Joyful and Happy

"M"

"M"s Humming





Humming a Happy Tune

If I had to choose my favorite memory out of all the moments I shared with "M", I think I would have to choose listening to her hum.  I have never in my entire life heard anyone relish a tune as happily, and vigorously, as "M".  Sunny skies or stormy weather, and even to spite a chronic creak in her well-worn neck, "M" always had a happy tune to hum.

 

Well... it wasn't really humming in its truest sense of the word.  It was more of a combination of humming and la-di-das, sprinkled with an occasional word or two, usually in French.  More often than not, it included a lot of fa-la-la-la-la-ing, which led to a festive, holiday feeling even on the hottest of summer days.  It was a joyful sound, and I never grew tired of hearing it, even if it wasn't always in tune... or in season.

 

"M" would often ask me what I thought of her "singing."  "Do you think it sounds alright?" she would query, with genuine concern in her eyes.  "It sounds beautiful to me!" I would answer, and a broad smile would return to her weathered face.  In a world that is often full of dark and discouraging news, the sound of "M"s happy voice was always a welcome one to my weary ears. 

 

"My Grandmother was the only one in my family who thought I sang well," "M" would sometimes tell me after a satisfying session of humming.  "Everyone else in my family said I had a terrible voice," she added, with just a hint of unresolved childhood pain creeping into her high-pitched voice.  "I think it's delightful," I would reply, genuinely meaning it.  "You sound so happy when you sing, and that makes it a joy for me to hear."  Again, the broad smile.

Not to be redundant, but joyful truly is the best word to describe "M"s humming (aka "singing"),  I knew that everything was right in the world, as well as with "M", when I could hear her joyful hum.  And after spending long periods of time getting to know her for over two years, it wasn't at all surprising to me that her humming was of such a nature.  Absolutely everything about this amazing woman had a joyous quality to it!
 

"M"s favorite place to belt out a tune was the bathroom, which, as everyone who sings in the bathroom knows, is a wonderful place for acoustics!  Not only that, but it's a judgment free zone, as no one else is in there to offer a negative comment or disapproving scowl.  It is a safe and secure place to sing.  As loudly as possible.  And with an equal amount of passion  A very healthy way to emit pent-up energy and repressed emotions! 

Wait a minute... now I'm describing why I sing in the bathroom!   I think that for "M" it was more a matter of convenience, since that's where she spent a lot of her time.   Aging is a great equalizer, especially when it comes to the frequency of bathroom visits!

 

A curious and wonderful pattern began to emerge after "M" and I had gotten to know each other for a while.  We would hum in harmony.   "M" would start off a particular tune, often a holiday song, and then she would encourage me to take the next verse.  "Now you," she would prod, meaning it was my turn to take over.  And even though I often didn't know the tune, I would nevertheless pipe right in, as if the melody had been a part of my memory for a lifetime.   After a chorus of our synchronized singing, which could go on for a number of rounds, "M" would suddenly stop and clap her hands with glee.  "We sure do have a lot of fun together!" she would exclaim.  And even though she still didn't know my name or even quite how she knew me, in these special moments we were as one. "We make a pretty good team," I would tell her, and she would nod in ardent agreement.

 

Last August, "M" and I spent a great deal of time together at her family's property in "The Woods."  What made it so perfect is that we had our very own camp.   While her son and his family occupied the larger building, "M" and I were across a wooded path in a smaller, more cozy dwelling.  In fact, I think we were far enough away that no one else could hear our humming, even with the doors and windows open, which was probably a good thing!

She and I developed a daily routine that not only included three square meals, including a late morning and early afternoon snack, (accompanied by a cup of tea, of course), but also a particular repertoire of tunes.

 

In the mornings, I would often wake up first and start preparing the coffee pot and breakfast dishes.  During this time, I would refrain from humming so as not to wake "M" up.  Her bedroom, the only single bedroom in the building, was directly off the small kitchen.  Other mornings, "M" would awaken first, and the louder she hummed, the quicker I came downstairs, as my quarters were in the large porch-like second story of the dwelling.  Soft humming was an indication that "M" was fine being alone for a little while.  Louder, more passionate, humming meant that I better get to her side as fast as possible before she broke the sound barrier.  I didn't mind.  Seeing her sweet smile and hearing the joy in her voice was always a wonderful way to start the day.

