It was five years ago this week that I visited my parents’ graves for what was probably the final time.

I gathered silk flowers from my home, which was being emptied, arranged them into glorious bouquets, and took treats – for both them and me.

You don’t see it in the photo above, where I was just setting up for our picnic on the picnic quilt that always lives in my car, but it took me an entire box of Kleenex to get through that picnic and what I had to share with them that day.

This was it. I wasn’t coming back. They were already buried six hours away from where I lived then – and now that distance is measured in days, not hours. There’s no one left there to visit now, and it’s not on the way to anyplace.

Dad loved popcorn and cheese cubes with turkey and salami, and Mom absolutely lived for Hershey bars.

Of course, I knew “they” couldn’t enjoy them in the here and now, and I was probably just feeding the wildlife. It was more about the ritual, the expression of love and caring, tinged with regret that I can no longer steal cubes of Dad’s cheese (he just smiled at me) or give Mom oversized Hershey bars.

Mom smiled at me too, but for an entirely different reason.

Recalling sitting on that quilt, discussing things with Mom and Dad while baking in the summer heat, much as I remember doing on the farm, makes me smile now too.

Facebook memories brought that day back this week. As I lay in bed in the silent night, reliving that hot July day picnicking with Mom and Dad, I realized that their graves aren’t the only places I had “left them something.”

Until that night, I didn’t realize that I had done it twice, once for each of my parents, but never for anyone else.

Dad

All of my regular readers know that Dad was actually my stepfather, and that he had lost his only daughter, Linda, as a baby.

No one can ever take another person’s place, but Dad told me twice that he “got his daughter back” when he married Mom. My allergies immediately acted up.

My biological father died when I was a child, so I felt like I had hit the jackpot and lucked into the best father ever when Mom married Dean.

I worshipped the ground that man walked on.

Dad died in 1994, following a horrific, progressive disease. His death was a devastating loss. On top of another loss just the year before.

Now, Dad was well-known for his orneriness, practical jokes, and sense of humor. Perhaps what made it even funnier was that he was such a quiet man – the last person you’d expect as the culprit.

So, when we all gathered at the church for his viewing and found no casket, we patiently waited for the funeral home to show up with Dad.

But when that visitation hour passed, and there was STILL no Dad, we began to worry. Mom was frantically calling the funeral home, which was about 20 miles away, but no one answered. She was a nervous wreck.

My brother was laughing. Most people were quietly and awkwardly visiting, hoping nothing was wrong.

Our imaginations were running wild. Had there been an accident? Was Dad lying someplace beside the road in his Sunday finest? Let’s face it, Dad was already deceased – he couldn’t die twice if there was an accident, but what if, what if Dad was at the wrong church or some such thing? Did they bury him by accident?

Finally, the hearse pulled up outside the church, and we heard doors slamming. Mom rushed out and asked, in her “not my church deacon” voice, where the devil they had been. Well, devil might not have been the word she used, but whatever. I was all too personally familiar with that voice, and I knew they were in BIG TROUBLE!

As it turned out, they had gotten the times mixed up, making Dad late for his own funeral.

Perhaps it was a combination of nerves and grief, plus Mom clucking around like an angry wet hen, but that whole scene just struck me as incredibly funny, and I started to laugh.

Mom gave me the side-eye like only mothers can give, so I tried to stifle myself – which made me laugh even harder, snorting through my nose.

About this time, the men from the funeral home were trying to carry the casket in the back door and up the narrow steps into the church. At the top, there was a right-angle turn, and let’s just say the casket and the men didn’t quite make it.

Well, they kind of made it, but one of the men got pinned between the casket and the corner of the wall in a very awkward place. He was also trying very hard not to let on, but you’d have had to be both deaf and blind to miss what was happening.

My mother was following this entourage up the stairs, and even she stopped talking as the scene unfolded.

By this time, I was laughing hysterically beyond any semblance of composure, tears streaming down my face, and so were most of the guests. Laughter like that is highly contagious. Most of the men were trying to help, but we had to back Dad down the stairs to free the trapped man.

I’m laughing as I write this. I can see it all over again and just can’t help myself.

Right about that time, the most inappropriate thought popped into my head. I couldn’t help it. I wondered if Dad had paid them to ensure that he was late for his own funeral.

The ultimate prank. He certainly WOULD have done that – in a heartbeat. Only question that remained was DID HE? And of course, we’ll never know.

All things considered, with everyone still laughing and crying, we were hardly in the proper frame of mind to begin a funeral, so the minister suggested that we have the viewing and recompose ourselves before the funeral. You really can’t start a funeral with everyone laugh-crying, and we were already so late by that time that it didn’t matter.

Mom had dressed Dad in a suit. I had only ever seen him in a suit a handful of times.

His wedding to Mom, my wedding, Gary’s wedding, church pictures, and maybe one other time.

Dad hated suits. He was a dyed-in-the-overalls farmer, and those overalls would have suited him much better than a suit. However, I’d wager that Dad knew Mom would dress him in a “funeral suit” for his funeral, so maybe this was his way of commenting on that.

Regardless, by the time it was my turn to step up to the casket for the final time, as grief-stricken as I was, I certainly appreciated the levity that he had introduced that day. Yes, I’m crediting him!

I dug around in Mom’s purse and found a small pair of scissors. As an Avon lady, she had literally everything in there – her purse was bottomless. I cut a lock of my hair, found a ribbon or piece of string buried in the depths of Mom’s purse, tied it around the lock, then lovingly tucked it into Dad’s starched shirt pocket for eternity.

I patted his hand one last time and told him I loved him as I smiled through my tears. I bent close and whispered that he had done a fine job as my tears dropped onto his white shirt. I swear – I swear – I saw a smile flicker across that man’s lips just for an instant.

I hadn’t planned it, but I sent Dad on his last journey with a little bit of me in his pocket. Forever.

Mom

Mom was an Avon lady for the last quarter century of her life. She loved to dress up and look her finest, so Avon was a perfect fit for her. Plus, it gave her an excuse to check in on the elderly and those with challenges in the community. She was always taking food or something to someone. Every. Single. Day.

Mom retired in the spring of 2005 at 82.

One of her longtime customers took this photo of Mom on her last day making Avon deliveries.

Mom wanted to retire with her best sales year ever, and I purchased a lifetime supply of soap, bubble bath, and Skin-So-Soft. Maybe two lifetimes’ worth. Trust me when I tell you that I’m still using Avon products.

Every Christmas, we all received our favorite Avon items in our Christmas stockings from Mom. Plus, Avon Care Deeply chapstick. Didn’t matter – man, woman, child, elderly neighbor – someone in line at the grocery whose lips looked chapped. You got Avon chapstick.

As far as I’m concerned, one can never have too much chapstick. I have chapstick, aka lip gloss, everyplace, including one or two of Mom’s that I still cherish and keep in my nightstand and desk drawer.

When Mom retired, she was one of her own best customers and stocked up on things.

Just this past week, my husband found a little wooden box that was in a drawer in his nightstand in our old house. He opened it, and voila, there they were.

Three chapsticks from Mom.

Vintage Avon Care Deeply from 2002, 2004, and 2005. Mom really liked Jim. He received the first one even before we were married. He has now kindly given all three to me. Now that’s true love.

How can chapstick make you cry?

Mom passed away unexpectedly in the spring of 2006. She had a stroke and managed to crawl into her closet and put her “pretty shoes” mostly on. No one is quite sure how she managed that, but she did. That’s how we found her. She loved shoes.

Mom’s funeral was much more subdued than Dad’s. My brother and I met with a different undertaker, so she would actually arrive at the church on time.

