Oh my, what a layer of story here. Amongst the ruin, so much love and space holding. Knowing these things about you and your mama makes me think, if course, this is why Brooke is who she is. What an amazing lineage she comes from. My deepest sympathy for the loss. But earth Mama and Angels made it through! Yay for that!
I have to move into long term care here in Ontario, Canada. Even though I’m only 74, a fall left me unable to walk and becoming incontinent. Twenty years ago I moved from a house to apartment but still had room for my journals and photos. This time I share a room and so have no space for those albums. I THOUGHT I needed them to write my memoir but your article reminded me that I still have the memories just not the physical reminders. Thanks, Brooke!
I've been through fire and earthquakes, even a volcano. When Mt. St Helens erupted, my sense of loss and dislocation surprised me. The mountain was a touch-stone, a directional guide, something that would forever exist. Until it didn't. When I'm hiking high up in the Cascades and look down on its remnant, I still see the shadow of its summit in my heart. My oldest daughter is six months old again, I haven't even begun my career, and everything seems possible. These losses -- violations of our sense of place and self -- are forever with us, like the loss of friends or loved ones. I'm sorry you and your family had to sift through ashes, Brooke, for those little things. But what a solace.
You remind me... In the 1980s, my parents, in their 70s, moved from Massachusetts to California. They flew; their belongings went in a huge Mayflower van. Along the way, it caught fire. What remained? Only the handful of family heirloom items, including photos, they'd managed to get out of Germany 50 years earlier and some irreplaceable books. Fire and destiny can intersect in inexplicable ways...
Heartbreaking. You asked us to share a legacy - my mother handed me a battered cardboard candy box with documents that detailed the history of my grandfather's suffering from PTSD. A story never told to the grandkids; - our parents didn't want us afraid of him. I'm working on a book that honors him and my grandmother who pulled him through.
The beauty which remains takes my breath away. Love and loss and lineage. This is some of the best writing of yours I ever read. Seriously, I felt this in my bones.
Brooke, my heart goes out to you and your mum! My husband I moved to Maine from Northern California due to the wildfire crisis. The trauma, to individual and communities, is so difficult for people to understand who have not gone through it. Wishing you the best, with much admiration for your work. ~ Liz
So sad, and yet hopeful and full. Beautifully written. It reminds me of my mountain, St. Helens. I look at the photos of the time my family spent there in the 1950s and 60s and I remember visiting her in the early 80s—unrecognizable from my childhood memory (that does live on in my body, yes). I hike there now and watch the return of beauty of a different sort. Out of the ashes . . . That "believe in people" could be "believe in nature" at Mt. St. Helens. Thank you.
Brooke, this brought tears. I felt the love of your mom, her aunt and uncle, and you. I live in a fire zone (Montana) but have not yet experienced one close to our property. But I felt a lot of vicarious trauma from the news coming out of the Paradise fire some years ago. It was all I thought and prayed about for months. Then the Maui fire. ugh. But your love and gratitude shines much light. I've never forgotten hour kindness to me as you helped me with my memoir before I became sick again. I'm still here! (and write on Substack). Thank you for being you. Much love.
What a beautifully written, touching and personal piece from you, Brooke. How fortunate you've been to have such an inspiring mother---a leader in creating home and community. And how fortunate she is to have you for a daughter, a force of love and support to others. My grandmother fled Eastern Europe during the pogroms of the early 1900s. She boarded a ship to Canada with one little son, a baby in arms, and a husband who was so clueless that when she told him to take care of the diapers he threw them out the ship's portal window. She took only one thing from her family home: a pair of brass Shabbat candlesticks, which my mother owned and now I do, but my grandmother's greatest legacy was her strength and determination to thrive. She started a little grocery store in downtown Los Angeles that later supported the family, and in turn my mother had a 40 year career as a fine artist. In past eras when self-reliance, higher education for girls and creating our own income were decades away, my grandmother's resourcefulness and resilience were handed down to my mother and then to us. This precious legacy is symbolized for me in those two, sturdy candlesticks that shine on my dining room table. Out of the ashes, something new will grow...
This is a heartbreaking post, Brooke. At the same time it gives us a beautiful and inspiring glimpse into your world and your lineage, and the vision and wisdom of your mom. The images are powerful and telling, and I am glad you were able to rescue some meaningful relics. I agree with all that @dhanamusil said 🪽
My heart breaks for your loss and I understand the gratitude you feel in the face of such a loss. The things that remain now carry with them all of what was there before. Sending love & strength. xo
Oh my, what a layer of story here. Amongst the ruin, so much love and space holding. Knowing these things about you and your mama makes me think, if course, this is why Brooke is who she is. What an amazing lineage she comes from. My deepest sympathy for the loss. But earth Mama and Angels made it through! Yay for that!
❤️
I have to move into long term care here in Ontario, Canada. Even though I’m only 74, a fall left me unable to walk and becoming incontinent. Twenty years ago I moved from a house to apartment but still had room for my journals and photos. This time I share a room and so have no space for those albums. I THOUGHT I needed them to write my memoir but your article reminded me that I still have the memories just not the physical reminders. Thanks, Brooke!
