops came the sound of birds chirping; the drip of snow meltin...