Spring Cleaning, Remembered

Just things, or the spice of life?

It’s spring, and although the buds are still barely visible on the new shrubs and trees in my backyard, all around town there are daffodils and forsythia to herald the new season. As I look forward to brighter days, I am remembering back to what preceded my arrival here.

The ubiquitous signs of hope [photo: author]

When I moved to Martha’s Vineyard, I was burned out. May 10, three years ago, I threw a party at Love Lane Kitchen, my great across-the-street neighbor, to say goodbye to my friends and neighboring businesses and the whole neighborhood.

My generous-hearted daughter flew in from her home in LA to celebrate the changes and help sort through my many things. This was not the first time she showed up to help in a big way. What fortitude! This time, we were wrapping up 14 years on the North Fork of Long Island.

We cleaned, made time for nice dinners, then cleaned some more. The screen porch was Oscar the cat's and my favorite room. [photo: author]

I was also leaving behind my quirky 1840s house (rented, but mine nonetheless) in lovely New Suffolk. A lot happened there: I started a new business, made new friends, got married, was widowed, carried on, met a new fella from MV, barely hung onto my business through 2020, and finally understood it was time to retire.

So, I sold my beloved yarn shop, packed up the remains of the needlework department that the buyer didn’t want, thinking I’d use it to start a new business, and relocated to the Vineyard. My tiny car was packed to the brim, trip after trip, two ferries each direction. That new fella made quite a few trips, too. Sometimes I think I spent more time on the water than the road.

Love Lane Kitchen, my home away from home for a decade. That was my shop across the street, now with its new name on the window. [photo: author]

The moving truck arrived for the big stuff while I was still packing boxes full of things leftover after the tag sale (rainy weather was no help with that). I was still preparing the donations waiting to be delivered to the charity shop, and boxing up some vintage tableware to be left on my porch for the second-hand shop to pick up. And there was, at the very end, boxes and boxes of fabric scraps to donate to fellow makers and the quilters guild. A generous friend came to my rescue, and I will be forever grateful.

I also hired a guy to take things for repurposing and donations; he neglected to tell me he was too busy before he took it all to the dump instead. My heart still aches over the waste and the loss. I used to see lovely objects floating alone atop the heaps of trash at the dump, wondering how anyone could let that little thing go. Now I was the one, accidentally depositing practically a whole house of objects including my favorite chair and a good sofa, there where nobody could save them. I wished I had left it all on the side of the road.

A few antique chairs not fixed and never rescued [photo: author]

Not that I arrived here empty-handed! I still have some favorite pieces, lots of art and art books, and I probably enjoy and appreciate these survivors even more now. One visit to my studio and you’d see that no art supplies nor favorite fabric was left behind.

Why some of us cling to “just things” is hard to explain to someone who feels freedom in not having them, who isn’t sentimental. But we are each our own complicated selves—neither right nor wrong.

While I’m glad to have thinned out my possessions, it was hard getting there, and I’m still recovering from that fraught process. Everyone said I’d feel better without so much “stuff,” but I do miss the things I didn’t mean to leave behind (eg: the Le Crueset gratin dish I bought in the 70’s and used a lot—left in the oven drawer along with the perfect baking sheets received as a wedding present). At least my daughter won’t have as much to clean up after I’m gone—and that is a serious motivator even today as I continue to pare down.

Three springs later I can say I’ve made good progress. The first year was rough, but since then I’ve made great new friends, I have a studio where I can make things and give lessons, I live in a sweet little cottage with a wonderful man, and I’m here on this beautiful island that, since 1979, I have been dreaming of landing on permanently. Dreams can come true, if not necessarily in the way one would hope or expect.

This spring, I think, will be mostly about what’s new and wonderful, with a respectable amount of gratitude for what was and what is.

The last bouquet from my favorite peony bush. [photo: author]