I selected Mom’s clothes along with her favorite “pretty shoes.” The funeral director told us that he could not get high heels on her feet. We told him that whether he could get them fully on or not, he was to get them as far onto her feet as possible – and do something to make sure they didn’t fall off. I didn’t care if he tied them on. She needed her pretty shoes. She would haunt me forever otherwise.

Saying goodbye to a parent just before the casket is closed is one of the most difficult things you will ever do.

Mom always had everything in her purse, including spare Kleenex, which she often tucked up her sleeve at her wrist, under her watch band so they would always be quickly available.

She was always handing out Kleenex at church to anyone who needed it, and probably several people who didn’t actually need one, but she thought they might. She accused me, accurately, of never having a Kleenex when I needed one. How was I supposed to predict that?

After Mom passed, we found clean Kleenex everyplace. In her pockets and purses, of course, used as bookmarks, and even tucked into the door handles inside her car.

On the day of her funeral, I had a full box of Kleenex with me. I was clearly going to need them and couldn’t depend on Mom for that anymore. She would have been proud.

As always, I had multiple Avon chapsticks, not the imposter kind, in my purse and pockets. Somehow, Mom would have known if I cheated with something other than Avon.

Standing there, saying my final goodbyes, I realized that I could NOT send Mom off into the afterlife without Kleenex and Avon chapstick, both of which she used religiously. So, I tucked a few Kleenex into one of her crossed hands and a chapstick into the other, closed my eyes for a minute, said a little prayer, then nodded for the casket to be closed as I wiped my eyes. They had been patiently waiting for me. I was struggling. Part of my heart was in there with her.

The funeral itself was a blur. When the minister finished, Mom was loaded into the back of the black hearse for her final ride along those oh-so-familiar roads to the cemetery. The little white church was at a farm crossroads, and the cemetery was probably a dozen miles away, down country roads too narrow for center lines. No one needed them anyway. The only people out there were members of local farm families who all knew each other, slowed down, and waved.

Suddenly, the hearse slammed on the brakes. We were in the car immediately behind, and I had a very up-close view of its brake lights, just before we came so close that they disappeared from view. I waited for the crunch, but fortunately, we managed to stop with an inch or so to spare, but we were quite shaken. Both figuratively and literally.

Someone had run the stop sign in front of the hearse, which missed the car by a hair’s breadth. For me, that was déjà vu, because years before, the only life-threatening accident I had ever had occurred a few miles on down that same road, under the same circumstances – minus the funeral procession.

I couldn’t help but think about the supreme irony of potentially being killed in Mom’s funeral procession, on that same road, some two decades later. I was more than a little shaky already, given the circumstances, and that didn’t help one bit.

But then, an even worse thought struck me.

What if Mom’s chapstick had been knocked out of her hand and was rolling around beyond her reach for eternity? How could I condemn her to that fate? If you know, you know.

Did she drop her Kleenex?

But perhaps more importantly, did her shoes fall off?

William Hunt was probably born between the years of 1603 and 1605 in England, although the dates and location in England are both uncertain.

We know that he was probably married to Elizabeth, whose last name is unknown, about 1630, because their first three children were baptized in St. Mary, Nottingham, in England.

• Samuel Hunt was baptized on April 10, 1631, and eventually married Elizabeth Redding in the colonies.
• Nehemiah Hunt was baptized on January 6, 1632/33, married Mary Toll, and died on March 6, 1717/18.
• Elizabeth Hunt was baptized on October 11, 1635, and married John Barron in 1664.

Earlier researchers have presumed that William Hunt and his family arrived on the ship, Susan and Ellen, but that’s impossible, given that it departed on May 2, 1635, which conflicts with Elizabeth’s baptism in October.

• William and Elizabeth Hunt apparently lost a child in 1637 or 1638.
• The next child we find is Hannah Hunt, who was born on February 12, 1640/41, in Concord, Massachusetts. She apparently died between 1654, when she is mentioned in the will of Robert Best, and before her father made his will in 1667. The other children are mentioned, but she is absent.
• William’s last child, Isaac Hunt, was born about 1647 and married Mary Stone in 1680.

This sequence of events tells us that William Hunt and Elizabeth, founders of Concord, Massachusetts, arrived sometime after October 1635, so probably between 1636 and sometime in 1640.

Thomas Wyman, in his book, Genealogy of the Name and Family of Hunt, published in 1862 and available on the Internet Archive, here, describes William Hunt’s decision to leave England. Extracted and edited slightly for readability:

The Life of William Hunt.

He was born in England about the year 1605, two years after the tedious but glorious reign of the Maiden Queen had ended, and the mild and pacific James Stuart had come from his native realm to rule the three kingdoms; and all the nation was glad at the happy change. It was a pleasant time to live in England. There was no very great emigration taking place, and no serious occasion for people to leave their native land to get a living. King James gave to his subjects the Bible in the same form we use this day; and learning and wisdom received happy impulses from the new light diffused by revelation, spreading its lustre more widely over civilized life. Our ancestor partook, in his daily career, of the free average advantage which a somewhat middling position in social rank allowed to realize the benefits flowing to the interior social state of the people from the refreshing access of intelligence and progress rapidly accelerating. His joyous days of childhood and youth passed into ripe manhood. Getting forward in life beyond the perils incident to all conditions, amid the protecting influences that guard the English home, — as from the early consecration at the baptismal font by the revered pastor, to the gradual growth in school and church attendance; under parental or friendly care, coming to know and practice industry and every good accomplishment that could be an attribute “of the intelligent and likely young man; then to the blissful married state, and to be father (before he left England) of at least two sons, — gifts tender and promising to infold and bring over from the Old Workl hither, to bear fruit and multiply, replenish the wilderness, and give seed for yet countless generations.

Not long after the bright and happy state of conjugal life had been entered by our revered ancestor, the policy of public affairs grew gloomy: and the hearts and wishes of worthy subjects of the king inclined them to leave the land of their nativity; to forsake the castled hills and sunny dales that they were so familiar with; to separate from the neighborhood of the kind and friendly nobility of the land, the earl and the earl’s daughter, whose presence was always inspiring; to go from the domain of the good duke, who was so firm in Parliament to support the living interests of the kingdom, the strong arguer for right, and a pillar of the realm. Could William Hunt go with his friends and neighbors, and build a commonwealth, and hope to live?

Ah! The effort was made; the achievement apparently has been accomplished. He sailed in the year 1635, with his companions, away from Old England, giving up more especially the succoring and sustaining influences of the best home society, — old neighbors, helpful and friendly (dear, good souls, known from childhood), — willing to lose all comforts and nurture so well accustomed. Greater sacrifices were to be made; the rich and blessed communions of early friendship were to be cut off. These quiet, homely English folk were going in a merchant vessel to sea. A ship took them with goods, customhouse certificates, charts, compasses, sailing gear, ocean fare, and all things strange and unused, in hazard of all dangers of the deep. The company arrived safe. From different counties came the hardy settlers. The goodly and godly Peter Bulkley, Capt. Willard, the Wheelers, Thomas Bateman, and others, are all familiar to the page of history. The weary and faithful craft came to anchor at the quay in Boston. No inducement for the stanch husbandmen was there to remain, and get subsistence in town: so they came up soon to Musketaquid, now changed (from the Indian [name]) to the sweet and intelligent name Concord, for town and river. Had they a dictionary to help them find this good name? We will take down Walker’s edition, and we find,

“Concord, noun substantive – Agreement between persons and things; peace, union, harmony; concert of sounds.”

