Tag: Lynn Langmuir

Wool Gathering

Posted on by heather

When I look back at the Painter’s Notes
over the years
it warms my soul
to read how many of them
mention Lynn Langmuir.

She is after all
the first and only reason
I ever set foot on Martha’s Vineyard.

From our early days
as room mates in Somerville
her prodigious generosity
was surpassed by her kindness
and then some more by her curiosity
but the cherry on top
was her laughter.

That full throated
heart bursting
joyous roar
would shake the bluff
and echo over the ocean waves.

Years ago
and no, I don’t remember now how many,
she brought me a treasure
from a trip that she and Ellen
had taken to Scotland.

A tiny tuft
warmed by sunshine
soft and white
and smelling of
stone walled pastures
filled with sheep.

She had watched me learn to spin
and packed the ever present bag of knitting
alongside our spaghetti boxes
into her VW for those early ferry rides.
And with that memory in mind
she knew the exact bestest gift
for her artist friend.

 That was behind the subject matter
and of course the title here
but you can’t touch the place
deep inside
where I can still
hear her laugh.

Lynn’s Daffodils

Posted on by heather

Back in our twenties
when the cost of the ferry boat
and a sack of spaghetti fixings
was all we needed of adventure
Lynn would invite a friend or two
or three but never five or more
to come along on a trip to camp.

Her homemade cloth carrying bags
which could double as storm shelter if needed
stuffed mostly with cookies and books
were shoved under our feet for the crossing
and if we stopped
it was only to pee
and usually for me.

My memories of these excursions
drift further and further away
from the smell of the sea air
and the feel of winter cold sand beneath our feet
but my mind’s eye can still see her
Lynn
reaching deep into those duffels
for a handful of bulbs.

Was it every trip
or just a few times.
Did we all help
or watch from rockers.
I can see now
here in my dotage
her mother earth form
kneeling on the bluff
with a rusty shovel
lit from behind
by Camp Sunrises’
sunset.

Being there
for the planting
and plantings
and more
was all of the road I knew
and all of the journey I needed
until this spring…
when all these decades
and spaghetti suppers later
I finally got
to bend down
with the salty spring air
at my old lady back
and to say hello
for the first time
to Lynn’s daffodils.

Sankaty Sails

Posted on by heather

After a loooooonnnng day of firing up the old framing muscles,
and after an arduous winter, lifting tiny brushes,
and bowing to hard driving muses,
it is sooooooooo nice to look at this painting,
the ferry docks at Wood’s Hole,
and know that in just a little over one week,
we will be right there.

With a car full
of freshly framed oil paintings,
two tired but happy old women,
on board a great iron vessel,
steaming for home.

I never tire of that 45 minute trip.
Even the passages which I have spent deep in the bowels,
catching a few last zzzzz’s on the 7am boat,
before the long drive back to Pennsylvania,
or the one’s where I chose to shelter
from the raging winter storms,
and look out over the freight boat’s rail,
while knitting those fisherman’s patterns,
in the warm and cozy cab of the truck.

For those, and all those other trips,
when the summer sun was shining,
or the October fog blanketed the sound,
when the passengers played with the following gulls,
and the benches left our shorts wet from the waves,
and my camera caught
just the right raking light
on a rigging of canvas sail
that was carrying some other sailor
home from the sea…

I owe all of that magic,
all of those memories,
all that the vineyard has become in our lives,
to that very first voyage,
can it be so close to 40 years ago…
with my friend Lynn.

Sail on silver girl.