The Hillhouse

The Journey of a Mother and Son

Breaking Ground July 19, 2014

It started quietly. I’d heard some large machinery moving about down the driveway, and then silence. I waited. Then I took a walk to see for myself. It was an eery sight. A small piece of earth moving equipment had been deposited in the empty field. It had begun. I tried to savor the light of the open field, tried to memorize everything about the space as it still was, tried to get over my sadness. I would never be ready for this. I reminded myself that there was once a barn in this field, and that too was gone. That there were once cattle grazing here, and they were also long gone, and that before the cattle fields there was nothing here but forest; even the stone walls that run through the woods were not ancient, as they seemed from 2014’s perspective, but at a mere two hundred years old, they were relatively new installations. I tried to convince myself not to lament the change so deeply; this land had been undergoing constant change over the past two centuries. And before the area had been settled by Europeans (and subsequently that development mourned by local Native Americans), very little had changed so dramatically in millions of years. But it didn’t stop me from grieving the loss of another hard-won field though. Yeah, change is part of life, but I can still miss what was. Thankfully it’s not quite here yet, and I can still enjoy the spot of green at the end of my long driveway. From where I stand today, it’s still unimaginable to me that in that space will soon stand the silhouette of a two-story house. As I’ve said before, I’m not good with change.

Martha turned 88 on Thursday, and I think it was probably the first such birthday in all her life that it was not sweltering. The Conants and the Spiaks joined Martha at The Farm in her kitchen, the only room in which she has ever entertained, and we enjoyed a fine summer supper of hamburgers and hot dogs, mom’s potato salad (one of my top ten favorite foods on the planet – it’s understated and so damn good) and some cold cocktails. Jesse and Sam, the young girls close to Elihu’s age were there representing the next generation. I showed them the markings on the closet door where I’d been measured when I was their age, they in turn showed me around the winery that their father was building on the property. We visited the resident horses and I told the story of the enormous barn that burned down, on this very day (some birthday present!) when I was their age, years ago. How it took out one of the great Maple trees, how it changed the place forever. Martha recounted to us that the first thing she did after ringing the dinner bell and calling husband Frank in from the fields was to move the harpsichord out of the house to prevent it from burning, should the house catch fire. (She and Frank were musicians-turned-farmers and gave me a great experience of animal husbandry and old-time farm life as a child. Martha also taught me how to read music and later gave me a few very practical tips on accompanying that I still use today.). This place, simply called by all of us “The Farm”, has been my heart’s epicenter since I was a tiny child. Even now, as Martha hangs on, doing barely more than living from day to day (she suffered a stroke thirty years ago and can only move the right side of her body), knowing that she’s still here gives me a feeling of anchor. Of place, of center. In spite of many trips to the hospital and nursing home after small heart-related episodes, Martha always manages to come home. This time, though, she seems slower, a bit more tired. No less spirited, no less intimidating than she’s ever been (no one still dares to counter her on any thing), she still strikes me as a bit closer to the end. At least I can kinda see it now. I guess I’m just getting ready, because aside from the death of my mother, this will be the biggest change I can imagine.

I’m still puttering away, trying to beat the clock and restore order to my home. I’ve sunk a good hundred hours of hard labor into this place over the past couple of weeks, and am making milestones that have even gone beyond my initial to-do list. After living here almost six years, I have only just yesterday unpacked the last of the boxes from the move from Chicago. Can you believe that? And that last box will remain packed, I’m afraid, as I simply have not the use nor the space for my fine wedding stemware. A few more paining projects (garage doors, cellar wall) remain, and there’s Elihu’s room to do a deep-cleaning and inventory of (that’ll be a bigger job than I think now) but I can begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel, which is a great relief.

The Studio is cruising along now too, with our second complete week of art camp behind us, and a great number of ideas for the future being born. There’s big change here too; the place seems to be taking on its own forward trajectory as new uses for the room come to mind, leaving the memory of fine Baroque concerts on July afternoons far behind, and breaking my heart in tiny ways as the new course becomes more clear… I am only now coming to terms with the idea that this is a place undergoing a real transformation, and in order to do this well I’ll need to invest myself fully in the new direction. I won’t sabotage my progress in the name of nostalgia, but like the field at the end of my driveway, I will grieve its loss.

