A Life Well Made

Maybe death has been on my mind because it is in my life, in all of our lives, even though we pretend hard that it is not. Our Market lost two people in the last two days, Carole Bauman, and Michael Caffrey.

With such a large family, this is not so unusual, but each loss has its unique impact and each person is so special to their neighbors, our history, and our family. I had the great honor of visiting Michael in his home yesterday, just hours before his body stopped working. He tried so hard to speak to us and we are sure he was listening as closely as he could to our voices even though he was already far down his trail.

He posted a small handwritten note on his door telling his friends where he wanted his ashes to be scattered, near Paisley in the woods and rocks he loved. I will always picture him as a rockhound; I know he spent countless hours hiking, photographing, and picking up rocks out there. His old truck is parked now but I hope his spirit is free to roam.

I didn't know he had such a beautiful body of work, stacks of evocative paintings and the exquisitely jewel-like mobiles he made with his hand tools on his handmade workbench. He wasn't finished with his work. I got the sense that he and I were much the same, that our work was our focus and joy and what we spent most of our time on earth pursuing. I can't speak for him, and we weren't that close, but it was obvious from his art that it expressed his essence and he shared a lot of it for a very long time. He was 74.

In my new space at the Holiday Market, we were next door neighbors for the first time last season. I had been thinking of ways to help him this year, to try to make it easier and to allow him one last time to really be seen among the things he had created. He won't be there now, but I will help, if I can, to see that his work is viewed and treasured and that his life is celebrated with the dignity and privacy he deserves.

Craftspeople are such a fascinating group of similar individuals, working alone for the most part, keeping the passion under control and expressing it slowly over a lifetime. Most of us don't shout about ourselves, we just keep our hands busy and our minds on the task of doing the work the way we think it should be done. Michael was a serious and exacting craftsman, and his simple and elegant work was always out of my price range, but now of course, it seems priceless. His sister told me that a few days ago they hung all his mobiles on the wire he used to make them, and it was easy to picture him crafting them, getting that balance, pushing it to it's fulcrum and past it a little, planning the flow and beauty and making and hanging all the finely crafted pieces, way up near the ceiling, since he was so tall. She said he made her take off all the price tags.

It was good to know you, Michael. I'm looking forward to hearing more stories of your life and hope I never forget the images that burned into my mind yesterday, bright spots of color on black backgrounds, ghostly white portraits, sketches of ravens and crows, handmade arrows and napped points. I'm so touched that we connected.

Take care of yourselves, all you living people. Be kind to each other, pay attention, and notice things. There will come the day when we won't be here, and our work will lie unfinished. May we feel the grace of the moments.