A River Runs Through It

Art Quilt By Anne Copeland, Painted, Collaged and Machine Quilted

It was a warm summer day and my mother and I were up in the mountains of New Mexico, in a place called Ruidoso, which today is a big tourist place. But in those days, it was just a quiet little burg, and we went to stay in a cabin there owned by someone we knew. I remember one of the few times when my mother was actually glad to share some moments of peace with me. I am not sure my brother was born yet, but I don’t think so; I think my father was overseas still, one of the many times he would be sent there as he was in the Army then.

I intentionally did not paint my mother’s face or mine; I just wanted to capture a moment in my memory when faces were not important. I knew she was my mother, and as we sat there with our feet dangling in the water, there was nothing else that needed to be done or said. It was a moment shared, and one I was able to remember through my life. Such moments would be gone forever when my father returned. Our father did take us places for dinner or Sunday rides, or sometimes to see a movie, but the time would never again be like this one.

Life is short, often too short, and I think perhaps this was the one moment in time I will always remember as the time I treasure. I am not sure what happened in my family, but it was as though the whole world changed overnight once my father came back, this time perhaps from Korea. I hold onto that image in my mind, and I often wish I could remember the wonderful scent of those pine trees, and the way the breeze blew. But all I have now is the memory of a life, and the way a river runs through it.

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