It was the sentiments of the hearts of our Christian forefathers that moved them to bestow this choice name. The township, six miles square, was regularly bought of the Indians. The bargain was made by Capt. Willard and others, at the house of Mr. Bulkley, with Squa Sachem, Nuttunkurta, and others, of odd and long names; and the pay was duly delivered. The land was swampy in some places, with none but Indian paths, about one foot broad, and anon a broad plain, with thick, prickly bushes. Plenty of deep woods, where “sweet feme” grew so abundant, that in summer, under the sun’s rays, the strong aroma thereof caused many to faint, and fallen trees impeded very much the early proprietors. Uplands they had, and meadows which overflowed at times with water unexpectedly, as the old records say. They could make hay. Fish were caught. Alewives were plenty, even to bestow to enrich the ground.

The habitation of our ancestor was built, like the others, by digging into the bank of the hill, driving posts into the ground, and covering the top and sides with brushwood. This might be called a mere wigwam; and so were the beginnings of his American home. In process of time, land was divided, and the town-business organized; and affairs were conducted. He was one who petitioned the Governor and Assembly, in the year 1645, concerning matters of finance.

Early Concord, Massachusetts

The area that became the town of Concord was originally known as “Musketaquid,” an Algonquian word for “grassy plain.” It’s located at the confluence of the Sudbury and Assabet rivers. Native American people had lived here for time immemorial, fished, and cultivated crops like corn.

Sadly, the 1633 smallpox epidemic, a disease introduced by New World settlers, had essentially depopulated the area. This made it particularly attractive to the English, who were seeking land.

In 1635, a group of English settlers led by Rev. Peter Bulkley and Major Simon Willard received a land grant from the General Court and negotiated a land purchase with the local indigenous people. Bulkeley was a religious leader who “carried a good number of planters with him into the woods”; and Willard was a trader who spoke the Algonquian language and had gained their trust.

Six square miles were purchased in exchange for wampum-peage, hatchets, knives, hoes, cotton cloth, and shirts, useful items that the Native people could only acquire from Europeans. Concord was incorporated on September 2, 1635.

On September 6, 1636, the first church was established when the settlers voted to build a meeting house near Monument Square, along with a nearby burial ground.

There is no complete list of the original settlers who received land in 1635 and 1636, but William Hunt was assuredly there near the beginning. Not only was his daughter born in early 1641, but he took the oath of freeman on June 2, 1641. Requirements to be a freeman included:

• Religious Orthodoxy: A man had to be a formally admitted member in good standing of the local, orthodox Puritan church. This was the hardest prerequisite, as church membership required passing a rigorous public screening of one’s personal salvation experience.
• Age & Gender: Had to be a male at least 21 years old.
• Property Ownership (The Freeholder Rule): He had to own a “ratable estate” (taxable property) valued at a minimum threshold—often legally recorded as 20 pounds.
• Character Standing: The applicant had to be formally recommended by his town’s selectmen as being of “sober and peaceable conversation.”
• The Oath: Finally, he had to swear the strict Oath of a Freeman, pledging total allegiance to the colony’s government rather than the British Crown.

Clearly, William Hunt owned land by 1641. We know, based on William Hunt’s will, that he purchased his original 30-acre “great lot” from Reverend Peter Buckley.

Reverend Buckley held the original Concord town deed. Some of the deeds and records are missing, so in 1653, Concord compiled a land registry, which was later used to correlate property conveyed in sales and by will in estates.

According to the History of Concord, Massachusetts, the original homes were built on small lots in the center of town, near Concord Square.

William’s lot was not one of the small lots clustered together in the center of town, so he was not there for the original 1635/1636 land distribution.

Based on the land William owned in 1668, as described in his will, we know he left 15 distinct parcels in Concord totaling 626 acres. His real estate was valued at an impressive £596, 12s, making him one of the wealthiest early landholders in the town.

William divided his massive Concord acreage exclusively among his three surviving sons. William had remarried after his wife Elizabeth died in 1661, and subsequently moved to Marlboro where his second wife lived, about 16 miles away, so he wasn’t living on his land when he died.

• Samuel Hunt (William’s eldest son): He was bequeathed the original William Hunt homestead, which was built on Ponkawtasset Hill in northern Concord. He also received accompanying acreage, pasture lands, and meadows.
• Nehemiah Hunt (William’s second son): He received 297 total acres, which included his own house site (25 acres), a 30-acre “great lot,” 188 acres from the town’s second land division (1653), and multiple parcels of fertile meadow land (including Wigwam Meadow and Bound Meadow). Wigwam Meadow eventually became part of Ponkawtasset Hill, today’s Punkatasset Hill and Conservation Area.
• Isaac Hunt (William’s youngest son): He was granted the remaining parcels of Concord farmland, meadows, and managed woodlots to establish his own estate.

What Happened to the Land?

Samuel Hunt had already relocated to Ipswich when William died, and his land was incorporated into Nehemiah’s holdings.

Due to his massive landholdings, Nehemiah Hunt became known as the “Lord of Punkatasset” and lived there his entire life. He died intestate in 1718, but his land passed on within the family after his death.

You can read more about the history of William Hunt’s land in The History of Two-Rod Road, here.

William’s land followed distinct paths through the generations, transitioning from pioneer farmland to historic landmarks and protected Conservation areas. Estabrook Woods, which includes all of Isaac’s land and part of the rest has been acquired by Harvard’s Museum of Comparative Zoology to protect what it describes as a “priceless resource.”

Henry David Thoreau lived in Concord for most of his life and regularly sought refuge on Punkatasset Hill and Estabrook. Thoreau wrote fondly and eloquently about “the great wild tract” in his journal.

In 1837, recently graduated from Harvard and unemployed because he quit a teaching job that required him to flog his students, Thoreau began journaling, and three weeks later wrote:

Ponkawtasset

There goes the river, or rather is, “in serpent error wandering”–the jugular vein of Musketaquid. Who knows how much of the proverbial moderation of the inhabitants was caught from its dull circulation?

The snow gives the landscape a washing-day appearance–here a streak of white, there a streak of dark–it is spread like a napkin over the hills and meadows. This must be a rare drying day; to judge from the vapor that floats over the “vast clothes” yard.

A hundred guns are firing and a flag flying in the village in celebration of the whig victory. Now a short dull report–the mere disk of a sound shorn of its beams–and then a puff of smoke rises in the horizon to join its misty relatives in the skies.

Punkatasset Hill, also known as Hunt’s Hill in the early 1700s, marks the southeast corner of the Eastabrook forest and had played a pivotal role in the Revolutionary War just sixty years before Thoreau put pen to paper.

The Estate

Remarkably, the original Nehemiah Hunt and Daniel Hunt homes on Ponkawtasset Hill still stands today as a historic private estate, recognized as one of the oldest standing colonial dwellings in Concord.

In 1920, William Henry Hunt (1830-1926), a farmer who inherited the deteriorating family homes, wrote about his recollections of the Hunt family and their lands, including their abolitionist beliefs and activities before and during the Civil War.

William Henry Hunt was six generations removed from William and Elizabeth Hunt, descending through son Nehemiah Hunt (1631-1718), William Hunt (1678-1756), Nehemiah Hunt (1726-1785), Nehemiah Hunt (1764-1846) and his father, Daniel Hunt (1796-1870).

One of the things William Henry Hunt provided was a photo of the two homes that are described as “adjoining.” You can view an 1880s photo, here. Nehemiah’s home is on the left, and the “Daniel Hunt” house, built between 1780 and 1790, is on the right.

William Henry Hunt, Daniel’s son, spent much of his life attempting to rejuvenate the deteriorating farm homes. By 1863, Nehemiah’s original home was probably 200 years old, given that he married in 1663, and his father died just five years later, stating that Nehemiah already lived on his property.

In 1887, William Henry Hunt gave up and sold the land to the Reverend Henry Hutchins, who created a large-scale commercial dairy farm to sell milk into the Boston market.