My garden projects have reached a nice point of completion, I finally figured out the coop door opener (which has been broken for almost 2 years now), I’ve finally rid my house of every last unused item – books to boots – and I can now say I know where everything is. Ha! How many people can say that of the contents of their home? My office, however, is altogether another situation, and it waits for my attention soon. I need to check in with the Waldorf School too; if they haven’t found a replacement candidate for my post, I may have to get back to the piano soon. That is not a detour I relish. I’ve hit a nice forward stride, and hope to continue with added momentum.

Oh, and today is the second anniversary of my divorce. It took over four years to accomplish, and I didn’t even learn I’d been legally divorced until many months later. My ex has been married to his new wife for over a year now too. Strange as it may seem, it’s only just about now that I’m truly feeling I live here, and that this is my life – and that I really am a single person in the world. Being totally honest, I do miss the man I once lived with, but I also know he’s no longer the person he was, so I can’t lament not being with him now. He’s different. Guess I am too. In going thru old photographs this past week I found myself still very wistful about the old days, and I still missed aspects of those lives very much, but I’ve come to the point where I can’t imagine my life without this chapter. I’ve been resisting this new time of my life just about the whole time I’ve been living it because I missed things that I felt were taken from me without my consent. I moved because I had to, not because I wanted to. And I still think of those places as my home, but now, finally, in my heart this place has joined them. Having the time in which to properly inventory the place, rid myself of old baggage and apply some tender loving care has helped elevate it to the status of a sacred place in my life.

Things are changing in so many ways here at the Hillhouse. For the past six years here it’s seemed that life, for the most part, has moved at a steady pace, and change has come in manageable doses; now it seems that the tide is coming in all at once and things are beginning to change in rapid and dramatic ways. Not to say that the change won’t be manageable, because in the end I believe it’ll all be fine. In the words of Martha Carver, “Things always work out“. I’m learning to accept that life requires change, growth requires entropy. Nothing is static. And in order to have wonderful new experiences, we must first break new ground.

IMG_9191The very first cut.

IMG_9187The neighbor boys are excited to see the machines working so close to home. I can’t help but dread the whole in my driveway filling up with the profile of a two-story house.

IMG_9170Here are the plans…

IMG_9214Ryan and Brandon enjoy being outdoors with all that’s going on…

IMG_9180They spotted a snake which I just managed to get – hence the fuzzy pic – and then it wriggled away. All muscle, they are. And stinky too! I’d caught tons of em as a girl and had forgotten that stinky ooze they poop out when frightened. Ich.

IMG_9218I’m breaking ground too. Putting in my final garden bed next to the house.

IMG_9219I’m not ever strong enough to drill a screw without first pounding out a little pilot hole. What a wimp. Takes more time this way too. Oh well.

IMG_9223After some painting and pounding, I’ve got my relatively cheap, DIY garden edging in. (Painted 2x4s with shims nailed perpendicular to em to act as stakes to hold them upright. A couple of L brackets to keep corners square.)

IMG_9232My requisite tools. Heard of Saratoga water? Bottled right here in town.

IMG_9243I’ve brought an end-of-week surprise for the kids at art camp…

IMG_9246It’s Bald Mountain! A couple of years ago I brought a rooster in for the drawing class. These clay students wanted to see him even though he wouldn’t be modeling for them.

IMG_9263He’s getting smooched whether he likes it or not. !

IMG_9299He lets out a loud crow in a small room.

IMG_9285Kestrel shows off her bas relief tile from the class.

IMG_9291Ceres says goodbye to campers and moms.

IMG_9332At my mom’s place, just up the driveway from The Studio, a turkey makes a visit (hummingbird at right by feeder).

IMG_9337Here he is up close. What plumage!

IMG_9311And here’s my guy Baldy on the short ride home. My house is about 1/8th of a mile past the sign, same side of the road.

IMG_9321Ah, the bee balm is out and the butterflies are back.

IMG_9351And my new chickens, now 3 months old, are right at home here. (Last year at this time I put in this pond.)

IMG_6581About a month ago Elihu, Mom, Andrew and I went to visit Martha in the hospital. She spent several weeks in a nursing home, and finally made it home again.

IMG_6587Martha’s always on. Aside from some hearing loss, she doesn’t miss a thing. No exaggeration.

IMG_7861Here’s Martha, eighty-six years ago at age two, in Deposit, New York. (Note how her haircut hasn’t changed!)

IMG_9124Here she is some sixty years ago…

IMG_9126Note the ashtray, ubiquitous in her generation.

