Rick Beckjord, a life-long friend of the family, died unexpectedly last week. He was an amazing sculptor, a bit of hermit, and a truly unique man who often walked the wooded and rocky trails of Maine in the dark and swam in the lake by moonlight. He knew every bird, plant, and tree in his path.
He and my mother were birds of feather. They often walked together. Rick also loved to make jam--and my mother loved "Rick's unique jams," especially the mint marmalade and strawberry rhubarb. Last night I dreamt the two of them were walking beneath the pine trees together.