Hutchins built a massive barn and merged the two “adjacent” homes into one. Hutchins unified and expanded the living quarters. He structurally tied the older architectural wings together under a continuous, sprawling gambrel roof layout. This architectural choice masked the distinct joins of the previous Hunt and Barrett structures visible in the 1880s photo, expanding the main footprint into a singular, cohesive 6-bedroom grand country estate. To accommodate farm staff and his own family, he also added two cottages. We’ll visit in a little bit.

You may wonder why I’ve spent so much time discussing William Hunt’s property. As it turns out, William Hunt’s property is uniquely important in the history of the United States – of its birth, 250 years ago, today.

You see, William Hunt’s land, then Nehemiah’s land, included Ponkawtasset Hill.

Ponkawtasset Hill, in turn, directly and profoundly shaped our nation’s history a century later.

Ponkawtasset Hill

Tensions had been building for months, years actually. Taxation by the British government, lack of representation, and more. The retaliatory “Tea Party” took place in nearby Boston on December 16, 1773, serving as a flashpoint.

The British government punished Boston for the Boston Tea Party by closing its harbor and revoking Massachusetts’ self-governance, which led the colonists to stockpile weapons in Concord and organize a militia network.

Concord residents burned tea. Anyone caught buying or selling tea, or even drinking tea was publicly humiliated and shamed. To make a public statement and stand in solidarity with Boston, the townspeople gathered their remaining stores of tea and burned them in the town common right outside the Wright Tavern.

The situation escalated. In August 1774, the British Parliament enacted the Massachusetts Government Act, a law that stripped colonists of their democratic rights, banned town meetings, and dictated that local judges and court officials would now be directly appointed by the British Crown rather than local authorities. The citizens realized that by allowing those courts to open and those judges to sit, they were submitting to tyranny, and they weren’t having it.

In Concord, they had had enough. Concord residents determined to overthrow British rule themselves – and they did.

Throughout the week of September 13, 1774, thousands of armed citizens and militiamen marched into Concord. On September 17, 1774, armed Middlesex County citizens blocked the crown-appointed judges from opening the county court, effectively establishing an independent, illegal provincial government.

The British had mightily underestimated the populace, especially in Concord.

The militia forced these officials to march outside through a gauntlet of citizens and publicly sign a recantation, swearing they would never execute their royal commissions. Then, the Crown-appointed judges, clerks, and the royal sheriff sought shelter inside Daniel Heywood’s local tavern.

How humiliating! And inspiring.

Not only did those judges never sit again in Concord, they never sat again in Middlesex County. But this was just the beginning.

Unbeknownst to those brave citizens at the time, the American Revolution had begun, and they were the sparks. Emboldened by Concord, the rebellion spread throughout Massachusetts. But they knew that the British would not walk away without a fight, and following what had just occurred, consequences were coming.

Concord prepared.

On October 4^th, 209 towns sent more than 300 delegates to Concord, by now the seat of the rebellion, to form the Massachusetts Provisional Congress.

In Worchester, at the town meeting, the instructions were given.

You are to exert yourself in devising ways and means to raise from the dissolution of the old constitution, as from the ashes of the Phenix, a new form, wherein all officers shall be dependent on the suffrages of the people, whatever unfavorable constructions our enemies may put upon such procedure.

“As the ashes of the Phenix” – I love that!

William Hunt and his sons had been dead for decades, but you know their spirits were cheering.

We have no written records of their political leanings, but given what we know about what happened soon enough, and that their descendants felt that their abolitionist views 90 years later were a continuation of their Revolutionary War commitment, we really don’t need any.

Knowing that the Redcoats would descend upon them soon, the townspeople focused on preparation. They knew that British General Gage was waiting on reinforcements, and once they arrived, the fight would be on.

Had Concord bitten off more than they could chew?

They needed to raise a fighting force of 15,000 men, with guns and ammunition for all of them – a seemingly impossible, overwhelming task.

But then again, this was Concord, a town who knew no bounds and had the spunk of their ancestors running through their veins.

The entire population of Concord, maybe 1,400 people was spread among roughly 260 families. That’s maybe 300 males of fighting age. The imbalance and seeming impossibility simply boggles the mind.

To purchase supplies, the Provincial Congress commandeered all of the taxes that would have gone to the British government. How they did this isn’t exactly clear, but they did, bought munitions, and stored their supplies in both Concord and Worcester.

General Gage knew this, and that made Concord a bullseye. He would make an example out of Concord and quell that rebellion.

Concord knew that, too, and they were much closer to Boston than Worcester.

Because Concord was designated as the central munitions depot, Colonel James Barrett, whose family was intermarried with the Hunts, was tasked by the Provincial Congress with organizing, safeguarding, and distributing the massive colonial arsenal.

He began to smuggle arms and supplies out of Boston, including musket balls, gunpowder, medical supplies, and four very valuable brass cannons.

British reinforcements arrived, and General Thomas Gage ordered 700 British Regulars to march secretly from Boston to Concord.

“Sir, you will march with the corps of grenadiers and light infantry put under your command with the utmost expedition and secrecy to Concord…”

I’m not quite sure how 700 soldiers in bright red coats with their equipment clanking can march secretly through the countryside, even if it was the middle of the night, but whatever. Their mission was to seize and destroy a massive stockpile of colonial weapons and gunpowder.

The British, were, indeed, coming.

Paul Revere Rides

It was the night of April 18^th, 1775, and Paul Revere was summoned by Dr. Joseph Warren. Revere was informed that General Gage had ordered the Redcoats to proceed with “utmost expedition and secrecy to Concord,” where they were tasked with destroying the munitions stores and arresting the Patriots, of course.

Paul Revere, a silversmith, was selected as the rider who would secure his place in history books because of his proven reliability and established network in the countryside. He had been serving as a clandestine express courier to New York and Philadelphia to keep them apprised of the brewing rebellion in Boston, and was widely credited with participating in, if not leading, the Boston Tea Party revolt.

After the Tea Party, the British forced the Boston citizens to “quarter” the British soldiers in their homes. Revere and other tradesmen began to meet at the Green Dragon, probably the early version of Cheers, to exchange information and watch the British. Already a member of the Sons of Liberty and producing political documents, Revere began submitting engravings to a new Patriot publication as well.

His goal that night was to ride to Lexington and Concord ahead of the British to warn Patriot leaders and alert the militia to be on guard.

Revere, fearing capture, instructed the sexton to hang two lanterns in the steeple of the Old North Church, indicating that the British were crossing the Charles River by sea, not land.

Revere then rowed across the Charles River, actually rowing unnoticed right past a British warship under the cover of darkness. Upon arrival in Charlestown across the river, they had aleady seen the lanterns and knew Revere would need a horse, so had one waiting for him as he began his famous ride into history. .

Along the way, in around 40 towns and villages, he alerted one pre-appointed person who took over from there. Local church bells were rung to alert the militia, who began preparing as Revere was silently off to his next stop.

Revere made it as far as Lexington, where he arrived about midnight and was able to alert Samuel Adams and John Hancock, but he was captured after leaving Lexington and never reached Concord.

However, at Lexington, William Dawes, a fellow express rider out of Boston caught up with Revere, and about 1 in the morning, the two men decided to press on the next seven miles to Concord where the weapons were stockpiled. On the road, they encountered Dr. Samuel Prescot, a Concord physician returning home from treating a patient, who joined their mission.

Shortly thereafter, they were ambushed by a roadblock of British officers who had been stationed there to intercept any rebel messengers. Revere was cornered in a field, captured, questioned, his horse confiscated, and eventually released on foot.

Dawes turned around and made for Lexington, but his horse threw him and ran away.

Dr. Prescott knew all the ins and outs of the local roads and farms, having ridden them many times. He jumped his horse over a stone wall, escaping into the deep woods, and successfully made it to Concord to alert the sentry on guard, who rang the church bell to awaken the townspeople.