IMG_9142Sometime in the ’70s, cigarette in hand (husband Frank to the left, he died in 2000) standing in the kitchen, which looks pretty much the same now.

IMG_9077The same place, forty years later.

IMG_8937As I’d driven in, I was greeted by a turkey vulture in the driveway.

IMG_8935Wish it were a clearer pic – but you can certainly see that wild red head. I made Elihu a turkey vulture costume for Halloween one year. What a crazy looking bird, and big, too!

IMG_9030Martha’s spot is no longer at the table, but behind the island, as it puts all she needs within reach. Also never far away is dog Masie, the sweetest black hound dog who lets no one near the house without great fanfare. Good watch dog.

IMG_9075Martha, holding court. Mike, Kelly, Mom and Andrew in attendance.

IMG_9088Another view… only difference through the years is the clutter. !!

IMG_9037Upstairs in this historic farm house it’s another story; quiet, still and spare. My mom and dad stayed in this room when we first began to spend our summers in Greenfield, before we bought the Old House (where Andrew lives now).

IMG_9040This is the adjacent room in which Andrew and I stayed; I vividly remember us both walking through this missing panel in the door and thinking it quite a fun game. The panel is still missing after four decades! I’m too anal to let something like this go unattended. Frank and Martha had a farm to run, however, and this was likely not even on the to-do list.

IMG_7868Here’s how tall I was in 1972! The very height of the door latch was decided on because it was as high as I could reach. All the kids in the area flocked to Martha and her famous kitchen, and many of us can follow our growth on the inside of this closet door.

IMG_8963American Gothic, tailgate style. Jessie and Sam are Elihu’s age – they’re in the same 4H group. Mike’s put in a vineyard in the fields we once hayed as children. Martha has given her place to this hard-working family. They’ll have a lot on their plate when that time comes.

IMG_8965Mike built this almost all himself. Next pic of this the siding will be up.

IMG_8983Impossible to count the man hours involved in planting and tending these vines

IMG_8989Fruit’s looking good now; it’s taken several years to reach this point.

IMG_8998The new barn, much of which Mike did too – the white house can be seen to its left, under the trees.

IMG_9015I learned to ride here when I was little.

IMG_9010It’s become so grown up with vegetation over the years that it’s only possible to see the whole place from the barnyard. Even then it’s almost swallowed up by greenery. I remember this as a thriving barnyard with sheep, cows and horses when I was a child, and the house, yard and gardens were much better groomed then too.

IMG_7867An old photo of the front of the house, which was built by Prince Wing in 1805 (Prince’s son’s name was Elihu).

IMG_9096After a great 88th birthday party for Martha Ward Carver, Jessie sounds me off on the shofar which her sister and I uncovered in the music room. Good thing she’s taking up trombone in the fall, I have known very few people to ever get a true sound on this thing. She can.

IMG_9103Later that night, as I sat reading on the couch, I heard a strange commotion down the hill. Soon there was a glow of flashing lights through the woods, so I had to investigate. Some poor fellow had veered to miss a deer and accidentally plummeted down the incredibly steep hill towards the marsh. Here the truck is finally towed to the road level. Trees and boulders ironically saved the driver. Talk about breaking ground! May my adventures be a little less harrowing.

 

Inventory December 31, 2011

This has been an amazing year for me. Didn’t really hit me until I printed out all my 115 blog posts and created a dated table of contents. I was able to see in one fell swoop the passage of my year. It was actually rather stunning. One year ago this very night I had no blog. No stories had been told. The only voice I had was the damnable monkey mind which swung along from tangent to tangent, me following maddeningly behind it. Writing calmed the chatter somewhat; it gave it a destination, a goal, a form. And so I found my true voice, and with it I discovered a sense of connection, of peace.

So I got that goin for me. Which is nice. (Yes, reference intended. And btw – how cool is it that my kid shares a name with Ted Knight’s character in Caddyshack? ‘Elihu, will you loofah my stretch marks?... sorry, monkey mind). But today I feel especially hopeful for my future as I step back and admire the fruits of my vision and labor (as well as the labor of an old friend) as made manifest in my new, not-so-sketchy basement. Elihu has long been afraid to venture there, yet it’s where his drums are, it’s where my office is. It’s also been where EVERYTHING else was. You know, the crap that just kind of finds you. So this week I set out to tame the crap. I won! The result – sore arms and back, tired body – but the beginnings of a basement in which Elihu and I will make many hours of joyful noise along with students and friends. I’ve already spent a good bit of time downstairs just looking at it. Cuz it’s so beautiful. And it’s just the beginning.