So glad to hear this, Trudy—though I'm sorry about your fall and other challenges. Yes, keep writing. Yes to the memories.
I've been through fire and earthquakes, even a volcano. When Mt. St Helens erupted, my sense of loss and dislocation surprised me. The mountain was a touch-stone, a directional guide, something that would forever exist. Until it didn't. When I'm hiking high up in the Cascades and look down on its remnant, I still see the shadow of its summit in my heart. My oldest daughter is six months old again, I haven't even begun my career, and everything seems possible. These losses -- violations of our sense of place and self -- are forever with us, like the loss of friends or loved ones. I'm sorry you and your family had to sift through ashes, Brooke, for those little things. But what a solace.
Yes, dislocation. Such a powerful aftermath of these things—in so many ways. We are grounded to and by the earth.
You remind me... In the 1980s, my parents, in their 70s, moved from Massachusetts to California. They flew; their belongings went in a huge Mayflower van. Along the way, it caught fire. What remained? Only the handful of family heirloom items, including photos, they'd managed to get out of Germany 50 years earlier and some irreplaceable books. Fire and destiny can intersect in inexplicable ways...
So true about fire and any disaster, I suppose. We never know what will be on the other side. Thanks for this story, Jude.
Heartbreaking. You asked us to share a legacy - my mother handed me a battered cardboard candy box with documents that detailed the history of my grandfather's suffering from PTSD. A story never told to the grandkids; - our parents didn't want us afraid of him. I'm working on a book that honors him and my grandmother who pulled him through.
Thank you for sharing and love that you're working on this project!
The beauty which remains takes my breath away. Love and loss and lineage. This is some of the best writing of yours I ever read. Seriously, I felt this in my bones.
Aw, thank you, Jill.
Brooke, my heart goes out to you and your mum! My husband I moved to Maine from Northern California due to the wildfire crisis. The trauma, to individual and communities, is so difficult for people to understand who have not gone through it. Wishing you the best, with much admiration for your work. ~ Liz
Our legacy is handed down. So beautiful. I love the photographs you included. “Believe in People”. 🩷
So sad, and yet hopeful and full. Beautifully written. It reminds me of my mountain, St. Helens. I look at the photos of the time my family spent there in the 1950s and 60s and I remember visiting her in the early 80s—unrecognizable from my childhood memory (that does live on in my body, yes). I hike there now and watch the return of beauty of a different sort. Out of the ashes . . . That "believe in people" could be "believe in nature" at Mt. St. Helens. Thank you.
Believe in nature. Yes. We have to treat her better, too. Thanks, Gretchen.
Brooke, this brought tears. I felt the love of your mom, her aunt and uncle, and you. I live in a fire zone (Montana) but have not yet experienced one close to our property. But I felt a lot of vicarious trauma from the news coming out of the Paradise fire some years ago. It was all I thought and prayed about for months. Then the Maui fire. ugh. But your love and gratitude shines much light. I've never forgotten hour kindness to me as you helped me with my memoir before I became sick again. I'm still here! (and write on Substack). Thank you for being you. Much love.
Good to see you here, Linda. Thanks for your comment and your kindness here, too.
What a beautifully written, touching and personal piece from you, Brooke. How fortunate you've been to have such an inspiring mother---a leader in creating home and community. And how fortunate she is to have you for a daughter, a force of love and support to others. My grandmother fled Eastern Europe during the pogroms of the early 1900s. She boarded a ship to Canada with one little son, a baby in arms, and a husband who was so clueless that when she told him to take care of the diapers he threw them out the ship's portal window. She took only one thing from her family home: a pair of brass Shabbat candlesticks, which my mother owned and now I do, but my grandmother's greatest legacy was her strength and determination to thrive. She started a little grocery store in downtown Los Angeles that later supported the family, and in turn my mother had a 40 year career as a fine artist. In past eras when self-reliance, higher education for girls and creating our own income were decades away, my grandmother's resourcefulness and resilience were handed down to my mother and then to us. This precious legacy is symbolized for me in those two, sturdy candlesticks that shine on my dining room table. Out of the ashes, something new will grow...
I love this story, Bonnie. Thanks for sharing. You are a lineage of resilient women, indeed!
Brooke, the whole piece is so heartful, but the images combined with the words moved me the most. So. Much. Tenderness.
This is a heartbreaking post, Brooke. At the same time it gives us a beautiful and inspiring glimpse into your world and your lineage, and the vision and wisdom of your mom. The images are powerful and telling, and I am glad you were able to rescue some meaningful relics. I agree with all that @dhanamusil said 🪽
Brooke, such a beautiful essay and tribute to your mom and Pine Manor. Thank you for sharing your heart and your wisdom.
Big love to you and your family, Brooke. My heart goes out to all of you. Such a beautiful tribute to the connections between us all. 💕
My heart breaks for your loss and I understand the gratitude you feel in the face of such a loss. The things that remain now carry with them all of what was there before. Sending love & strength. xo