Prescott also continued riding and alerted the neighboring militias in Acton and Stow, a brilliant decision. They immediately gathered their men and began marching towards Concord.

The Mad Rush

Concord immediately knew what was happening, and who was coming. Everything the British were seeking was hidden on the farm of Col. Barrett, who was the head of the local militia units. The residents set about in a mad rush to distribute the munitions and hide the cannons.

They loaded heavy wooden barrels of musket balls, flints and medical supplies onto carts, distributed and hid them in various locations in town, including marshy areas behind the Hunt land on Punkatasset Hill. They successfully hid the four cannons on Barrett’s farm, two by plowing them into fields.

Sometime before dawn, a contingent from Lincoln, Massachusetts, under the command of Capt. William Smith, the brother of Abigail Adams, arrived to assist Concord.

As dawn broke, Barrett assembled the armed militia in the town center, which assuredly included Nehemiah Hunt, who lived in the family home that still stands on Punkatasset Hill today. This Nehemiah Hunt (1726-1785) was the great-grandson of William Hunt (c1604-1667), and the grandson of Nehemiah Hunt (1633-1718).

Concord scout Reuben Brown was dispatched towards Lexington, where, about 5:30 AM he heard gunshots, which turned out to be at Lexington Green, and knew that the British were on their way to Concord.

Around 7:00 AM, the townspeople watched as 700 Redcoats appeared on the horizon, with drums beating, fifes playing, and bayonets fixed.

That was half the population of the entire town, and more than twice as many as the 250 militiamen under Barrett’s control.

Barrett knew what was coming, and rather than face slaughter, he ordered a tactical retreat out of the town center, across the Old North Bridge, ascending straight up the extremely steep, defensive Punkatasset Hill onto their designated staging field, and higher yet.

From the top of the hill, the entire terrain for miles was visible, and on a clear day, one could see all the way to Boston.

The hill provided not only safety and visibility, but the opportunity to regroup without being under the immediate emotional turmoil of a clearly suicidal battle.

The Battle

When the British troops arrived in Concord to find an abandoned town, they were quite perplexed. Where were the people, and where did the militiamen go?

The British decided to secure the three bridges, including the Old North Bridge. They sent some of their soldiers right past Nathaniel Hunt’s land to search Barrett’s farm for munitions and those cannons.

Unflustered, Barrett’s wife slowed them down by fixing them breakfast as the cannons were plowed under in the fields. They had no idea that they had just been outsmarted by a “housewife.”

The British soldiers who remained in town discovered some wooden gun carriages, which they smashed and burned.

During this time, reinforcements were arriving on Punkatasset Hill – a Bedford Company and three from Acton, bringing their total to about 400 men. One of the Acton units was led by Captain Simon Hunt (1704-1790), the great-great-grandson of Nehemiah Hunt who died in 1718, and the great-great-great-grandson of William Hunt, the founder who originally owned Punkatasset Hill.

The men up on the hill wanted to be able to watch the activity at the Old North Bridge, so about 9 o’clock, they moved down the hill partway to Major John Buttrick’s muster field, a lower plateau that provided an unobstructed view of the bridge.

There, they spotted a plume of thick, black smoke above the town and thought the soldiers were burning their homes.

Adjutant Joseph Hosmer yelled, “Will we let them burn the town down?” The rest shouted, “No!” That was all it took.

Their short respite on the hill, and the reinforcements had turned the psychological tide, providing a contingent of Massachusetts farmers with the confidence to advance on the world’s most powerful military force. God bless them one and all.

The decision was made to march down the hill immediately, and onto the Old North Bridge that the British soldiers were guarding. Because they were the best armed, Isaac Davis and his Acton Minutemen were asked to lead the column, to which he replied, “I haven’t a man who is afraid to go.”

The order was given to load their muskets.

Colonel Barrett ordered the advance, instructing them not to fire unless they were fired upon. Their hearts must have been beating out of their chests, knowing they were outnumbered and facing a contingent of professional soldiers.

Still, they marched.

Led by Acton’s minutemen, who had bayonetts, they descended the hillside, marching in a tight double-file line straight down the hill to where the Redcoats were waiting – probably wondering what on earth was going on.

This tactical descent led directly to the famous Battle at the Old North Bridge.

The 90 Redcoats guarding the bridge suddenly realized they were outnumbered and hastily retreated back across the bridge. In their panic and resulting confusion, they only managed to pull a few planks up off of the bridge, so the militia was able to cross easily.

The British formed a deep, narrow line on the other side of the bridge. This formation, where the front men fired, then stepped to the read to reload as the next group fired, was designed for street fighting, not open riverfront while firing across a narrow bridge. They weren’t trained for this and crowded together, blocking each other’s views.

The Patriot militiamen just kept on advancing, reaching the western edge of the bridge, when the British opened fire. At first, warning shots fell into the water, but then a full-on volley followed, killing Acton’s Captain Isaac Davis with a bullet directly through the heart.

Standing where this monument stands today, and seeing men drop, Major John Buttrick leaped into the air, screaming the historic words, “Fire, fellow soldiers, for God’s sake, fire.”

And fire they did.

“The shot heard round the world.”

The front ranks of the colonial militia leveled their muskets over the bridge and loosed a devastating, concentrated volley. Because the British were bunched up in their narrow street-firing column, the colonial musket balls tore through their ranks, wounding four of the eight British officers on the bridge, and killing four privates.

The British panicked, broke formation, and fled into the Concord town center.

The fallen British soldiers were left laying at the bridge, where this monument stands today.

The entire first battle, the opening salvo of the Revolutionary War had only lasted two or three minutes, and took place at the base of Punkatasset Hill.

The minutemen crossed the bridge, but did not immediately pursue the fleeing British soldiers into the town center. Some fell back across the river and took up a defensive position behind the stone walls beside the road, near the British monument today.

The British soldiers who had gone to Barrett’s to search his property, finding nothing because the munitions had already been distributed, were now cut off and the victorious minutemen stood firmly between them and the rest of the British soldiers.

For the next hour, a tense standoff ensued, and neither side did anything.

Around 10:30, unaware of what had transpired, the unit dispatched to Barrett’s farm marched directly back into Concord, only to discover their comrades’ bodies. One man, not yet dead, had been struck in the head with a hatchet by a colonial boy who obviously didn’t wield a gun, but that terrified the Redcoats, thinking that the Native people had joined the Patriots in the fray.

The militiamen chose to regroup and stay quiet, expecting an attack or ambush that never came. After the group returned from Barrett’s and joined the British in Concord, the Redcoats spent the next couple of hours treating their wounded and trying to regroup.

They left at least two of their dead who were buried beside the road, near the British monument today.

The British didn’t realize it, but as the standoff continued, reinforcements from nearby towns continued to arrive from all directions, soon outnumbering the British. More than 32 militia companies with just under 1400 men eventually joined the fight at Concord. You can see a print of that day, drawn shortly thereafter, here.

Around noon, the British officers decided to retreat to Boston, but they were too late and the fuse had aleady been lit.

As the British began their march back to Boston, fighting resumed on the outskirts of Concord, at Miriam’s Corner.

Thinking they were safely regrouping in the Concord town center, away from Concord’s militiamen, they were sorely mistaken. What they had done was given away precious time, a fatal strategic flaw. The silent alarm system in the Massachusetts countryside was hard at work, and thousands of men headed towards Concord, blocking the British escape route.

The final fight at Concord killed a few more Redcoats, but the real war would take place all along the 16-mile route back to Boston, known as the “Nightmare of Battle Road”.

The colonial militia did not meet the British columns of soldiers in their bright red coats head on. Instead they used guerilla tactics, firing from the woods, from barns, behind walls and from inside houses into the increasingly depleted and battle weary soldiers who had been marching and fighting since midnight. The number of militia increased, as the number of soldiers decreased.

