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I told this story to some grownups on a walk I was leading , one time . A woman in the group said , with some urgency , “ So — what we did with my Mother , when we buried her , wasn ’ t bad ? It was good ??”
Oh my yes , it was very good . All goes around , slowly , and nothing , nothing on this earth , is wasted .
Mount Auburn Cemetery is a wondrous dirt factory , some parts of it going around rather quickly , and some parts ever so slowly . But it all goes around . We can be certain of that . It ’ s a place of death , and life , and death , and all in between and beyond .
Truly , none of us is more important than a stone . Stones and I and all will go down to dust , and thence , eventually , to substance of the stars , the Cemetery but a station on the way to the grandeur of the Universe . From Cambridge / Watertown to ineffable infinity ! Isn ’ t that fine ?
Outward , to offerings for the community .
I joined Dave Barnett ’ s winter tree walk . There were about twenty of us , well-bundled up . The trees and all look dead . But their buds are there ! Formed in late summer and early fall , when there is still an abundance of sun and warmth for energy , all winter long they lie concealed in stout coverings to protect them from drying out .
Dave took us from tree to tree , showing us the shapes and colors of buds and twigs . I took notes , which I still have . At the end of the walk , we all gathered in Story Chapel where there was hot chocolate and a quiz ! Here ’ s a sheet with fifteen tree names on it , and there are fifteen branches laid out on a table , each with a numbered sticker . Match them . I did ! I got them all right !
Much later , I wrote a little botany book about 125 common plants , and for each plant I made up a way to identify and remember it , and some of the identification tricks I learned on that walk with Dave .
There was the Eyes on Owls program . When Story Chapel was built , who would have imagined that one fine Saturday it would be filled with people and raptors . Educators Marcia and Mark Wilson brought them , each one in its carrier . One at a time these were taken carefully out , introduced to us , and carried on hand slowly along the aisle so we could look more closely . Of course , the owls looked closely at us , too , and if you have never been balefully scrutinized by an owl I can assure you it is intimidating . A great-horned owl , you know , is about two feet tall . That is nothing to mess with . I was glad I was not a hapless mouse .
Jennifer Johnston , photographer extraordinaire , hosted a photography stroll for all comers . It was fall , and had rained earlier on the day my husband and I came along with Jen . So there were numerous puddles in which the colors and forms of the glorious leaves were reflected , offering wonderful opportunities to make intriguing images . A few days later Jen invited us to show our work in Story Chapel . How instructive to see differing interpretations of the same places . There is an important lesson in that , isn ’ t there ?