Tuesday, December 14, 2004


Family Tree, Part 1 (Being A Series Of Random Anecdotes)

Copyright 2004 by proprietor of www.aeternus.com
My father believes in three things: the land, good wood and Gorry, an obscure deity worshiped by my people, the people of northern New England.

"By Gorry, bet you wan't expectin' that, were ya?" he asks. He is talking about the blizzard; and the 17 inches of snow it lathered on the town where he was born; and the fact that my impromptu day trip up to visit the folks here has turned into a long weekend, an early Christmas present for me and my family.

Dad is beaming this morning, brimming with light, smiling at the snow as he gazes out the kitchen window of the 210-year-old Cape house where he and my mother and their cats live. "Yessuh! That were quite a blow last night. I reckon it musta been snowin about three inches an hour for awhile." he says this last with an inexplicable note of pride, as if he were somehow responsible for it. He certainly was the only one expecting it.

Last night, when I showed up for dinner, my dad clapped his rough hand on my shoulder and said, "Good thing you pulled up when you did. Snow's on the way; I can see the signs." I laughed at the time. I had decided to drive up because it was such a clear, beautiful day. The drive from New York had been under icy blue skies, and no weatherman was calling for snow for at least three days. But my dad knew--some twingy telemetry from his arthritic knee; something in the way the ground crunched under his feet; some list to the branches of the ancient maple in the front yard.

Sure enough, just a few minutes past 10, the wind began to blow, waves of a ghost ocean crashing against the bow of the house. As I sat in my old room and watched the small, soft flakes fall by the millions, I heard my dad cackle downstairs. The wind seemed to stir something in him. I could hear him thumping from window to window; and occasionally to the door and outside, to check the progress of this storm. Every so often, he'd emit some exclamation to himself or one of the cats. "Whoa! That were quite a gust, wan't it, Moxie? Lookit that big bastid of a flake!"

"You're the flake!" I yelled downstairs, laughing.

"Nossir!" he called back. "Not crazy--maybe just a bit touched," he allowed.

Touched by the hand of Gorry...


I enjoyed your story. Actually - I laughed my arse off.
A born and bred New Englander and my Grandmother is a Newfie - by Gorry I can relate!


PS - I checked your blog out by way of Nickerblog.
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