Adelaide B. Shaw: Montgomery Place

We visit an historic house, one of many in the Hudson Valley.

Along the drive leading up to the mansion is an avenue of black locust. The signature tree on this estate. More locust on the river side. Some over 200 years old. Deep, knife-like ridges, forming as the tree ages, extend lengthwise down the trunk.

squinting in the sun—
character lines deeper
with each tree

We stroll past the trees, across the arboretum spread out on the far end of an expansive lawn. Red and white oak, beech, tulip, sweet gum, sycamore, maple. Each planted to give pleasure to the viewer for its size, shape and position on the lawn.

We continue around the mansion, stepping onto the veranda.

a reclining chair
with a river view—
a life before mine

A side path leads to a series of garden rooms, one spilling into another, like the waterfall in a shadowed corner tumbling into a pool. The breeze plays little tricks—first teasing with late blooming roses, then honeysuckle, then sage. We meander on the paths, noting the curving lines, the seemingly unplanned plan. A spontaneous eruption of vistas—lawns, gardens, river.

the cries of geese
crossing the hunting grounds
of ancient tribes

by Adelaide B. Shaw
Millbrook, New York

Adelaide B. Shaw: AUTUMN CARNIVAL

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A chill in the air, a slowing down, the gradual browning of the earth, but first, there is a party, a celebration, a carnival, complete with red and orange lights, ochre and gold, glowing in sunshine and shimmering even through fog and mist, and, like a carnival, the spectacle is too soon over, the performers have packed up and gone, leaving behind only their skeletal remains and memories.

fermenting leaves—
from sweaters on the line
a scent of camphor

by Adelaide B. Shaw

Millbrook, New York

Adelaide B. Shaw: CICADA SUMMER

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No way to escape the incessant whining. That slow moan building to a crescendo then fading only to start anew. The seven year cicada. Or is it fourteen? The heat builds along with the din. Sluggishly moving days. Even in the dark hours no appeal is granted.

icy lemonade
sliding down my throat–
the glass against skin

by Adelaide B. Shaw
Millbrook, New York

Adelaide B. Shaw: MOVING

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An old colonial house. Ours. Cleaned, painted, polished, scrubbed and repaired. An object on display, a star on stage, ready for the public. Ready to be someone else's home.

We wait, out of sight and out of hearing. What do they think, these lookers, these pokers and prodders? Will someone see its charm as we did 29 years ago? An old lady with a few idiosyncrasies. The sloping hallway, the creak in the dining room floor, the leak above the side door when there is a drenching rain? Will the new family be forgiving and adjust to the old lady's habits and manners? Another sweater when winds blow through loose windows, a pot under the leak. This old lady has so much else to offer.

From a bedroom window, rolling fairways and fastidious greens on the golf course. Lilacs and roses on warm breezes; the maple, a canopy of gold in autumn and the envy of Midas; the transformation of the land with fresh snow. Birds, squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, chipmunks, possums. Residents and visitors, including the occasional deer and wild turkey.

The walls will soon hear new stories and absorb new memories. Will they echo with happy celebrations, crowded with children, grandchildren and friends? And, when it is time for the owners to move on, will they look back, as I am, and wonder what has happened to the years?
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this morning the sun
glowing in the east –
later… the west

by Adelaide B. Shaw

Millbrook, New York

Adelaide B. Shaw: LAGUNA BEACH

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Low tide. Waves rippling on the edges of the now exposed beach. Rocks emerge to their full height and depth. Deep black where tidal pools remain; gray where the sun has dried them.

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water gurgles
between rocks
slippery moss

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Crabs, starfish, sea anemones, spiny urchins. Seaweed left high and dry giving off its briny odor.

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*kombu on the rocks —
enough for how many bowls
of soup?
.

*kelp, used as a base for soup
in Japanese cooking

by Adelaide B. Shaw

Millbrook, New York

Adelaide B. Shaw: JANUARY

The Christmas holidays packed up and stored in the garage and on film. Pine needles swept away; leftovers eaten. Time again to ramble through the day. Time again to enjoy doing nothing.

bargain books–
all the long nights
yet to come

by Adelaide B. Shaw

Millbrook, New York

Adelaide B. Shaw: OASIS

An early spring day extending its promises. We drive along a twisting road through a nature preserve and park by a small pond. Not much greening up or growth yet. More to hear than to see. A croaking bullfrog, the shooshing of pines, sloshing water. We follow that sound along a narrow, rough path in the woods. Through thick trees a glimpse of something glittering, like sequins falling. The sun on water. A rain-filled creek, burbling over rocks. Along the bank a wooden deck with two Adirondack chairs.

breathing deeply–
past, present and future
tumble away

by Adelaide B. Shaw

Millbrook, New York