During the early part of the day, "M" liked to hum the French tunes that were sung to her by her Nurse (aka "Nanny") when she was a little girl.  Perhaps there was something about this time of day that reminded her of her youth.  I took Spanish in High School, and am of the generation where "Sesame Street" on TV was the Nanny, so I didn't recognize any of "M"s songs.  It didn't matter, though.  They were all jubilant.  Not surprisingly, this would lead to another conversation about the end of World War II.  At this point, our talks would take a more philosophical twist, and we spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out the meaning of life.  Ultimately, we agreed that it probably was as simple as being at peace with yourself and the world around you.

Afternoons were typically filled with show tunes.  "M" loved to hum songs from famous Broadway musicals, including "My Fair Lady" ("we probably could have danced all night" in our younger days), and an oldie but always a goody, "Anything Goes" (since our friendship was "such a perfect blendship").  The amount of energy required to hum show tunes, as well as the digestion of chocolate laced cookies, would then lead to a brief rest.  And when I say brief, I mean BRIEF!  No sooner would "M" lay down, humming quietly to herself, than she'd be back in the bathroom testing out the acoustics!

Evenings were more of a time for celebrating the warmth of the holidays, and "M" and I would wind down our peaceful, nature-filled days by "decking the halls with boughs of holly."  (We were, after all, in The Woods.  What better place to find holly?  And fungus?)  Sometimes we'd go "walking in a winter wonderland" that was filled with speeding motorboats, chirping crickets, and those darned loons!  By bedtime, we would both hum a sweet version of "Silent Night" together, and I would tuck "M" into her bed, kiss her on the forehead, and thank her for another beautiful day.  Then she'd smile warmly, stretch out her arms, and embrace me.  I'd leave the door open a crack so that she could find her way to the bathroom during the night, and I could still hear her joyous humming even after I went upstairs to my bed.  How simple and enjoyable life could be in the company of a good friend!

For weeks after I returned from The Woods, or from any location I was lucky enough to share with "M", I would find myself humming mysterious French ditties in the morning, singing like Eliza Doolittle in the afternoons, and Christmas Caroling softly to myself at night.  It was very difficult returning to the "real world" after humming so many happy tunes with "M", and I couldn't wait for the next time I could hear her sweet serenade, full of pure and absolute joy. 

More Scenes from the Water

Around the Point

Lake's Center



 

Autumn Comes Early

Through a Pass

The Point

 

 

 

 



A View From the Water

 

Along the Shore

Through the Channel

Racing the Restorations

 

On The Water

As you've most likely deduced from my previous entries, "M" spent a great deal of her lifetime on or near the water (when she wasn't in the air, of course!).  Not only did she sail the majestic Caribbean, glorious Gulf Coast, and nearby Long Island Sound with her late husband, but she was also an avid fan of canoeing.  Their long-time home sits atop of a hill that overlooks a series of smaller hills leading to a private pond on which "M" was able to travel about in her small skiff.  What a sight that must have been!

 

During some of my visits to her home, "M" and I would ever-so-carefully walk down the windy driveway to the lower garage.  There, we would peer through the trees to get a glimpse of the pond below.  "I used to be able to hike right down there" "M" would recall fondly.  Then, looking down at her frail body and the cane standing next to her for support, she would sigh sadly as she realized the truth about her age. "How old AM I?" she would often ask me.  The question usually resulted in a guessing game in which I would continue to prompt, "Higher," "Still higher," and finally, "Just a little bit higher."  When we got to her actual age, "M" would exclaim with surprise, "Really?  I'm THAT old?"  Then her mood would brighten again, as she concluded that at her age, she might as well enjoy as many moments as she possibly could!  That is one of the things I admire most about "M".  That indomitable spirit!

 

At the lower garage, which was well worn by years of inactivity, "M" would ask me to open it, so we could explore what was inside.  The most distinguishable item was a small wooden dinghy that took up a good portion of the garage.  There were also a bunch of old bicycles, and an assortment of paddles, shovels, and mysterious old tools that must have had a purpose at one time.  We walked to the garage many times during my visits, and the contents were always the same, as were "M"s recollections of her past, which made it so enjoyable. 

 

Her favorite tale was of the dinghy.  It was white with blue trim, and it was hand-crafted many years ago.  "M" and her husband used to paddle it regularly in the pond at the base of the hill, often docking it there to enjoy a picnic lunch.  As I gazed down at the serene setting, I tried to imagine "M" rowing happily, her then dark brown hair blowing gently in the breeze.  But something was blocking my image, and I just couldn't conjure up a proper picture in my mind. 

