Sepia Saturday #62: The last time I was there
Entrance to the street where my great-grandmother's house (see insert in sepia) used to be. After she died, my great-aunt Clara lived in it. When I visited, my grandmother Katie, Clara and another sister, Mamie were all there.
I’ve been doing a great deal of family research lately and that always gets me emotional. I feel I’ve missed opportunities in the past to find out things about my ancestors. I’ve been to Ireland and even Northern Ireland, but at the time, I was either a teenager tagging along with my parents, or a newly-wed, with anything but ancestry on her mind.
I’ve been to Nova Scotia countless times, but I have not once thought to look up my ancestors or even visit a grave! I am kicking myself now.
I do hope to remedy this situation, but in the meantime the only way to get my emotions released and dealt with is to write poetry. A Poetry Bus prompt proved ideal for me at this time. Based on the phrase, “The last time I was there…”, I decided to write about a visit I made to my great-grandmother’s house ( lovingly known as “up home”) quite some time ago.
Katie and Clara in their younger days in the garden up home.
UP HOME
It was twenty odd years ago, the last time I was there;
Rooms smelled of old knitting; the skinny cat was sitting on the piano bench—
The last time I was there.
Pictures in wood frames of people whose names I was told, but can’t recall;
Grand dames and old flames and uncle James on dustry shelves—
The last time I was there.
Three dear ladies were there, in printed dresses, their silvery tresses
Tucked behind ears—an auburn wig askew; I snapped a photo or two—
The last time I was there.
Spindly hands filled bowls of vanilla ice cream topped with fresh strawberry jam;
There was spilled tea on the parlour table—
The last time I was there.
Tiger lilies towered at the drive’s edge, peonies and pea-flowers
Blew in buzzy trellised towers—
The last time I was there.
Hearing aids hissed; dry lips kissed my cheeks goodbye, and I never thought
How they would all be missed—
The next time I’d be there.
Kat Mortensen©2011
Please don’t forget to visit the designated Sepia Saturday blog where other contributors are lined up to share their stories. You may even consider joining in yourself!
2011/02/18 at 12:24 pm
Each time I read the poem, I love it more.
2011/02/18 at 2:30 pm
Great poem Kat. The sepia inset really shows up the old house when you enlarge the picture.
2011/02/18 at 8:11 pm
Hi Kat, beautiful as always. Many of us let opportunities pass us by unknowingly, of course. But you are making headway now. I liked this a lot.
QMM
2011/02/19 at 12:04 am
Love the poem. So descriptive. Loved the visit to grannies house.
Nancy
2011/02/19 at 2:48 am
Yes that is a fine poem : and those are such universal sentiments. How I wish I’d have asked more, recorded more, when I visited those old family homes. Maybe the ancients who would memorise great chunks of family history and pass it down that way had the best idea.
2011/02/19 at 10:18 am
Wistful poem…I think we all pass those opportunities to learn about the old folks and ourselves in our younger days, I know I did. Sure wish I knew now. I like the way you imposed the sepia of the house onto the street photo
2011/02/19 at 10:19 am
PS what is all that on the bench in front of the ladies? Flowers? Vegetables. I enlarged it but still am uncertain, but as they are in the garden, I think it is a harvest of some sort.
2011/02/19 at 11:13 am
Hi Pat – I believe it is a flower box of nasturtiums. They were always well-loved by my mom’s sister, Joan and I think it may be because they were in their grandmother’s garden.
2011/02/19 at 12:18 pm
Grand dames and old flames, what a lovely poem and such great photos to go along with it! Thanks Kat!
2011/02/19 at 2:23 pm
You’ve just made me cry, with your poem! XX
2011/02/19 at 5:57 pm
This is precious, bringing back so many lovely memories. Vanilla ice cream with homemade strawberry jam ~ me too!
2011/02/20 at 2:28 pm
Yes, the saddest part about ancestors is that we don’t appreciate them until those with the stories are gone. But I shove the thought from my mind as quickly as it came because there’s nothing I can do about it. But you’ve eloquently put the loss in words.
2011/09/09 at 2:45 pm
Really like the poem, Kat! I have many thoughts about my ancestors, but the research I did, led to wrong info. and it’s too hard (too expensive too) as my French is too poor.
Your profile name on my post about the lettuce pot intrigued me, so I went looking:) Thanks for your comment and enjoy your weekend! Jeannette