I came upon a stack of photos in which there were
several of the trip we took to New York. Of the dozens that were taken,
and the few scattered in the pile, the one I came upon that day was
black and white, of Sarah in the foreground, lying in the grass, asleep
on Joseph's lap, and Joseph leaning back on his elbows in the background.
It made me think of that trip, how we took it to support
Jill Winder, another Whitman graduate, and how Sarah and I didn't
really know her well and so went jauntily along with the crowd of
rascally kids (including the infamous Isaac, and the Dangerous Eddie,)
through the streets of New York City, and the parks, and how on one
curb we got to braiding both Ben and Joseph's hair at their request,
and what fun we had doing it. Something about not knowing Jill as
well as the rest of the crowd permitted Sarah and I to tag along with
the group like two mischievous kids, poking our fingers through metal
park fences, and to admire secretly the sweet and comical way that
both Ben and Joseph wore overalls, and to laugh when New Yorkers would
ask us what country we were from, assuming the UK or Israel—we
knew not why.
For a break from the larger crowd, and because Sarah
and I were driven to see "some Broadway thing" we met Patricia,
who was living in the City then, and spent an evening going to see
the play "Rent". We forged what felt like an important and
revolutionary bond then that allowed us both the possibility of adventuring
outside of the farminess of the boys and into adventures together
of which they showed no interest. It was a relief, as we were already
feeling ourselves destined (or even predestined) to live in some sort
of community. I was glad to have some camaraderie in my misadventures
and deviant indulgences. This kinship continued.
Because of our proximity and unique relatedness, I
was able to witness many different scenarios with Sarah and Joseph
and watch them learn to articulate their togetherness, as Ben and
I articulated our own. Ben and I called ourselves the whimsical, eccentric,
not-so-practical artsy couple, prone to fits of supposing. We joked
that Sarah and Joseph were the practical ones, Sarah with her no nonsense
business sense, and Joe with his farm-or-die utilitarianism. They
even seemed practical about their adventures, conspiring over maps
& coffee. Brian and Asha were characterized as the homemakers
and the world cafe music listeners/mountain dwellers. In reality we
were all much more of a blend. This was evident in Joe taking on Ben's
sense of aesthetic, Ben beginning to call himself an "agrarian"
and valuing the efficiency and self-reliance that comes with the farming
life that he'd wished for as a child, Sarah and I sharing a romantic
fancy for locomotives, long conversations, female friends, high-spirited
adventure, and an early role model in Natty Gann. All of us in the
love of mountains. All of us in the love of rivers.
Our dream was to work together, not as a commune,
but as a group of people who could share things, tools, time, children,
years, and stories. Over Spring Break I noticed what seemed like stress,
or exhaustion in Sarah and I presume it had to do with "getting
on with it" (meaning the dream of land). I expressed surprise
when she stated a firm conviction for the creation of this idea of
ours, as I had gleaned over time that she had little interest in farming
and didn't really know what she would do on a farm. In fact, in my
experience, she had remained stubbornly noncommittal about her role
in the farm which I took to be a sign that she still had major reservations.
She replied to my surprise that no, this was not primarily Joseph's
dream as I had sometimes thought, but one she envisioned for herself
in college and even before. This conversation was so enlightening
to me because I realized that perhaps many of my assumptions were
wrong about how this whole big dream came about. Our conversations
continued to be illuminating as we spent those next two weeks of March
together. Each conversation revealed the making of long held dreams,
aspirations, frustrations and convictions. We both shared frustrations
we'd experienced working on our houses, a shattering of the sweet
idea of a remodel...and we talked about how to create lives that liberate
rather than bind us.
Her face is so clear to me on that first March day,
maybe simply because I was seeing her in a new light, one that she
shone on herself. We were at the Whitman Campus, taking one of our
walks (which always felt stolen and splendid—while the boys
cooked). It was twilight and we made our way to the community garden
just off campus. It was warm enough that Sarah was only wearing a
T-shirt, but cool enough that her face was pinking with chill. The
fading light held her in that rose color and she seemed filled by
talk of community, and more tender than I had almost ever seen her.
I can't place what I learned just then but it was significant, and
perhaps it has something to do with how much there is to learn about
someone we think we know, and to really ask questions so that they
might have room to explain the origin and nature of their dreams.
My love is with you both. I am so very aware that
you among us carry the most layers of Sarah and her emergence into
the fierce and easy person that she was. I am grateful in a way to
know that someone (s) carries her story all the way back to the beginning
and how it must honor her living to have it be the two of you who
surely fostered her kindness, integrity, and dignity with the kind
of family you made.