 

It was her hair!  I could not picture "M" with anything but her distinguished-looking, Snowy White Egret head of hair!  To me, it was absolutely beautiful.  I couldn't imagine her without it.  Yet there had actually been a time when her hair had been dark brown, similar to the color of my own hair.  It dawned on me that my "M" was someone very different than the one who paddled that white and blue dinghy years ago.  Although I was filled with a curiosity to know more about who "M" had been in the decades before our acquaintance, I was also quite content with the lovely lady with whom I was lucky enough to share so many different experiences with in the present time.

 

Back in her home, "M" showed me a another amazing item.  It was a photograph of a pre-teen girl with dark brown hair at the helm of a small sail boat.  The picture was at least eighty years old, and it had been preserved exquisitely on an 8" x 10" wooden frame.  I recognized the face in the photo immediately, even though the hair was darker.  Some people are distinguished by an appearance that remains the same throughout their entire life span, and "M" was definitely one of them.  Her eyes were bright, and her expression was full of joy and wonder in the old photograph.  "M" pointed to it proudly and declared, "That's ME!"  She then went on to describe how she won that race at the famous yacht club that her father had  once been Commodore.  And she still had the trophy to prove it!  As with the picture of "M" teaching the student how to fly, this one soon became one of my favorites, creating an image in my mind of a young woman filled with a passion for living.  I realized how lucky I was to be in the company of a now old woman who is still driven by that same passion.

 

In "The Woods", "M" and I were able to share some experiences together on the water, and these are memories that will remain some of the most defining moments of my own life.  The family's camp was built on a peninsula, with the buildings being located on the Eastern side, where they were able to catch the morning light... and the daily passing of the mailboat, of course.  On the Western side, the property was next to a swampy area that allowed for much more privacy from passing tourists, a secluded area full of truly natural wildlife. 

 

That's where the boathouse was.  It was a beautifully built structure that had been lovingly fixed up and maintained by "M"s son, who restores old boats.  The west side of the boathouse was framed by a long wooden dock, and enjoying the afternoon sun from that vantage point truly felt twenty degrees warmer than the temperature in the now shaded camps to the east.  The family, and their dogs, frequently sunned on the dock, as well  swam in the clean, clear, cold (in my not-native-to-the-Adirondacks opinion!) water directly in front of the boathouse.  "M" also loved to absorb the sun's rays, decked out in dark glasses and a well-worn cap of some sort.  Sometimes, however, she would get a bit overwhelmed by the intensity of the afternoon sun, and retreat to the cooler, and vastly darker, side of the property where our camp was located.  There we would share a cup of tea... and some more stories.

 

On occasion, "M" would agree to go for a ride on the water.  Although she still relished being near any body of water, "M" was fully aware that she could not engage in certain activities the way she once did, like swimming and canoeing.  I could see the melancholy look in her eyes as she watched her teenage grandchildren frolic in the lake, carefree and content, their whole lives ahead of them yet to be shaped and sharpened.  Part of me empathized with her expression, having already lived five decades myself, filled with a series of "if only I had done (fill in the blank) differently." I wondered if "M" had as many as those as I did, and decided to ask her over our next cup of tea.

 

But now was the time for "M" to return to the water, and her family had a well-honed and extremely careful system for assisting her onto what was their family jewel, a stunning, shiny mahogany boat hand-crafted to absolute perfection.  Obtained by "M"s grandfather well over a hundred years ago, the boat had at one time been well-known and highly regarded in the area.  Residents and guests would gather on the shore to watch the charismatic craft cruise by.  Decades later, "M"s son had taken on the Herculean task of restoring the boat to its original condition, which once-again included  the admiration of the locals as the beautiful boat passed by.

 

I was beyond honored when I was asked to accompany "M" on the first boat ride of the season.  Not only was it a chance for me to view the spectacular surroundings from the middle of the lake (and don't doubt for a second that I didn't have my camera/phone firmly in hand, fully charged and ready to click!), but it was an opportunity to experience something with "M" that had been a significant part of her life since she was a young child.  All of my time spent thus far with "M" had been in the company of a delightful old woman with the ability to recall tales from her very colorful early years in great detail.  For that alone I was grateful!   But now I would be actually sharing a new memory that would bring us both back to "M"s remarkable past. 

