It's the sweet darkside of the moon, rich with possibility.
It's now one full turn since our Mom, Thursa Revenaugh, stepped over the last twitchit of her life. A tremendous presence lingers, larger than when she was in her prime.She's evident everywhere I look. Every little kid's spark of mischief, each turn of random assistance from the cosmos, each grand-kid who walks through the door.
The collected essence of place and the accumulation of thought and experience in a given life. Even when that collection has been disseminated beyond its original location the memories speak loudly.
This month, I'm learning about Mary Elizabeth Colter, a lady architectural pioneer who hailed from St. Paul, Minn., her choice of hometown.
Colter took her love of the landscape and indigenous people of SW North America and created stunning buildings and interior design reflecting that love. At a time when architectural design was generally modeled on European styles, this uncommon woman turned the tide.
I spent yesterday at the L.A. Union Railroad Station where her work from the late 1930's still shines. The lunchroom, no longer in service will hopefully be turned into a historical monument. It's stunningly classic flavor incorporates traditional SW colors and building material and natural use of light.
Though she died in 1958 at the age of eighty-eight, she's quite alive at Grand Canyon in the buildings there crafted of rock and wood.
I'll be writing more on this topic of place after I've returned to 39 mile. My kids have driven to Grandma's to help haul me home to Alaska.
I leave Bakersfield and my time spent caring for Mom by offering this fine Writer's Almanac entry from March 15, 2010. The poem
Fields by Faith Shearin reflect my thoughts today.
Ade
