Driftwood
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Driftwood
The Memories The Wonderful Art of Jean Kayou Conjures
Bridge at Kirkside, Roxbury NY
The wonderful water colors by
publisher of stirred a memory from when I was 4 or 5, prior to my family moving back to where both my mom and dad were born in the Catskills Mountains and Mohawk River Valley. We would spend summers in Roxbury where my mother’s family lived, and my Dad was starting to get his business going so he could move us back east from Evanston.Jean’s latest collection from Parliament of Owls was the trigger.
Here’s my recollection of that evening, I’m trying to describe the impressions I see in my head, as they came to me. I did cheat and fill in some names after a conversation with Dad.
Driftwood
I am almost 5, an age and a time when memories are mere hazy snapshots My mom and dad are young, my dad a tall bear and my mom a pretty mountain flower This memory reaches far back for me, I am 58 today, but this faded recollection is from when I’m 4 or 5 Before my sister came into this world Summers we travel from Evanston where I was born To the Catskills where my folks were born and raised I’m too young to say how close Evanston is to Roxbury where we have traveled this summer Roxbury is green, we’re in the mountains, staying in a house behind a place called Kirkside Mornings are cold, misty, dark Home in Evanston is an apartment, basement level. Here we have river running in the back of Kirkside, and while our place is just a tiny cottage The buildings at Kirkside are all made out of stone Like stone churches
Dad is gone during the days - to work with Uncle Dave Mom takes me to Mum’s house - Mum is my mom’s mom It’s just walk down the street, and we pass the school where mom went before I was “even thought of” Hearing that phrase a lot growing up, I assume she said the same on those walks Nighttimes Dad would be back, and we’d take car rides to place called Grand Gorge These places were in deep hollows - valleys are what other people call them One time - and I don’t know if this is Grand Gorge, but it’s somewhere not Kirkside Mom wants Dad to help find something called driftwood Driftwood At 4 and a half I am still a city kid - my parents live in Evanston so these words are new to me We won’t move to the Catskills until another year And I grow up where my mom and dad did In a place where you had to make things yourself most of the time If your were board - really rare - you learned to draw, went outside, build a fort Driftwood When I hear that word the first time I can’t guess what that means But I remember we found a river bed somewhere, it may have been after having pizza at a place called Bennys But we stop the car and walk along the banks My mom is of the mountains, a mountain flower She’s nimble, pretty, and can pass through the prickers that just cut into my shin Dad is not a good as she but she just weaves and passes through effortlessly Dad picks me up just to get me by the prickers Driftwood Why do we want driftwood? “I’m going to paint on it, like Midge showed us” says mom Midge was a nice lady, with not as much white hair as Mum To my mind Midge is older than mom and dad I’m so young I can’t put numbers yet to age But Midge had a cool house, lots of pieces of wood that she painted Vibrant Images of raccoons, chipmunks, birds, especially robins Dad is quiet - he doesn’t do the art things that mom and her family can do Midge tells mom about how to paint something called earrings Mom listens, looks at all the paintings These paintings look real to me, they are that good. They’re like the cover of the book that mom reads to me I still remember his name, Thornton Burgess The books are all about the creatures I sometimes see along the river banks He lived near Kirkside, mom tells me several times that summer There’s a painted piece of driftwood that has a robin on it It will end up at our house when mom buys it for dad - it’s our family name after all We still have it, I looked at it for years growing up I am old now, 58, still have a list things I need to do And sadly my memories are just these fading slices of time I just looked up Kirkside now, and memory is the funny thing As I think I recognize some of the buildings I do know the small river that runs through the back of the property I am old now, live far away, and I call Dad about where we found the driftwood “Gilboa Dam,” he says. “But you got Grand Gorge right. I remember Midge and taking the drive that night.” When I talk to mom she corrects me and says "John Burroughs the naturist was from Roxbury, you always got him mixed up with Thorton Burgess". In my minds eye I can see that driftwood with the robin painted on it A brilliant orange breast With Midge’s signature on the lower corner And I also see my mom, working on painting so many things on so many projects over the years You make what you don’t have I learned that from my mom whose name means lady of flowers And from my dad who is still a bear, and taught me to parlay what I had Into something more They live there still, in those mountains My heart is with them
Below is the painting that Midge White did for my mom and dad, and it inspired my mom to do some many great artistic things herself. They have this downstairs in their kitchen, I would see this everyday I had breakfast. You can see Midge’s stylistic signature in the corner.