 

I don't think I need to tell you that the ride up and down the chain of lakes with "M" and her son was incredible.  Something truly beyond words.  For that reason, I will share photographs with you that were taken from the boat.  Pictures really DO paint a thousand words, at least for me they do.  I hope they do for you as well.  What a gift to be able to pass on this experience with anyone who has been brave enough to join me on the journey so far.  Thank you for traveling with me!  With us!

 

One last comment before I end this entry.  Do you know what the most amazing sight for me was during that boat ride with "M"?   It was her hair blowing gently in the afternoon breeze, framing the look of  joy and wonder on her distinctive face.  It was the same exact expression she had as a pre-teen girl sailing to victory at the yacht club over eighty years ago!  Only this time, her hair was pure and most wonderfully white, like the Great Snowy Egret!

 

 

 

 

 

 

More Scenes from the Woods

 

 

 Tranquility at its Truest

(Sky, Land and Water Merge into One)

 

 

 

 

        Into "The Woods"

 



 The Roots of Giants Exposed by Erosion  

(A Hibernation Haven for Cold Critters!)


 

A Pair of Loons and a Mailboat

A PAIR OF LOONS

AND A MAILBOAT



Fungus Art

 

 Fungal Work of Art

Scenes from "The Woods"

Morning Sun on the Lake

The Woods

 



From Our Window

A Day in the Woods

So far, the travel stories I've shared with you about "M" have all taken place in the tropics (of which Florida is a part, especially in July & August!).  A lazy alligator, a bright yellow Christmas gift, and beautiful birds of sundry species have (hopefully) helped to color the tales.

But what about "The Woods," a place I've alluded to in every story?  "M" talks of this magical place often, and last summer, I had the privilege of sharing four full weeks with her there.  It was an incredible time for the two of us, and my role quickly evolved from caregiver and companion to that of an old, trusted friend.  It's amazing what a change in setting can do for a relationship!

 

"M" had spent much of her childhood, at least in the warmer months, at her family's "camp" in the Central Adirondacks of New York State.  This pattern continued into her adulthood, as she brought the next generation of the family to the site to spend their summers, and it lives on today with the third generation enjoying quality time there.

 

I didn't even know what an Adirondack Camp was when I was first asked by "M"s daughter to come up and help out with her Mom.  My mind immediately went to images of tents, but as hearty as "M" is for her age, I couldn't possibly imagine her sleeping in a canvas shelter under the stars! 

 

On my first trip up to "The Woods," I was full of both relief and reverence.  The "camp" consisted of a series of buildings that were built a century ago.  Nestled under the wings of even older Adirondack Pine Trees, the camp sat sheltered and secluded on the side of a pristine lake.  Modern day codes and regulations would never allow for such structures to be constructed so close to one of these lakes, but a hundred years ago, there were no such restrictions.

 

When "M"s Grandfather had purchased the property, there were very few people in the area.  The ones that did make residence there were either local loggers or hunters, and the only access to the area was by train.  Gradually, some well-off and quite insightful New York City families discovered the serene setting, and were able to provide the funds to construct magical mountain hideaways.  To my knowledge, "M"s family was one of the first.

 

The first thing that struck me about the camp was how quiet it was.  It was build on forty plus acres, and the nearest road was miles away.  Instead of lawnmowers, weed-wackers and the various other power equipment that typically mark a summer day, here in "The Woods" was only the occasional call of a loon.  It was marvelous, and I looked forward to the solitude and silence.

 

I couldn't have been more wrong.  You see, the camp was built on a lake that belonged to a connected chain of waterways, and over the past half century had become a summer vacation getaway for many people from various urban areas.  Very few of the original camps remained, replaced by five-star resorts and a multitude of bungalow cottages that were continually occupied.  Not only was the area now full of city-weary folks who craved the fresh mountain air, but it was also over-run with their various water toys, most common of which were the jet ski and pontoon "party" boat.  Long about late afternoon on a typical day, but more frequently on the weekends, vacationers would parade their water craft, some not-so-quietly, up and down the lake.   

 

Of course, there were the old-timers, like "M"s family.   They were content to enjoy the lake via canoe and kayak, and other such boats that did not need loud, powerful engines to propel them.  Many were fisherman, who sat quietly on the edges of the lake patiently waiting for a bite, and if lucky, a catch.  But there weren't very many of the original camps left, and the area had become a summer-time vacation mecca exemplified by its HIGH NOISE LEVEL!

