Last Saturday evening, Ed and I were privileged to host a celebration at St Columba Center. They asked me to talk a bit about our time there. Preparing for the event made me quite nostalgic. For just a moment, I forgot about the horseflies...
Here's what I said:
When I was about 10 or 11 years old, I read Little Women. Every night at the dinner table I would fill everybody in on the latest adventures of Jo, Meg, Amy and Beth.
Night...
after...
night...
I mean, it's a long book!
Eventually, my brother James said, ,"Andrea,we could read the book in less time than it takes you to tell the story."
Well. In order to spare you a similar experience, I have written down what I'd like to share tonight. Because, not only is it my nature to embellish and-- you know-- go off on tangents every once in awhile, but also the Mr Scheibler/St Columba time in my life is one rich and full of tales I love to tell.
Spring, 1982 . My sister in law, Suzanne, and I are herding babies in the living room when the phone rings. I must have been changing a diaper or feeding a baby, because Suzanne answered
." Hello?"
" Well, you don't hafta be so damn proud anymore." His voice was unmistakable.
"Oh, Mr Scheibler, I think you want Andrea." She handed me the phone.
No apologies. Just, "You dont hafta be so damn proud anymore. "
You see, I had been showing off my beautiful baby boy on our daily visits for some time now. I was 5 months pregnant when we moved to St. Columba, never having met Mr Scheibler. I'd heard of him, of course. We knew he'd donated the property to the church years before. Ed had been to the pavilion for Grace-St. Luke's picnics in the 60's.
And--
we'd heard he was a bit of a curmudgeon.
So once we got settled, I made some bread and we walked through the woods over to his house .
We met him in the cutting garden. He seemed ancient to me at the time, but he was just in his early 70's at best. He suffered severely from arthritis and was unable to stand straight. There he was in his golf cart, wearing a straw hat, his shirt was neatly tucked , and his little dog, Bossman, was by his side. This was October. The next spring and summer I would in this garden watch the asparagus come up, pick huckleberries and raspberries, for the first time smell the sweet scent of mock orange. I have a favorite picture of me holding Nathanael in front of the pastel bunny rabbit heads of larkspur.
He took us up to his house. We went through the iron gate as he told us some of his story. This was his family's summer place. It had been his permanent home since the 40's. As the gate swung closed, weighted by the heavy iron cannon ball thingie he told us of replacing the fence a few years. back . "The fence cost $4000 to replace. That's what it cost to build the whole house. So you see, sometimes it doesn't pay to remember. "
We sat outside facing the lake under a canopy of 8 foot tall camellias, all taken in a cold snap a year or two later. He told us tales of Lohengrin his swan that escaped some former life and lived peacefully for several years on the lake. Until a freeze came and poor Lohengrin was unable to flee his predator.
And then there was this mama duck .She would come every year in the spring. And once she had her babies, that mama duck would line those babies up and march them up to the house to meet Mr Scheibler.
"Well you don't hafta be so damn proud." Mama duck had brought her babies. I was no longer the only proud mama around. I had competition.
Just days after our meeting, UPS left a box on our front porch. 100 daffodil bulbs.
"I hope you don't hate me. Giving you a gift that makes you work."
On the contrary these city kids who'd moved to the country were thrilled. I once asked Mr Scheibler how many daffodils he had planted .
"Back in my prime, Sister and I would plant a thousand a season .We'd stand in the meadow, throw the bulbs over our shoulders and plant them where they landed."
But daffodils were just the beginning of a long stream of UPS deliveries. European Lego type castles for Nathanael, a handcrafted wooden puzzle of his name (it was kind of hard to spell) , nativity books form the National Cathedral. He loved his mail order catalogs. Remember, this was an era before cell phones, home computers, internet.
And then there were other things he gave us. He called Ed one winter morning . His pipes had frozen. Ed spent the morning out in the cold getting things fixed. While he did so, Mr Scheibler took his grandmother Wessendorf's silver hairbrush and mirror set outside. With his arthritic fingers he polished it using the snow since he had no running water. He gave that lovely set, which we have still, as his thank you.
The few years we got to spend knowing Mr Scheibler I treasure. I was a young (24) year old mama and he was a bachelor who'd lived alone for years and years. I'm not sure what he expected when we moved out here, but I know it's not what he got. I'm pretty sure he thought he'd get a churchy type. What he got was a young man who grew up reading Johnny Tractor books.
A tractor?
That he got to drive?
And mow 40 acres??
Ed Wills had died and gone to heaven.
He and Mr Scheibler used to swap stories about the foxes they'd see on the edges of the meadows when mowing.
Ed really did love his tractor.And yes he mowed all 40 acres. One hot July day he busted in the door breathless, hot and sweaty.
" I ran into a yellow jacket nest. Jumped off the tractor and ran. Left it running. "
So now he had to figure out how to go turn the tractor off without getting stung. He pulled out his big down winter coat. Put it on. Pulled the hood up. Got me to pull the strings really tight down over his face. He put on another pair of pants on top of what he already had. Hands. How was he going to protect his hands??He was just figuring on gloves when Mr Scheibler walked in the door. Remember. It was July. Probably 110 degrees. Mr Scheibler , perpetually stooped, slow moving, looked at Ed and said, "I turned off your tractor. And what the hell are you doing in your winter coat??"
When he got sick and took to his bed, we brought him his meals. I was over one day when Katherine Nesbit came by. Mrs Nesbit was 94. She lived down here on the corner --what's now a park .She had long since given the property to be a park, but she had life estate. She lived there with dear Tommy Ruth who drove her all over town. She had an old wood burning stove--on which she cooked nothing but hot chocolate which she'd serve us on visits. Her gift of choice was a 10 lb box of Dinstuhl's cashews. Even the electric company guys installing the power lines were recipients . They called her the Cashew Lady.
This day she'd brought Mr Scheibler a box.
"Young man, come down these stairs. "
I think he yelled some expletives back. They'd been friends and neighbors for generations.
Mr Scheibler never came down those stairs. It was Advent. Ed took him breakfast every morning. "Porridge again," he would complain.He hated oatmeal and cream of wheat, but Ed made him eat it. Every morning Ed announced his entrance with the morning prayer advent antiphon. "Our king and saviour now draws near!"
We don't remember what his usual response was, but it wasn't, "Oh, come let us adore him".
But this morning there was no answer. Mr Scheibler had died in the night .At his funeral here in Scheibler lodge, Mrs Nesbit's hug was light and love to me. He was buried right here on the property alongside his mother and father.
We celebrated St Nicholas with our family that weekend. Even from beyond the grave Mr Scheibler celebrated with us. UPS delivered that day...nesting blocks from Europe for my children.
We lived at St Columba for 10 years.I had my 3 beautiful babies. Only those first few years were with Mr Scheibler living.
But walk through a meadow of daffodils.
Smell the mock orange.
Listen carefully to the versicle and responses at the liturgies celebrated in this place.
He's still here.
We love you Mr Scheibler.
Thank you for the gift you gave us--St Columba.