By the end of that day, the British had marched back to Boston with their red tails between their legs. One of the British officers lamented that, “their numbers increasing from all parts while ours was reducing by deaths, wounds and fatigue.”

The final tally was:

• British casualties: 247 casualties with 73 killed and 53 missing
• Colonist casualties: 88 casualties, with 49 killed

When the fighting ended in Charlestown that evening, it wasn’t the end of the fight, it was the beginning of a new era. More than 20,000 Massachusetts militiamen had responded and began a siege of Boston.

The battle for America was on.

I choose to believe that William Hunt and his son, Nehemiah, were watching what transpired on their homeland, Punkatasset Hill, and that they were silently cheering the men on. Maybe helping in some unknown way.

America’s turning point happened on Punkatasset Hill. It was here that the final spark was lit, half a mile above the town. One that transformed localized protests into an organized military resistance.

The hill provided the local militia with time to consolidate their resources, spy on the British, make a strategic offensive decision, and obtain the psychological advantage. Then, a few hundred outnumbered soldiers in farmers’ clothing descended the hill, marching two-by-two, staring directly into the face of death.

Without Punkatasset Hill, the path of our history may well have been charted differently.

The fate of America hung in the balance that day, and might well have taken an entirely different turn.

Punkatasset Hill Today

There are two parts to the question of Punkatasset Hill’s location today. The first is the location of the hill itself and the second is the location of Nehemiah Hunt’s original home on the Hunt property.

Today, most of Punkatasset Hill is a preserved historic site within Concord, serving as a monument to the quiet hour of anticipation that directly birthed the American Revolution.

This area is replete with hiking trails, one of which provides access to the top of Punkatasset Hill, where the militiamen stood and America embarked on freedom’s path.

The short hike to the hill can be found on TrailMaps, here, noted as trail 7. You can watch a video of the hike to nearby Hutchins pond on YouTube, here.

The Town of Concord provides several trail maps and guides, here.

William Hall’s Land and Nehemiah Hall’s Home

While William Hunt’s land expands across almost all of Punkatasset Hill, and his original home is gone, we can pinpoint exactly where Nehemiah Hunt lived, because the home, while heavily refurbished, still exists today.

The trailhead is just above Nehemiah’s residence on Monument Street, and across from Hutchins Farm.

You can still see the shape of the two adjoining houses today, although they look vastly different than in the 1880s.

Take a look at these beautiful photos of the property on Realtor.com, here. The residence is gated and can’t be seen from the road.

The structure to the rear is Nehemiah’s home and dates to pre-Revolutionary War days. The brave Patriots gathered on the hill directly behind this home.

The barn and outbuildings do not date to this period. The pool, in the drone photos, is directly behind Nehemiah’s part of the home.

I can’t tell which rooms are in the original portion of the house, but they are all stunning. I know William and Nehemiah Hunt stood in these rooms and warmed themselves by the fire.

What I really want you to look at is the aerial view. I can’t quite place the hill, but it’s someplace here, perhaps slightly behind and to the right of the barn. Regardless, it’s William Hunt’s land.

But why not fly over?

There’s a video tour here, on Vimeo.

How I wish this were a VRBO.

The Hill I Will Die On

William Hunt founded Concord, with others, between 1636 and 1640. He died in 1667, and just over a century later, his land would provide the launching pad for what would become the United States.

I can only imagine the shock, and how proud he would be, were he to know what he begat and the outsized role that Punkatasset Hill played in history.

Punkatasset Hill provided the clarion call for the foundation of this country. It was a humble beginning with a few brave men on a hilltop one chilly April morning.

This is a hill that I, too, am willing to die on.

The Declaration of Independence

Fifteen months after the encounter beneath Punkatasset Hill, on the Old North Bridge, a new country would be formed. On July 4, 1776, the Declaration of Independence was signed at Independence Hall, severing our political ties with Great Britain. We threw off the mantle of a form of government where monarchs ruled and became a sovereign nation, in charge of our own fate.

The Declaration’s Introduction

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

The preamble begins:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.—That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,—That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security

The Constitution

The Declaration of Independence was followed by the Constitution, which sets forth the structure of how the republic is to be run. It was signed on September 17, 1787.

At the close of the Constitutional Convention, when leaving the building, a woman asked Benjamin Franklin, “What have we got, a republic or a monarchy?” Franklin famously replied:

“A republic, if you can keep it.”  

The Constitution provides a balanced federal structure, divided between three equally powerful but distinct branches of government, the Judiciary, the Legislative, and the Executive. It provides separation of power, and divides power between the federal government and the states.

A summary of the Seven Articles of the Constitution:

• Article I (The Legislative Branch): Creates Congress (the Senate and House of Representatives), sets member qualifications, and details its powers like taxing, coining money, and declaring war.
• Article II (The Executive Branch): Establishes the presidency, details the Electoral College system, outlines presidential powers (like commanding the military), and defines the impeachment process.
• Article III (The Judicial Branch): Creates the Supreme Court, allows Congress to set up lower federal courts, defines the types of cases they can hear, and explicitly defines treason.
• Article IV (The States): Regulates relationships between states, requires them to respect each other’s laws, guarantees citizens equal treatment across state lines, and outlines how new states can join the Union.
• Article V (The Amendment Process): Sets up the two-step system needed to change the Constitution, requiring a two-thirds vote in Congress and approval from three-fourths of the states.
• Article VI (Federal Supremacy): Establishes the Constitution and federal laws as the “supreme Law of the Land,” meaning federal law trumps state law if they conflict, and bans religious tests for holding public office.
• Article VII (Ratification): Explains the original startup rules, stating that 9 out of the original 13 states had to approve the document for it to officially take effect.

You can read the full text of the Constitution, here.

Because we were no longer a monarchy, where one person told the rest of us what to do, the Constitution needed to be ratified. It took nine months for the Constitution to complete the ratification process and be approved.

• September 17, 1787 (The Proposal): The Constitution was completed and signed by the delegates, then sent to the states.
• December 7, 1787 (The First State): Delaware became the very first state to vote in favor of approval, earning its nickname “The First State”.
• June 21, 1788 (Official Approval): New Hampshire became the crucial 9th state to ratify the document. This officially made the Constitution the legally binding framework of the United States.
• March 4, 1789 (The Government Begins): The new constitutional government officially began operations.
• May 29, 1790 (Unanimous Approval): Rhode Island, the final holdout state, finally ratified the document, making the approval unanimous across all 13 original states.

Constitutional Amendments

The founding fathers provided enough flexibility that the Constitution could be amended, and it has been several times.

The first 10 amendments are known as the Bill of Rights. The Bill of Rights was officially proposed by Congress on September 25, 1789, and ratified by the states on December 15, 1791.

Two Amendments in the original Bill of Rights didn’t pass. The first dealt with Congressional representation in the House of Representatives as the country grew. The second dealt with Congressional pay raises and was tabled. It eventually became the 27^th Amendment, but took 202 years to pass.