 

But not on a rainy day, which were surprisingly frequent in the Adirondacks.  On such occasions, the noise level came to a complete halt, with not a motor boat to be heard.  It was an amazing transformation, and one that was most welcome for "M" and me. 

 

You see, the rainy days gave us a chance to talk.  Just talk.  Although some of the camps (luckily ours was in this category) were equipped with electric and rudimentary plumbing, there were none of the usual media distractions that one would have in their own home.  No computers, television, Internet, Play-stations, and various other electronic devices designed to continually entertain.  "M" was much like her daughter, who preferred more of the back-to-basics type of activity, and could be content just spending an entire day reading, writing, playing card games, enjoying nature, and chatting.

 

Days such as these were the ones that I remember the most, for they enabled me to really learn about "M"s remarkable life.  If the forecast was for a full day of rain, all the better.  We would start our morning with a simple breakfast, followed by casual conversation and the enchanting sound of raindrops on the rooftop.  After lunch, we would have tea, and that's when the real conversation began to take place.  Sitting on very basic wooden chairs that were hand-crafted over a hundred years ago, "M" and I would talk about anything and everything that came to mind.  And with "M"s Dementia playing a huge factor, I never knew what our conversations would entail.

 

Sometimes, it was as simple as discussing the daily routine of a songbird.  "M" loved all types of animals, but especially birds, and between the water fowl and tree-dwellers, there were many species to talk about.  The Woods were also home to very happy squirrels and chipmunks, among other animals who preferred to make their presence known at night, such as the raccoons, possums, and skunks.  And the loons.  Those darned loons.  Every day at 3am the loons would proudly and loudly serenade us with their tune.  For such a beautiful bird, I have to admit that their vocal talents did not exactly match their appearance.  What a unique, and piercing, sound!

 

Other times, "M" and I would talk about her flying days, when she taught Naval cadets how to fly during World War II.   This period of "M"s life was quite influenced by "the bad man" who was trying to take over the world, and in the process was destroying much of it.  She spoke of him often, but I would always try to steer the conversation away from anything that had to do with Adolf Hitler.

 

Most often, probably triggered by our setting, "M" would talk about her childhood memories of "The Woods."  And there were many.  It was very clear that her time spent in these serene surroundings were some of the best times in her life, so I would make sure to ask as many questions as possible about life in the camp when she was younger.

 

One of her favorite memories was the weekly arrival at the camp of the "Pickle Boat."  Once a week, sometimes more often if needed, a well stocked motorized boat would make its way to all of the camps bordering the lakes.  In this way, residents could purchase all of the supplies they would need to get by during the rest of the week.  I would imagine this included pickles, but I still have not found out the reason for the boat's name.  I'll be going up to "The Woods" again in a few weeks, so I promise to find out the origin of the term "Pickle Boat" and share it with you. 

 

The children in the camp, which included "M", her two older sisters and brother, as well as many cousins and other extended family members, were most excited by the boat's arrival each week. Along with the regular cargo, the Pickle Boat's captain would include an array of candy for the children.  "M" always had a big smile on her face when she described this part of the story.

 

There was also the Mail Boat, another weekly visitor to the camps.  While not as exciting to the children as the Pickle Boat, it was an important and much-needed means for the adults in the camp to communicate with friends and family back in "the city."  During my first week in the Woods, I was lucky enough to see the Mail Boat, which was still operational a century later.  Although "M"s family did not use the service anymore, the beautiful little craft would meander its way up and down the shores of the lake, and I found it fascinating.  Needless to say, with the wonder of a child, I would rush out to see it, capturing as many photos as I could with my camera phone.

 

"M"s memories also included winters spent in the "The Woods," including one very special family trip at Christmas time.  I couldn't even imagine a winter day in the camp, even though each building was equipped with at least one working fireplace.  The dwellings were so far removed from "civilization," and even today, a novice visitor like me felt like I was driving into the most isolated spot in all of New England when I drove down the camp's dirt "driveway."  I'm not so sure my car's tires are looking forward to the return trip next month, so I'll have to do some preparation before I go.

