finding inspiration in gingko leaves and coping with life’s curveballs
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It's that time!
When the sap runs
Spring is underneath that white layer, and rising to meet the cold air.
Growing up, when the sap was running, it meant a hike to the bush and the sugar shack.
Just up the road from town, and down a muddy lane skirted with crystalized snow, we'd approach with anticipation. It was an adventure checking the buckets on the trees to see how much had been collected, and to smell that faint sweetness of watery sap. If we were lucky, the wood stove would be blazing with fire, thick steam rolling around us, the big vat boiling with liquid thick enough to pour onto a tightly packed ball of snow. The taste was heavenly.
Continuing on past the buckets and maples in the bush, we'd make our way toward the creek, listening intently. We could almost gage how high the water would be based on the sound and we'd carefully watch it start to break away the ice on the rock bed and move swiftly south. On rare occasions we'd gather sticks and wood, make a fire on the rocks, and cook the hot dogs we'd packed for lunch.
My ancestors once owned 32 acres in Ontario, Canada, where this sugar shack still is. The land has changed ownership a few times and then, coincidently, a friend of a friend purchased it about 20 years ago and that sugar shack is looking glorious today. My friend Rob, and Bruce, still tap the trees and are making syrup.
I feel deeply connected to this place even though I'm far from it, and my brother and his family still go there on hikes. Seeing the pictures of this year's syrup brings back fond memories of family, and days gone by. It makes me think of our important connection to land, the beauty nature provides, and the goodness of what it can produce if we take care of it.
Wherever you are, here's hoping you get to taste that sweet syrup this spring!
Did you know it takes 80 gallons of sap to produce just over 2 gallons of syrup?
‘Now & Then’ (image above)
My Dad (left) with his uncle, brother, youngest sister and mother (behind the buckets) in the early 40’s.
At far left (walking away) is my niece’s husband with their son, Dad’s youngest great-grandchild.
the sugar shack as it appears today
first drops in the bucket; Bruce & Rob’s syrup; the sugar shack in the 1930’s.
(current photos courtesy Rob Stevens)
the story
how "Beholding Touch" was born
Those unforgettable moments. The times that make the hair stand up at the back of your neck. The moments your mind refers back to time and time again.
That's what matters most.
During the trip to The Netherlands with my dear Dad in 2015, I captured a moment that became the inspiration for the Gratitude Collection, eight pieces of art honoring WWII Veterans and the Dutch citizens, who's love and respect for their beloved heroes is incredible.
The collection's signature piece, "Beholding Touch", became the first, born from a photograph that spurred my creativity and longing to create a lasting legacy for those we love.
I invite you to travel with me back to the moment...
Dad and I are in the city of Apeldoorn, along with over a hundred Veterans and their families to celebrate the 70th Anniversary of the Liberation. Holland has held a tradition of hosting a major celebration every five years and there are throngs of people lining the streets for the parade in the heart of the city. It's a cool spring day, camera crews and photographers are everywhere, period army vehicles from the 1940's and drivers dressed in gear replicating wartime, are transporting the Veterans. There are shouts of joy, flowers, flags, and children and parents and grandparents who vividly remembered their plight during the war and wear their emotion on their sleeves. And many respectfully make their way close enough in genuine hope of touching one of the soldiers who helped free them.
We're in an old army ambulance vehicle, I'm seated behind my Dad, but it's difficult for me to see the people. I jump out of the back to walk alongside and experience things more fully. Soon after, a young girl gingerly reaches her little hand up to touch my Dad's and she stares him in the eyes for what seems like a full minute. The image shows up in my camera, intact, clear, intently calling out to me.
Another day, another location in the province of Friesland during that same trip, put me in front of a bronze sculpture by Tineke Willemse - Steen, of a beautiful young child with a cherub-like face. This photograph becomes part of Beholding Touch (in the top left of the image), and is symbolic of children who did not survive the war and who were witnessing - beholding - the generations who were free and that did survive.
We were to board a plane this week, May 1st, 2020, with my Dad, bound for Amsterdam, to celebrate the 75th Liberation Day with the Dutch and five other Veterans and families. We were to be in Dokkum, and the Gratitude Collection was to be exhibited there, where my Dad and fellow Vets would see the artwork for the first time.
Instead, we're home and nesting due to the pandemic that has gripped the world. And Dad has peacefully and quietly moved on to his final resting place in heaven above. He's watching life unfold with cherubs and angels.
The legacy remains.
in the army
vehicle behind my Dad
Apeldoorn, May 2015
me walking beside the army
vehicle and coming upon
the little girl (bottom left)
who appears in
"Beholding Touch"
original photograph
Apeldoorn parade
Dad with young child
May 2015
photograph of bronze
by Dutch sculptress Tineke Willemse - Steen
located in Hotel Landgoed Lauswolt, Beetsterzwaag
May 2015
Go here for information about the Gratitude Collection and the exhibition that is now rescheduled.
When you have to pivot
Dad sat in his chair in front of the big picture window and looked out to the world he could appreciate for the first time since he was admitted to the hospital. He sighed, closed his eyes as he put his head back, and grinned with relief and joy.
His three week stay enabled him to gain strength and get rid of an infection that - well, beat him up.
The unfortunate timing of his illness meant that he would not be going on the trip he was so looking forward to. It was to be another visit for he and six other WWII Canadian Veterans back to the beloved Netherlands they helped to liberate in 1945.
A roller coaster of thoughts and emotions preceded my husband, two teenage children, and me, as we boarded the flight to Amsterdam. We were no longer going to accompany Dad, but instead be his eyes and ears.
True to form, the people of the Netherlands, in the City of Leeuwarden, Province of Friesland, were incredibly gracious, treating the Veterans with great love and respect. My children got to witness the outpouring of kindness, and see how important it was for the Dutch people to have direct connection with the Veterans and their families. They are grateful for their freedom, and they have made it their mission never to forget it's price.
My brother and I brought Dad home the day after we returned from the trip. From his chair he watched as we displayed photographs of events he missed and people he knew, and video clips of friends sending him caring messages from afar.
I held fast to the belief that my father would get well in time to travel with us and didn't want to accept that he couldn't. I had to pivot and let go. It wasn't meant to be.
We carried love across the ocean. And we carried it back with us and delivered it. Love is great to receive no matter where you sit and ponder it's power.
how can you preserve and celebrate what matters most?
An interview with my father in 2017, produced by Deborah and Ted Parks of PSquared Cinefilms
Musician Eddy Dykstra serenades us on the patio of the Klinze hotel as we prepared to return to Canada, May 2018
The trip to the Netherlands in 2015 inspired me too... Here's a video of what it motivated me to create
