I open with words from that familiar and prolific writer, Anonymous.
Some People come
Into our lives and
Quickly go.
Some stay for
A while, leave
Footprints on
Our hearts and
We are never, ever
The same.
Over thirty years ago, my friend Sue called up one March morning and asked if I would like to take a ride out to Hill, a small town about ten miles from Franklin, N.H. where we lived at the time. She was going to buy her annual supply of syrup from a retired Methodist minister, the Rev James Quimby, who had a small operation on the farm that had been in his family since the 1700’s. I remember that first meeting very well. Sue parked along-side a sugarhouse spewing plumes of steam just down the road from a snug white antique cape house. We found Jim and his wife Mae, both about 70, cheerfully toiling inside with the help of one hired hand about their age. I remember Jim’s friendliness, his eagerness to show us how the syrup was made, and how he laughed with delight when we oohed and ahhed at the samples he gave us in little cups. I also remember his generosity in donating a gallon of the liquid gold as a prize to raise money for a non profit I was involved with.
Years later our family had a tiny experimental syrup operation outside on a cookie sheet over an open fire. Jim came over to enthusiastically admire it and smacked his lips as he sampled a teaspoon. He was so sincere and skilled at encouraging others.
However, on that long ago March day I had no idea that within a couple years my family would move out to Hill, to a log house about 2 miles from Jim and Mae, and that they would become like family to us. Neither did I know that Sue would be tragically struck by a car and killed less than 15 years from that day.
In recent years, having lost folks dear to me, as we all do, I have compared my life to a hike on the Appalachian Trail (which I have not done, but often fantasize doing).
I have come to realize how much I have gained from people who entered my life, walked a section of the trail with me, and then departed, leaving me with the knowledge that although I am ultimately traveling alone, my walk has changed and gained richness from the travelers who have walked along with me.
Many folks in this church community enriched me by sharing that metaphoric trail with me during the five years that I served as your DRE, and I thank you. Today, I am sharing some of the memories and lessons I gained from knowing Jim Quimby for almost two decades of my journey.
I don’t remember when I next met Jim; my recollections resume when he and Mae included Dan and me in a gathering at their home to view some beautiful slides they had taken on a recent train trip through the mountains of Canada. It was a wonderful way to meet some of our neighbors and fellow residents and it was the first part of Jim’s lesson on being a friend. He had a wide and ever-expanding group of friends. I learned much about friendship from him:
Always include newcomers and make them feel part of things. Make friends with all age groups. As you get older, make friends with younger folks; it is a benefit to both parties. Stay in touch, but don’t overstay. Jim would call up and ask if we were free for a visit. If yes, he and Mae would soon appear, we would have a wonderful exchange of developments in our lives, and then they would say it was time to leave and they would do just that! Thus they stayed a part of many people’s lives. Another fine attribute of Jim as a friend was his intentional attention to you and the conversation. He often closed his eyes when speaking or listening, but he would alternately nod and mm hmm and then focus his direct blue-eyed stare on you showing you that he was interested and actively listening. Then, he would acknowledge that he had heard you before he changed the subject or responded with his part of the conversation. You felt heard. And respected.
Jim cultivated a great sense of humor, adventure and fun and inspired me to do the same. Here’s my favorite example: one April Fools day, yours truly answered the phone to hear Jim’s excited voice say, “Merry! I just drove by your house and there was a white crow in the pine tree by your mailbox!! Have you seen it?” “No Jim”, I said as I moved to the window of our kitchen pulling the long phone cord with me. “Well look Merry,--hurry, see if it is still there.” I craned my neck and tried as hard as I could, but to no avail. I, being the novice woods dweller, and thinking of Jim as my mentor of the flora and fauna of Hill, hesitatingly said that I had never heard of a white crow; perhaps it had been a snowy owl? “Oh no, Merry, it was a rare white crow—the first I have ever seen. Are you LOOKING?” “Yes Jim,” I repeated to which he exclaimed, “April Fool’s Merry” and hung up. Well, I waited a year, then with Mae’s help I got a L’Eggs egg that I had sprayed gold into his hen house so that on April Fool’s morning he found it and the message inside that read: “This golden egg was not laid by any golden goose. It was laid by a white crow.”
Jim’s zest for life could make an ordinary hike an adventure. He and Mae led us on many hikes—to a pond on their land, over the path he used to walk through the woods to school as a child, to the sight of an unsolved murder, and the Christmas walks from their house to ours—I especially recall the one that only Jim and Dan did because it was -26 ----and they arrived with icicles hanging from their eyelashes.
I do not mean to portray Jim as a perfect person. One imperfection caused quite an adventure for our daughter. Jim used a very heavy foot on the accelerator. Once when he was helping Dan and the kids gather firewood, they loaded his old pick-up truck and he took off for our house---without noticing that our Carolynn was still atop the pile of wood! How she hung on we will never know as Jim sped up and down the hills, around the curves and up our bumpy dirt road. My Dan, who has amassed quite a pile of speeding tickets in his day, couldn’t catch up to Jim!
Jim’s wealth of knowledge was inspiring. He was widely read, had an inquisitive mind and probed the thoughts of others. I miss him amidst this election and today’s world events. He was always eager to discuss current events, saying, “Merry, what are we going to do about this?”
Jim was a fine example of someone who did do things about causes he believed in. He marched in Selma. And he and Mae spent long cold December days selling Christmas trees they had grown and would send the profits to a fund for African American colleges in the south. Oh, he would be so excited by this election!
Although Jim was retired, he often preached at the little Danbury, N.H. church. I was Director of Religious Education at the Franklin Unitarian church at the time, so we had many talks about our work and he would often ask, “What are you doing for your story, Merry?” He did the stories in his little church and often brought in live animals. Inspired by Jim, I once asked Deb Nunes who worked in the Keene UU church with me, to bring in some chicks from her farm for Easter. Well, that was a one time event, because they peeped and peeped drowning out most of the service.
The last great lesson I learned from Jim was on aging gracefully and living life fully even as one declines. Jim’s wife, Mae, died a tragic death and he was not himself for a long time. Yet, he kept living, planting his gardens, new trees and bushes, cultivating his friendships, and tending to his stand of maples. Losing a dog well into his 80’s, he adopted another dog needing a home. When Jim’s legs became too weak to walk Sadie, he threw a ball across the kitchen floor for her to fetch. He hired help to tend his gardens, and, with the help of neighbors and friends, and the Visiting Nurse Association, he managed to stay in his home and died in the room in which he was born. I still miss him as I continue along my trail, but I am a better person for having known him.
Some people leave footprints on our minds and hearts, and we are never ever the same again.
Merry Stockwell