 

As "M" described the winter months spent in the camp with her family, her eyes would get misty and her voice became filled with what clearly seemed like a longing for a simpler time and place.  I could only imagine what such an experience would be like, but amazingly, despite how many decades ago it was, "M"s recollections were clear as a bell.  She could describe the family Christmas tree as if it were only yesterday!  This was probably helped by the fact that the camp contained much of the original furnishings from when it first became operational a hundred years ago.  Hand-built wooden tables, chairs, a writing desk, and various other decorations filled the dwelling, along with a high chair that sat distinctively in the corner of the main living area.  When I asked "M" about the chair, she was happy to tell its' story.  Not only had she and her sisters used it, but so had her children, and their children afterwards.  Just hearing her talk about it filled me with wonder as well.

 

The thing that struck me most was the mantel above the fireplace.  There were not many things on it, but what was there was a complete mystery to me.  Various pieces of something that looked like wood, all different shapes and sizes, decorated with colorful carvings and drawings.  Some of them looked as though they had been drawn by children, with names, dates, and simple scenes depicted on them, but others seemed like works of art.  The etchings were quite intricate, and I was very impressed at not only their quality, but by how they had held up over time.

 

"What is that?" I asked "M" early in my stay.  "My older sister made it," she explained, a sense of pride in her voice.  "She was very good at art!"  Indeed, the drawings were quite good, especially being done on an odd-shaped piece of wood.  "M" would then describe the attributes of her other older sister, who was good at decorating and arranging furnishings.  "M" would then put herself down, saying that she wasn't very good at the typical things a woman should be good at, like cooking.  "I can't cook either," I would tell her, trying to empathize.  She smiled knowingly at that statement, saying, "See?  No wonder you and I are friends!"

 

When I asked "M"s daughter what the wood-like artwork actually was, she told me that they were pieces of fungus that had grown on some of the property's trees.  In fact, they could be found throughout the entire Adirondack region.  FUNGUS?  Really?  I would never have guessed that, but again, I was a newcomer to life in "The Woods."   

 

After that, I embarked on a personal mission.  I had to have my own fungus!  Rain or shine, I would search for the perfect piece.  A rustic memento.  Something that would connect me to "The Woods" that "M" so loved.  It took some time, and I searched the grounds diligently whenever I was not with "M".  But as hard as I looked, I could not find any fungus that resembled the ones on "M"s mantel. 

 

Finally, I found my tree.   A glorious giant that, if it could talk, would tell stories older than "M"s.  And there on its bark, were several pieces of fine-looking fungi.  I had to have one!   Detaching them from the tree looked simple enough at first glance.  I would just gently wiggle them until they snapped off from the bark.  No way.  They were attached like glue.  Now I felt badly about trying to remove them from their natural habitat.  But not badly enough.  I still had to have one!  No matter what angle I approached the fungus from, it was not budging.  A true woods dweller would have at least a pocket knife on them at all times, but all I could come up with was my car key. 

 

And so I started cutting the base of the fungus with my key.  It was a slow process, but I was determined.  That was another thing "M" and I had in common.  When we set our minds to achieving a certain task, there was no stopping us.  Complete focus.  I chipped and carved, and carved and chipped, all very gently so as not to damage my precious prize, and eventually my efforts paid off.  The fungus cleanly broke off from the tree!  I had it! 

 

I rushed back to the cabin, fungus in hand, eager to show "M" my prize.  "You got one!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.  Yes I did.  A good sized one too.  I couldn't have been more proud.  Now I had a blank fungal canvas on which to construct my very own work of art!  I had brought crayons with me (coloring is a GREAT activity on a rainy day), so I at least had something to work with.  Plus, I had my car key, which I now knew was an excellent carving tool in a pinch.

 

I worked on that Fungus for close to a week, and of course will attach a photo of the finished product.  "M" loved it.  And I did too, although we both agreed that drawing and etching were another talent that neither of us possessed.  It didn't matter, though.  What was important was how much fun it was to do it.  "M" would watch me work on it with great interest, and often declare, "Isn't this fun!"'  It was fun!  I've experienced a lot of things in my life, but never the carving of a fungus.  

 

The fungus wasn't the only treasure I brought back from my time with "M" in her beloved "Woods".  More valuable are the memories of our conversations, the chats we had over a cup of tea, a two-hour discussion triggered by the song of a bird or the sound of the rain.  These were the memories that were irreplaceable, and I began to understand why "M"s recollections of the times she spent at the camp were so special. 

 

It was truly a magical place.  Full of wonder and mystery.  Being able to share time with "M" in this tranquil setting was something that I will treasure forever.  "The Woods" were now not just a part of "M"s past, they were a part of our friendship, a connection that transcends the role of caregiver.  I could not have been more grateful for this opportunity.