Notes on her Memory: the greenhouse, photographed in winter

In the Philadelphia Inquirer today, I remember my mother, who is buried at Valley Forge National Historical Park. In the early days following my mother's death, I would wander toward the Knox Estate greenhouse and think about rust and lost seeds. Later, I would come to sit on the bench near my mother's grave, which I had had designed for my father, and listen to the bells that sifted down.

The whole story is here. This is the greenhouse, as photographed in the winter of 2010.

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Remembering my mother and honoring my father, at Valley Forge, in today's Inquirer

With thanks, as always, to Kevin Ferris, who allows me to sing these songs. Thanks, too, to the entire Inquirer team.

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An eternity beneath the rush of song

When I go to Valley Forge Park, I park by the Washington Memorial Chapel and wind around, toward the cemetery and stand in my mother's company for a spell.  Sometimes the carillon bells ring, and when they do, I am stopped in my tracks, grateful that my mother has such a peaceful resting place, an eternity beneath the rush of song.

The bells were ringing Sunday.

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