Monday, February 06, 2012

Nothing gold can stay

Elise & Ginny picking blueberries

quiet timeThe camp

This past weekend I had to say goodbye to my favorite place on the whole planet. My uncle's little lakeside cabin in Maine was abruptly put up for sale as well as the entire contents.

I've been lucky to visit "the camp" every summer of my life and I never thought I would have to stop. Everyone always planned to keep it in the family as long as we could- but Dad died and things changed and it seems I am getting a lot of immersion training in the art of letting go.

A real estate agent is assessing the contents of the cabin with an antiques dealer and moving everything out. There were a few sentimental items that I wish we had the chance to rescue; a set of marbles I used to play with, a painting my Aunt Dottie made of the lake and a strip of birch bark sewn into a tiny mouse canoe with my grandmother's name painted on it. I'm heartbroken that it is all gone. Things change too fast.

"Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay."

Robert Frost


Studios at Porter Mill said...

Looks like a beautiful little spot Elise. Hopefully the family who purchases it will take wonderful, loving care of it and enjoy it and make as many beautiful memories there as you your family did.

Elise of Argyle Whale said...

I think I'll eventually get to that graceful state of mind when I can be happy for other people who have what I want. For now, I can't help pouting and scheming about dressing up as a ghost to scare off potential buyers.

I'll grow up eventually.

Karissa said...

Elise! That is so sad to hear. At least you have the memories and pictures, which can't be sold.

Daphne said...

I would dress up like a ghost with you for the cause. Two ghosts are scarier than one.

Sarah said...

For good or bad I have a great deep aching love for things (and places). I can easily imagine how sad this is for you.

But you're right, you'll feel better about it eventually.

You may always be sad about the mouse canoe though. That's totally understandable.