Friends Along the East Blue Hill Road
“History is not only an accounting of past events, but also a reflection of the thoughts and feelings which accompanied those events…” … More Friends Along the East Blue Hill Road
“History is not only an accounting of past events, but also a reflection of the thoughts and feelings which accompanied those events…” … More Friends Along the East Blue Hill Road
The room is empty only of people. It is, in a sense, an archive of a moment. If we understood it better, what would it tell us? … More Photographs and Reveries
Yes, I know. The ink is not yet wet on copies of Happy Landings: Emilie Loring’s Life, Writing, and Wisdom, and I’m thinking about what comes next. Emilie did that, too: The morning after I turn in a manuscript to my publisher I start another novel just so I won’t forget how it is done.” … More After Happy Landings, “Emilie Loring’s New England”
Think back to the place where you grew up. Remember the sights and sounds, the characteristic smells and tastes, plant life and animals. Think about how you went from place to place–on foot? in a boat? on the subway? Did your town change a lot as you were growing up? Did you move from that … More Geo-Biography: The Importance of Home
UPDATE! UPDATE! UPDATE! “I’m still betting on Emilie Loring being at the Bellevue Hotel in April 1950.” She was. It turned out that there was a special Enumeration District for the Bellevue Hotel. I found it marked in pen on a map of the downtown Boston Enumeration Districts. (See the original post here) There she … More And Here She Is! Found in the 1950 Census!
The 1950 Census was released on April first, 72 years after it was taken. This was Emilie Loring’s last census, one more chance to learn something about her. Think of all that can happen in ten years, in the world and in a life. In 1940, the United States had not yet entered into World … More Where Did She Go? Trying Out the 1950 Census
This camping experience had poured new spirit through her veins. Never had she known life as she had lived it in the past forty-eight hours. Two nights she had slept on balsam boughs with the fragrance of pines and the smell of a wood-fire stealing into the window to drug her to dreamless sleep. A … More In Her Footsteps: Vacation at the Rangeley Lakes