Every August I look forward to the arrival of the Perseid meteor showers, easily the most spectacular of the yearly celestial events. On a clear night when they are peaking you can see dozens streaking across the sky, heralding the coming autumn.
One of my most cherished memories from childhood was rowing out after dark to the middle of a New Hampshire lake with my Da to watch the Perseids. The sound and smell of the water lapping the hull and overhead the infinite dome of stars punctuated by iridescent ribbons of light. He would talk about astronomy, cosmology and how to frame your life on an infinite worldview, (“your life is a grain of sand compared to all those stars”). He taught me about the constellations and how they move with the seasons, joked about lake monsters and asked me who I thought I would grow up to be. That little grey skiff was where my relationship with my father took root and grew, where we both realized that we were so alike in so many ways. Every year I looked forward to our family vacation in August, anticipating our nights on the lake watching meteors. The last week of his life I sat by his hospital bed talking about those memories, among others, as if calling back that childhood magic could buy us some more time.
It didn’t, but it affirmed the love we felt for each other.
This morning, after powerful, torrential storms, I stepped outside with my headlamp for the pups to take their morning constitutional (it was 4 am – that is when Lifa decides the day begins). The air was at last chilly, crisp and clear after weeks of dense humidity and heat. The stars scattered across the sky – old friends I hadn’t seen in too long. On the eve of August I was reminded, as I am every year, of the Perseids and my Da. I spent the day on the water kayaking, indulging in nostalgia through the scent of water and the sounds of waves lapping.
My father was easily the single biggest influence in my life. My love of nature, need to be half-feral, my inclination towards the subversive – all traits we shared. He was a teacher, and his brilliant perspective, quirky humor and deep love of sharing knowledge won the affection of many of his students. Some stayed in touch with him for decades after school and were deeply saddened by his passing.
I sense his influence in my own work with kids (especially my subversive sense of humor which they seem to enjoy) and I hope I am, for some, a positive influence. I have taken them into the woods to track wildlife, introduced them to Gaelic and Old Norse, and supported their right to be who they need to be.
Always with open honesty about the need for that limitless worldview that was Da’s greatest gift to me. Paying it forward by encouraging them to look up, be patient, and watch that infinite dome of stars for those iridescent ribbons of light.
Et le jour est venu où le risque de rester enfermé dans un bourgeon a été plus douloureux que le risque de s’épanouir.
(“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”)
― Anaïs Nin
Cu Ruadh Artisans 