While my life is improving, I do have friends going through some truly difficult things. Some far worse than what I’ve endured. So I’m hesitant to simply say that this new year will be brilliant. For me, I believe it will be. And for our planet, I do think things will begin to get better. But this is indeed a world of duality – where darkness and light coexist. All I can do for those still facing personal challenges is give them my love. And that I’ll do so freely. For I now remember what it is to feel good, to feel hopeful –  something that’s taken a lot of time and work to achieve – and I mean to share it when I can. My heart truly goes out to those who have difficult personal journeys yet before them.

Whatever the future may bring, we have finally arrived at the last day of 2011.  So much talk about the changes to come. So much importance given to the year 2012. Regardless of the high profile Mayan calendar predictions, regardless of people’s varying interpretations of what this year represents, I believe it will indeed be yet another year of speedy change, upheaval and great transformation of we humans here on Earth.

In keeping with the frankness I’ve written with on this blog, I feel I must admit I’ve gone through a great deal of study over the past few years on the immediate future and how it might unfold. I’ve read hundreds of articles, visited countless websites and begun to pay better attention to the small voice of discernment inside of me in order to filter out what simply didn’t ring true for me. At first, when the messages of impending doom began to reach me, I admit I followed their leads, and often found myself investing a lot of time and energy into thinking all manner of horrific scenarios through to their gruesome conclusions. As time passed and my heart slowly began to heal, I began to pay less attention to the prophets of doom and gloom. For me it seemed that the healthier I got, the more attention I gave to the brighter promises for our shared future. In the wake of the huge change in my life and the depression that followed, I’d become familiar with the more metaphysical and spiritual approaches to mental and emotional health. Having spent a year working with a holistic counselor here in my new town, I found myself putting into practice ideas that had intrigued me for years. I learned the experience of timelessness through meditation, the toxic power of ignorance, guilt and regret, the ultimate power of love and forgiveness. The work I’d begun in order to heal myself became a foundation upon which I then began my search for answers and ideas about the upcoming earth changes that so many talk about. My new attitude brought me the possibility of a bright and beautiful future for us all.

It’s hard for us humans to understand whether we are victims of our environment or if we indeed create our realities as many insist. I do know that where we put our attention and energy helps pull in more of the same. It’s a crazy double-bind; you’re poor, so you worry about being poor, and more of that reality comes to you. I’ve wrestled with it for the past three years. (Whenever I say that I wish I had money – Elihu corrects me and says ‘mommy, you have that money now, and doesn’t it feel good? Little Buddha…). I find it’s not entirely accurate to say that we simply ‘choose’ how we feel about things, that we can simply ‘choose’ our realities. Ultimately, it’s true, but it’s not done in a minute. It’s much, much easier said than done. But I do believe that we can slowly turn the boat around, our intention going out before us, slowly pulling us closer to our goals, even while we’re throwing temper tantrums and crying in pain and just plain not feeling good. Thankfully, I do believe I’ve finally managed to turn my little boat around in spite of some pretty big waves.

So where is my little boat going? Where is this great ship Earth headed? I believe that it’s headed for a logarithmic explosion of connectedness and love. I do. I am stunned at the speed of inventions, the change of attitudes, the genuine collective desire for transparency and the good of all. When I moved here to New York three years ago, I didn’t know about Facebook yet. In spite of its frustrations and hiccups, it’s expanded my personal world in ways I am ever grateful for. In many ways my own life has grown exponentially because of my ability to connect with virtually (and virtually connect!) any bit of information I might be curious to investigate. I get so excited when I think of all the possibilities… I almost get panicked wondering if there’s enough time to learn it all…

Thank you, all you hundreds of people I do and do not know, all of you who’ve said hello and offered your support. I haven’t responded to many of you, and I feel pretty crappy about it. I want you to know that I’ve read everything you’ve written to me. I often feel conflicted when I hear from you; do I deserve this support, this attention? I’m moved to tears by so many of you, and I want to apologize for not responding with my most heartfelt thanks and love; it’s in great part because of you that I’ve been able to transform and grow. In this new year I promise to write everyone back. Because that’s the one thing missing from my inventory of this past year.

My heart is full. Thank you, dearest friends.