Maybe "The Woods" is not the best title for your oil that later hung over her bed in Atria. (It was a copy of "June".) I think there was a slight shape of a person, maybe fishing or standing? Anyway, she referred to it as: "Barry's Woods". The stories she made up or told me of, came after she was alone and at Casa Blanca, of visits to the Woods and someone being there with her. Evidently, one day she decided to write of one of her "visits" and mail it to you.

With its place on the hall wall in Casa Blanca, visible from her chair, where she may have passed many hours reading and dreaming, her imagination had opportunity to create the soothing and joyous tales. How very dear, that you Barry, had given her the back drop for these happy thoughts.

June by George Inness

"June" by George Inness

Stepping through the Picture Frame


Dear Favorite Son,

This has been a very eventful day and I feel exhilarated. In spite of the chill in the air, I donned a heavy coat, complete with muffler and warm woolly cap and headed for "our" woods. The leaves on the trees were dancing and fairly laughing with the north wind. I fully expected to see some ice in the stream, but I guess it is a little early for that. But better judgment told me not to put my hand in it. However, the frog sitting along the edge didn't seem to mind at all.

I wish my words could paint a picture of the woods today. The wild grasses, the watercress, the sprinkling of small blue blossoms adding just the right touch. And the aroma, the aroma of woods mixed with the clean clear air was enough to catch my breath away. There were not many birds flitting through the branches of the trees, but the gray squirrels made up for the lack. My being there didn't seem to interfere with their sheer delight in the boisterous game of "bet-you-can't-catch-me". I would like to be a child of ten again, just for today. I would love to join their game of tag. But my almost seventy-six years cautions that watching is better than running.

But the best part was yet to come. My kite-flying friend (I've forgotten his name, so I will rename him Sean) had chosen today to visit the meadow. It was delightful to see him and thrill to the antics of the kite trying ever so hard to escape his grasp. I think he was just as delighted to see me. It seems as though he has come regularly to our woods and meadow, hoping to broaden our friendship. We had had such a lovely first meeting and he really enjoyed teaching me to fly his kite. With each visit he has carried a package with my name on it, and today, with a merry twinkle in his eye, he gave it to me. My very own kite.

I will now return to the woods much more often. How could I not!

To fly a kite is to be young and free, and exhilarated.
This magic should be shared with someone you love,
So let me share it with you,
So that we may be young and free and exhilarated together.

Guess what?