Barry Pomeroy Main Page
Back to main page Me on my boat, the Whimsey

Photo by Barry Pomeroy
The Return of the Sword
The Wish to Live Deliberately
Google Plus View Barry Pomeroy's LinkedIn profile
 

Autobiography: Trying to Relate a Life

When I was holding the sword in my hand again, I could only guess where it had been. Its faded, cracked sheath and rusty blade told a story of neglect, but beyond that was another tale of how it had disappeared, how its absence had been explained, and how its return undermined that version of events. When I told my friends the story about the sword's disappearance, they consistently pled that it was merely a material item and its absence shouldn't matter. They needed background.

Invariably I would find myself explaining how a foster child's life is different than theirs, how our grasp on the few material items we have is more desperate, and that our lives are more about loss than replacement. The story of the sword goes back further than its disappearance, however, and like our lives, it is best explained from the beginning, by going through the middle, and stopping at the end.

In order to find out what the sword means to me, or to those around me, we need to dip in and out of my life and theirs. Like any drama, it's a story with multiple players, and to come to a full understanding of what role the piece of metal plays we have to do more than run a wire wheel over its blade.

 

The Wish to Live Deliberately: Building a Cabin and its Consequences

The last few years I've been spending my summers and, as you read below, one Christmas, in the forest in central New Brunswick. I bought a large wooded acreage, built a cabin over a summer, and since then I've returned every year, discarding the attraction of the phone and the internet, and immersing myself in the forest.

I first lived on the land in a shack I built in a handful of days, although it was November and below freezing every night. By the following summer, I built the main cabin, and I've added to it considerably in the intervening years. I recorded those early days by candlelight; even while I was sleeping in my car in the late fall I was scratching a pencil across a diary of building, living in, and then insulating a shack. I survived hurricanes blowing through the province, sub-zero temperatures, and high water that stranded me on the wrong side of the creek. Later, in slightly more commodious circumstances, I brought fingers stiffened by construction to journaling how I built the cabin that came to replace that temporary shack.

A number of years later the cabin is nearly done. Although I can always find a project to work on-such as adding to the functionality of my ever-evolving solar electrical system-I've spent much of my time writing, reveling in the chance to read, gardening, and appreciating the animal life around me. I've stayed in the cabin in both summer and winter, and because the experience changes with the seasons, I've maintained a record of those times as well. As if it were the child I detail in my examination of adoption films, this journal collection covers two very different timelines and overall just over nine months. In that way, it is a story about the conception of an idea, the gestation of its building, and the squalling much-anticipated delivery which is the final product of the cabin. Those two timelines are bookends of both a life alone in the woods and a grand adventure in living.

Contact Barry Pomeroy