Their entertainments were simple: growing strawberries and corn, fishing and hunting, listening to the radio or, as Mary loved to do, cataloging in the cabin journal the spring bloom, when baby blue eyes, lupines, poppies, monkey flowers, columbines and delphiniums flooded the meadow.
They started that journal in 1985. Jack posted his first entry on April 11: “Lupine in bloom and the smell was very strong and heady. … Weather just beautiful. Wish I could live here.”
Twenty years and one month later, he wrote: “One of Mary’s Dutch Iris bloomed today. It is just beautiful. If only she could see it. Maybe she can. She would love it. It looks like there will be possibly 3 doz more blooms. Yesterday was Dad’s birthday. He would be 141 years old. I love you Dad. I love you Mom. I love you Mary.”
“So as I stand on the frontier of a new decade, I now realize what my 20’s taught me — There is no such thing as “best.” The finish line to living the perfect life doesn’t exist. It’s constantly in motion, just ahead of our grasp, moving forward at the same rate of acceleration as the expectations that will inevitably trail our accomplishments.”—