Day Trip

My father, age 84, asked if we could go
--I said of course; I'll take my camera.
It's only 25 miles and maybe 40 years
from Holden to Petersham, Massachusetts.
We left at 9 A.M.

I drove like the geezer I almost am,
not over 35 mph all the way--that we
might have moments to reflect on
what our eyes took in.

Up a hill between maples and oak:
swaying sweet and musky green,
along both sides of the road,
into Rutland Center.
He points left: Went to a meeting
down that road once. Forgotten what
it was all about

I look right: Dropped a fly ball there
in a grammar school game. Look! There's
the field behind the school.

The towns drift by like memories,
sails at sea:
Oakham, Barre, Petersham.
At the top of a hill west of Barre
my father points to an empty pasture on the left:
I don't see Old Joe, he says.
Old Joe was a sway-backed wreck of a horse
45 years ago.
I'd forgotten; I remember now.

Southwesterly summer breeze,
sun dazzles high in the southeastern sky.
Cirrus, cirrostratus--a textured blend, a
background for the white steeple
within the frame of my camera
reaching for signs of my
grandfather.
click

A young woman, Ashley, lets us in.
There it is--a sign, a dark plaque,
maybe three by two, anchored in the
white calm of the east church wall
right below the organ:

Earl Clement Davis
Minister of this parish 1933-1953
WISE - GENEROUS - UNDERSTANDING
TRUSTED FOR HIS INTEGRITY
LOVED FOR HIS FRIENDLINESS
STRONG THROUGH HIS FAITH
click

The cemetery is 4 minutes down
an unbroken arch of trees,
along a country road where now
my father stands next to a simple stone,
maybe 3 x 2, uncut, like my grandfather,
wrapped in wide sheer sunlit sweeps of
clouds, blue sky, green leaves moving:

EARL CLEMENT DAVIS
1876-1953
HIS WIFE
ANNIE FOSTER DODGE
click

We chatter like two old fools
returning home to Holden 1996.
There's lots of lilies in that pond, Pete.
I think they're lilies....
Eyes aren't much good anymore.

Photos developed within an hour.

Over lunch in my father's house,
in the dining room by the windows,
he smiles at the photo, where
he stands next to the stone.
Who's that old fart? he asks,
click