The Bill of Rights

The purpose of the Bill of Rights was to safeguard individual liberties and place strict, legal limits on federal power

• 1st Amendment: Freedom of speech, religion, press, assembly, and petition.
• 2nd Amendment: The right to keep and bear arms.
• 3rd Amendment: Restrictions on housing soldiers in private homes.
• 4th Amendment: Protection against unreasonable searches and seizures.
• 5th Amendment: Rights of the accused (due process, double jeopardy, self-incrimination).
• 6th Amendment: The right to a speedy and public trial by jury in criminal cases.
• 7th Amendment: The right to a jury trial in civil cases.
• 8th Amendment: Protections against excessive bail and cruel and unusual punishment.
• 9th Amendment: Ensures that citizens have rights beyond those listed in the Constitution.
• 10th Amendment: Reserves powers not given to the federal government to the states or the people

Amendments 11-27

• 11th Amendment (1795): Stops citizens of one state or another country from suing another state in federal court.
• 12th Amendment (1804): Fixes the Electoral College so electors vote for President and Vice President separately.
• 13th Amendment (1865): Abolished slavery and involuntary servitude across the entire nation.
• 14th Amendment (1868): Guarantees birthright citizenship, due process, and equal protection under the law to all citizens.
• 15th Amendment (1870): Bans the government from denying a citizen the right to vote based on race.
• 16th Amendment (1913): Allows Congress to levy a nationwide income tax.
• 17th Amendment (1913): Changes the law so citizens vote directly for U.S. Senators instead of state legislatures choosing them.
• 18th Amendment (1919): Banned the manufacture, sale, and transportation of alcohol (Prohibition) and was repealed by the 21st Amendment.
• 19th Amendment (1920): Granted women the right to vote.
• 20th Amendment (1933): Shortened the time between elections and inauguration, moving the presidential start date to January 20.
• 21st Amendment (1933): Ended Prohibition by completely repealing the 18th Amendment.
• 22nd Amendment (1951): Limits the President to serving a maximum of two terms.
• 23rd Amendment (1961): Gives Washington, D.C. residents the right to vote in presidential elections.
• 24th Amendment (1964): Bans poll taxes, making it illegal to force people to pay a tax to vote.
• 25th Amendment (1967): Clarifies that the Vice President takes over if the President dies, resigns, or becomes disabled.
• 26th Amendment (1971): Lowers the national voting age from 21 down to 18.
• 27th Amendment (1992): Prevents members of Congress from giving themselves an immediate pay raise until an election has passed. (Took 202 years to pass and finally did in 1992)

Stalled

• 28th Amendment (stalled): The Equal Rights Amendment (ERA) states that equality of rights under the law shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex. Congress passed it in 1972 with a deadline of March 22, 1979 for three-fourths of the states to ratify, but they failed to do so, even after an extension to 1982, so it remains stalled among lawsuits.

You can read the full text of the Amendments, here and here, or here.

The Oaths

All elected officials swear an oath to uphold the Constitution, which includes the Amendments.

The exact verbiage of the President’s oath is dictated by Article I of the Constitution, as follows:

I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.

Similar Constitutional oaths are required for every elected official and virtually every person working in federal or state government, including the military.

Regardless of their job description, their first and foremost obligation is to defend the Constitution, meaning the safety and security of the country, and the rights of the American citizens.

May we have the wisdom to protect our republic, the legacy for which so many of our forefathers laid down their lives, and the constitutional system of government that those brave men who marched down Punkatasset Hill were willing to die for. Ordinary men who did something extraordinary and, with it, changed history.

Unresolved grief is a terrible burden

That wears on your soul.

An aching that becomes ingrained in your life.

Its constant presence, an unwelcome companion.

It’s not until it’s unexpectedly lifted that you realize

The magnitude of its weight.

Love lives.

Douglas, sweet Douglas,

You were lost to us

Or so we thought.

But you had simply departed on your next adventure

Of sorts.

Leaving us behind.

For a while.

To catch up later.

You tried to tell us that you were leaving…

But we didn’t hear you.

 

What is it that you used to say?

“A river cannot run upstream.”

I’ll carry your water now, Douglas.

“What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.”

Walk through the fire if we must.

And so we must.

We have.

We will.

Love is a beautiful thing.

Your shoes are still unfillable.

 

Born of utter and devastating grief…

It was Christmas Eve, 1986.

Straight to the airport from the morgue…

Your partner…

A death

A birth

That was your first night in Guatemala.

“The universe kinda took me by the hand thereafter.

An accidental tourist in the world,” you said.

No Douglas

You were no tourist.

Half your heart was left on that cold morgue table

But the other half

You planted in the Garden of Good

Guided, perhaps, by the Universe

Who knew the Good you would do.

The path from devastating tragedy

To unfillable shoes.

 

You never counted,

But I have.

Nearly 40 years later

And 100,000 children

Books, pencils, paper, crayons

Children in school

Who didn’t even have pencils

Before your broken heart

Came to save them.

An accidental Godfather

Perhaps.

 

Learning

Seeds

Opportunity

God love you Douglas.

For all of them

All the lives

All those seeds you sowed

Sprouting now in the Garden of Good

Spreading Love.

Every one of them

Carries a little bit of you.

 

But then

One Sunday morning,

Far away

In Guatemala,

Another world,

In the land of the Maya and children working the fields

And going to school

Learning to read and write

Something they had never done before

Your body failed you.

Failed all of us, actually

And failed “our kids.”

 

Those children to whom you offered the blessing of education

In a land where there was no other opportunity

To escape the death-grip of

Generational poverty.

 

That humid Sunday morning

After you had finished

Your school trip into the mountains

Through torrential rains

And “rumblers” as you called them

To downplay earthquakes,

So we wouldn’t worry,

Walter called you,

Then left to come home.

Fifteen minutes later

When he arrived,

You were already gone

To be with your patron saint,

Our Lady of Guadeloupe.

Your soul flying free.

 

How you must have suffered…

Watching those you love suffer

After your departure

At least, until we got to the honoring part

Of your transition.

 

Reality split into two.

Those you love in Guatemala,

And those you love here.

Notice I didn’t say loved

Because…

Love Lives.

 

Love is your legacy.

You did more with your grief-stricken heart

Planting seeds in the Garden of Good

Than most do

With an entire lifetime.

 

Your love will live forever

In the souls

Of thousands

Of eager children

Who carried their own boxes of books

And school supplies

Up the mountains

Into the school

When the terrain was even too steep

And muddy

For trucks

Or even donkeys.

They love you.

Love Lives.

 

They will pass the gift on.

Ripples

For generations

To come.

 

Your love lives

In the life of the young man

Who didn’t end it

Late that night

Just before you left for Guatemala

For the last time.

He called you instead

At 2:30 AM.

Lucky for him,

When Fate called upon you

You never failed to answer.

You fed him coffee

Tough love

And hope.

Love Lives.

 

He still carries your rosary.

That accidental rosary that I sent two of

And you hung on the mirror in your truck

Just hours before.

“It’s no accident, these things,” you said.

I hope he understands.

Somehow.

 

A few days later

You took the second rosary

To Guatemala

And hung it

Where it would forever remind

Those who look

With eyes that know

Of love

Your love

Her love

His love

 

Stateside, we heard that you were gone

Through the tendrils of a grapevine.

There was nothing more,

No matter how hard we tried.

Only stony silence.

“Died in Guatemala.

On Sunday.”

That was it

Gone

Just gone

 

But then, you knew you were going.

You told me that if that young man waited another 7 years to call

He’d have to talk to the rosary

Because you wouldn’t be here

Anymore.

I didn’t understand then

But I surely do now.

The last words we said to each other

Were

“Love You”

Love Lives.

 

But Love means it’s even more painful

To have no closure

No resolution

No comforting rituals to soften the blow

That kind of mourning

Lasts forever.

 

Where are you, Douglas?

Where is your body resting?

What happened?

Were you brought back to the states?

Away from the land and people you love so much?

There is no obituary.

Who honored your life?

Anyone?

Anyplace?

Where?

Who brought flowers?

Were there flowers?

You loved roses.

Who came to sit by you?

And where?

Did they light candles?

Was there a priest?

So many questions.

No answers

No avenue for answers

Doors slammed

Chained and bolted.

I couldn’t even find the doors

For all the locks.

Silence.

 

Human beings need answers.

