Connie at Hunama Bay, Oahu, Hawaii, January 1968
Dianne in Salem Massachusetts, 1990
David in the gardens, house of the seven gables, Salem, Massachusetts, 1990
This post is linked to Nature Notes.
The dates on the second and third photos above are approximate. David and I visited New England several times, and I traveled to Boston on business and for pleasure at different times before and after I met David. David and I also traveled through New England on the train, en route to Quebec for the world-wide meeting of the AA fellowship in Canada, in 1985?
Dates are so important when you work on genealogy tables. If you build the timeline you find more clues. Otherwise, you come to a dead end. Literally.
I snapped the photo of daughter Connie at Hanama Bay, on the island of Oahu, Hawaii, in January 1968. I remember the date vividly because I was a Girl Scout leader, and had been camping with my girls at the bay for three days and nights. We earned our camping badges, but came home with soaked bedding, tents and selves. It rains a lot in Hawaii, especially around the beginning of the New Year. Surprisingly, none of the kids complained. Girls are a tough lot.
The photos above show different kinds of rocks. Connie is sitting on the remains of an ancient lava bed. Lava is the bedrock of the islands, unlike the mainland where we find many other kinds of rock formations. Here in Virginia, we have a surplus of rock, which makes geology a favorite course for many youngsters.
I am sitting on a different kind of rock in the second photo. I added the photo of David for balance and to show the opposite of rocks…flowers.
As anyone who has followed my posts for a while knows, one of my pastimes for decades, since I was a kid, has been visiting graveyards. And, I have visited hundreds of them.
For a couple of years, I lived in base housing in the middle of a graveyard at the Marine Corps station at Quantico, Virginia where my oldest two children were born. There we were, life in the midst of death. It was a peaceful place.
I found many family graves in New England, particularly New Hampshire. Sometimes grave markers are so worn, you can’t read the inscription. They have returned to their true nature as rocks.
A grave marker. I have no idea whose.