Creative Experiments and More

Funny, she didn’t remember driving here….but here she was, having walked the only clear path to the entrance of the lakeside cottage, her frigid winter breaths staccato beats on the peeling red of the front door (she knew no one would answer), she trembled slightly turning the unlocked door handle.

Grey, weathered, mirror image of her self, the cedar board structure had become more hillside, less lakeside, settling and bending under the weight of time, life’s toll exacted, the surrounding trees pillowed and supported it, much like the curve of a mother’s arms protecting her frightened child.

Memories burst through the front door along side her and flooded the great room with nostalgia thicker than the years of accumulated dust that clung to the furniture covers, clouding her eyes even more than the recently diagnosed glaucoma; yet she felt as if her vision had never been clearer than…

In the Summer of 1958, on a visit to Ireland, I haunted the two kilometre stretch of country road that ran from Moolum to the village of Kilmacow. It was an adventurous route for a ten year old.

Blackberry bushes were my favourite target as my siblings and I would go armed with one gallon cans to reap the bountiful harvest that grew on each side of the road. The cans would be overflowing on our return.

I travelled along that road with my great aunt Kate in her assen cart to deliver bread and eggs to the neighbours. Leaving early in the morning and returning late in the afternoon.

I tried to steer Blackman the donkey, along that route, riding him bareback, but invariably failed as he was more interested in grazing on the hedgerows at the side of…