Death of a Loved Matriarch

I live in the Brown's, green, house on the hill. People lived here before the Browns, and many, many, people have lived here since, but in this small community, it is the Brown name that has been affixed, to the place. It seems irrelevant that the house has been blue, for over twenty years.

I call this house home.

The little Brown girl, who grew up in this house, died last week. She was ninety-two years old. Jennie was born in a house, just up the road and it was there she lived most of her life, where she raised her family, entertained her many friends and family members, where her grand children visited and where she sat by her large living room window, watching the magnificent sunsets from the spot, with the best view in the village. Nevertheless, she had a special spot in her heart for this  childhood house. It is here her father, her mother and her two bachelor brothers lived for many years. I have met many a man, whose hair as a boy, was cut regularly in my big, farm, kitchen years ago by one of these brothers.

With the exception of the last few years, when her house became too much for her, she lived in Harbourville and a proud Harbourvillian  she was. Jennie's head was filled with so many stories of her school days here, the doings in the little white clapboard church on the cliff, and the workings in the harbour, she could see so well from her house. She loved the place.

Jennie never pretended to be anyone, but who she was. She was a decent human being, living a good life, in good times and bad. She led a fairly simple life, but their was nothing simple about Jennie. She knew so much about everyday living and much more. Her big heart and big brain knew much of the intricacies of living in the real world. She had more than enough common sense, that was eventually the foundation of wisdom.

There is sometimes, something demeaning about the word humble, so I won't use that word. I suspect Jennie was happy to be Jennie. Humility may be a better word. She did not push a sense of importance on anyone, who entered into her life.

An irrepressible twinkle in her eye, hinted at the rascal that dwelled within. There is no doubt Jennie was one of the well respected matriarchs of the community. Her opinions were often sought out and always respected. But Jennie's wit and thorough enjoyment of trickery opened others hearts to her. Sometimes I would be entangled in a scheme. I don't remember all the details, but I do remember delivering a beautiful valentine turnip to a local mailbox, one snowy Valentine day.

While I have lived here, Jennie's birthday on January 22, always involved powerful snowstorms. Her eightieth birthday was no exception. The roads were all closed, but those who could make it came on skis, snow shoes or the sheer determination of walking one foot in front of the other, through the deep snow to show up to surprise her.

A special happy, celebration took place in her warm house. A knock came on the door while we were drinking our tea and eating birthday cake. A neighbour, brought Jennie something he most prized, a significantly large bottle of booze. Jennie was delighted with the gift. When he had left, she set it on a table near the door. She declared that he would be back to get it at three o'clock in the morning and indeed he was.

Jennie was well loved and cared for by her family. I know she knew how much they cared. I am not so sure she knew how well respected and appreciated by the wider circles of her life.

Safe journey Jennie, I loved and miss you.