Celebration

 

   People may die at inconvenient times for the living, but death is in priority class and will have its way. Our friend Catherine Stenzel died on March 18, right between the feasts of St Patrick and St Joseph, so the 18th will alway be St Catherine of the Forest Day.

   Catherine had requested that her ashes be spread in her beloved Forest under a blasted and very old pine tree. The old friends who made up the spreading party could not get their acts together until May 17. Two months had gone by. Was Catherine's spirit hovering about anxiously? I doubt it. What's two months in the infinite sea of eternity?

   Catherine did not request a celebration of life. That was for the living and that didn't happen till August 1, last Saturday, when most of the people who wanted to be there could make it.

   The event began at 1:00 at the Shêdeau, the guesthouse at our place. Most of the people who came were from Joe Stenzel's family. Catherine's family was small and elderly and couldn't travel so far. Joe's family was large and lived mostly in the Twin Cities where Joe grew up. 

   Some of Joe's family had never been this far north before. Joe and Catherine had moved to the Forest in 1999 and for the first many years would return to the Cities for family events. As Catherine's health declined, Joe would travel by himself and Catherine would stay in their cabin tending the dogs and stoking the fire.

   Last Saturday was perfect weather- exactly what we had ordered. I had sprayed for mosquitoes and the mosquitoes respected that till the sun went down. Once the crowd appeared, appetizers came out and drinks were poured. Some of our neighbors who had known Catherine came, as well as neighbors from the Forest. It was good we had lined the guesthouse porch with chairs because this was the largest shindig ever held at the Shêdeau. 

   We had told everyone the informal remembrance portion of the day would begin at two, so at 2:30 Joe called the gathering to order. Catherine's good friend Steve read Catherine's poem Raven Laughing, one of her best. As other people were remembering Catherine, the smoke alarm upstairs went off. I had forgotten the pizza in the oven. The alarm was a good signal to take a break- to eat something and for the northerners to get to know the southerners.

   Later in the afternoon, more people spoke about Catherine. It was great to get the perspective of the family who knew Catherine when she and Joe lived in the Cities. I knew Catherine best as a writer. She would always say with pride, "My writing is dark." Catherine and Joe and a few other friends take turns posting on our blog, Wannaskan Almanac. Every Monday morning for the past eight years, Catherine would publish a post about other poets or she would post her own poetry. 

   Eventually she starting posting episodes from her epic poem, The One. When the poem ended a few years ago, I chided her for not giving the story a proper ending. She just blew me off, and started posting The One all over again. Like all epics, it's a journey of self-discovery. But The One ends without the main character finding out who he or she is. As we were getting closer to the end of the epic and to Catherine's death, Joe said he found a second half to the poem on Catherine's computer. With Catherine's permission he started publishing segments every Monday. 

   The first segment of the second half of The One appeared on March 16, two days before Catherine died. It describes the hero on a sinking ship. The following episodes describe the hero traveling through a wasteland, meeting the occasional wise one who points the way forward.

   In the late afternoon, Joe's family needed to head for home, but first they went out to the Stenzel cabin. It was only a twenty minute drive, but a world away. When Joe returned later to pick up the artifacts from Catherine's life that had been on display, he gave the Celebration five stars. Teresa and I agreed that it had been was a truly great day.

                                      Raven Laughing (first verse)

Gloss-black wings scissor-slice harsh air – winter sun shimmers, purpling feathers

Wing on wing, a suchness leaving tiny vapor trail of Raven breathing

In one long glide he skims forest, river, fields 

that take me stumbling hours to cross, and he just cocks his black-maned head

 looks at me – a puffed pink lump, squinting up

at Raven laughing 

From Catherine's epic The One, posted two days before she died.

The sound is a cracking of long bones

as the black hull shudders and splits against the ice

The green sea essence rushes like blood through ripped flesh

Far above on deck

I hear the splintering impact

I feel the wrench and tear as the ice drags and cuts

a widening wound in the black-timbered hide

It seems only a matter of time

until the relentless sea

engulfs and drowns my ship with green-frothing force

pouring into the womb-like hold

Only a matter of time

to bring her down down and deep

until darkness quenches her masthead light