Answers give grief and loss

A resting place.

 

The days ticked by

One

Two

Where’s Douglas…

…

Thanksgiving

Christmas

100 days

…

200 days

…

So many days

And nights

In the darkness of unanswered questions

Prayers

And tears.

Then there was the dream

That I didn’t understand

But would, soon.

 

Finally

261 days

An email titled

“Friend of Douglas Rhodenbaugh Reaching Out”

Thank God,

Oh, thank God.

She loved you, too

And had answers

 

You rest in Guatemala

And died in only a way Douglas could

Imprisoned in a paperwork purgatory

That not even the best lawyers could spring you from.

Retrospectively,

It’s all hilariously funny

But not then,

And not while you were missing

In our world

Of no answers.

 

As your body waited in an icy chamber

For two long months

You must have been laughing

But Walter surely wasn’t

The only jail we ever had to spring you from was the morgue

And we couldn’t even do that!

 

Mayan traditions don’t take into account modern-day inconveniences

Like paperwork delays.

There, those who have joined the Creator

Are honored with a wake

Wrapped in beautiful hand-woven textiles

Then, both joyfully

And tearfully

Committed to where

Earthly remains

Spend their afterlife.

 

You must have sent the dream,

Because when I saw the picture

I recognized it immediately.

Even from the other side

You were trying to comfort me

As I continued to grieve,

Relentlessly.

I had given up hope of ever knowing.

But now,

My heart is so full.

 

You are so loved, Douglas.

Your bones were lovingly claimed

As theirs.

They came by the hundreds

Walking down the mountain

In muddy ruts

To honor you.

The Godfather

As they called you,

The man sent by God

To save their children

Raised up out of grief.

Like a Phoenix.

 

Not all fathers have children

In the traditional way,

Some are sent by God

To Father.

That was you, Douglas.

Your ministry,

Although we never called it that

Because you were far too humble.

We’ll just call it the mission

That saved your broken heart, too

Their hearts

And hands

Made you a beautiful casket

Gleefully painted

Probably while shedding tears

And sharing stories

Until they laughed.

You would have loved that.

You were there

With them.

 

At your wake

Your “good” picture

Adorned the top

Of your casket,

In the suit you wore

To your students’ graduations

And celebrations

In the states.

 

Your hat

With a raincovering, of course,

Candles,

Flowers,

Rose,s

Always red roses

Your favorite.

And love

So much love

As they gathered

To sit beside you

One last time.

 

Your wake lasted two full days

And nights

And oh, the stories

Your handmade coffin was a little “small”

Given the unusual circumstances

We’ll just explain as

Your necessary cremation

Your own unique version of

“Fire Ceremony.”

 

Your irredeemable sense of humor…

You must have been howling.

Finally, those who love you

Were able to mourn

Properly

Joyfully

Tearfully

Telling Douglas stories

Reliving your antics

Regaled.

 

But buried in all of that

Was a commitment

Many commitments

Seared in hearts

To carry on the ministry

Of love

Of the Godfather.

Of your huge

Huge heart.

So maybe your burial

Was a commitment ceremony

Because

Love Lives.

 

The bells rang

The market fell silent

The community

Hundreds of people

Walked with you

Escorted you

Up the hill

To the cathedral

The church you loved

So very much.

A place of peaceful solitude

Madonnas and crosses

Where you received your final Mass

The Misa de Cenizas

Mass of the Ashes.

 

And then, so lovingly,

The third generation,

The grandson of one

Of the children you lifted up,

Carried you,

Their Godfather,

Who took a spiritual vow

To watch over them

And lift them up

All of them

Carried you to the place you chose.

 

Where you stepped out

Into the cobblestone street

Each dawn

As the market stirred,

And awakened,

The church bells

Ringing.

The resplendent cemetery

Up the hill

On the mountainside

Where memories live

And come alive.

 

“How beautiful” you said

Indeed – how beautiful.

Love lives here

Not solemnly

Not here

Joyfully

Bursting with riotous color.

 

Did you know

That one day

After a bit of a “delay”

Your bones would rest here?

In a borrowed crypt

A family member of a family you were not born to

One of your children

All grown up

Did you always know?

I think so.

You were a seer.

 

The children you saved will walk by and honor you

By lighting candles

And bringing flowers

Until they are old.

Then their children

And their children too

Who can read

And write

Because of you

Sweet Douglas,

Dear Sweet Douglas.

 

How ironic

And perfect

That your funeral was on Halloween

The day before All Saints Day

And the day before the Day of the Dead

Which is not morbid

But a day of beautiful remembrance

And celebration

And your birthday

How perfect!

 

This means that every year,

Without fail,

For as long as eternity lasts on earth,

You will have fresh flowers on your grave

In the borrowed crypt

Where your earthly remains remain

Turning to dust

Joining the stars

For those of us left behind

To visit

And mourn

And celebrate.

The only mourning that needs to be done is that you are gone too soon.

 

The only thing we leave behind

Is a legacy.

Your legacy

Half a heart

Sewn in the Garden of Good.

Decades later,

100,000 books and crayons

Opportunities

Roots

Love.

Love Lives.

 

But that’s not all

Your story doesn’t end here

That is not the final chapter…

 

There’s a vow.

 

Douglas,

When Curtis died, I carried his love

And his clothes with me

For thirty years

The ones his mother threw away.

I refused to allow him to be erased

To be pitched away like trash.

 

I grieved his too-early death so deeply.

A soul-wound.

Just five years after you left for Guatemala

But it would be another quarter-century before

Fate intertwined our lives

Wove them together.

 

As what I thought was

My final loving act for Curtis

Honoring his life,

And yours,

I sewed my love and his clothes into a quilt

With scraps of mine too

Transformed them into light

And love

For you.

 

A quilt that arrived when you needed it most

A box on your porch

When you were alone

An hour after a heart surgery diagnosis,

Allowing you to collapse into your quilt

Wrapped around you

In sheltering love.

That surgery

Gave us a few extra years

But not nearly enough.

 

Now your quilt has continued its own journey of love

Healing

Anonymously

Someplace

With someone we don’t know

Purchased at the auction of your worldly goods.

Maybe they were drawn to the colors

Maybe you directed them there

Because they needed healing

Comforting,

Or love.

The threads just keep connecting.

That’s what love does.

It’s alive,

It travels

Infecting others.

It is not ours to own

Or direct.

Love Lives.

 

I walked with Curtis,

Curtis walked with you

Weaving our lives together in the tapestry of our mission

Your ministry

Partners

For oh so many years.

I could not honor you at your wake

Because we were still in the darkness.

I could not carry your bones

Because we did not know.

I could not put flowers on your grave for your birthday.

I could not bear witness then,

But I’ll do better now.

 

The candle has been lit

From an eternal flame

Grief has shapeshifted

Into Love.

 

Now the scraps from Curtis’s clothes

Will join yours

And mine

In Care Quilts.

Our ministry continues

Just a little differently

Than either of us imagined.

 

Together,

We will lift them up.

We will tell them

Without words

That they matter

And are not forgotten.

Scattering acts of love.

Love Lives.

 

I will not fail you,

I will not look away

You never did,

The price was your life.

The reward is theirs.

Those 100,000 seeds

Now in the third generation

Spreading love

And hope

And redemption.

“What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.”

 

Need knows no season

Right is right.

There are fights waiting to be fought

And won

One by tiny one

Each sprout a victory

And each victory a sprout,

A seed.

Somehow.

Ours is not to know how

Ours is only to sew

The seeds

Seeds of love

So that others may reap

And grow

In the Garden of Good.

I know you’re with me

I can feel your presence

And see your light

As we walk into the future

Spreading love

Together.

Boundless,

Endless,

Timeless.

I love you.

Love Lives.