Laurie Snider
Notes from the Nest
In a scuffed-up antique chest in a corner of our room lie some of my most cherished possessions. There’s a small stack of envelopes bound together with string, loosely tied with a bow and fragrant with a woody scent like the inside of the trunk itself, which has held them safely for the last few decades.
There are also three small decorated boxes, containing carefully saved scraps of paper and notes, some with hurried scrawl, others with schoolmarm pleasing penmanship. To undiscerning eye’s, they hold no value but to me they are irreplaceable, revered and worth more to me than any diamonds or jewels.
Written to me by Randy, over the past three decades they wind and weave together the story of our life. We began writing to each other before we were even married and have continued in earnest, through starting a family, celebrating holidays, special occasions and most especially during times when we were miles apart.
For over 10 years Randy would travel to the Arctic for a few weeks, to a month, each summer to work as a Paramedic on the disbanded DEW line sites. Communication was rare as there was only a satellite phone available for very occasional use. This is exactly why, when bringing in the morning mail, if a letter had arrived for me and our children, my heart skipped a beat and I’d drop everything to read it.
These were not the days of sending texts, Instagram posts and other means of instant messaging. Except for scarce calls, this was how I had some connection to what he was doing. He’d share stories of escapades and adventures in the land of the midnight sun, wildlife sightings and tales of new friends and a fascinating, new to him, unique culture. I eagerly read each page, sharing with our kids what Dad was up to.
Despite finding all of that extremely interesting, my favourite parts of his letters were when he would share how much he was missing us, (me) and how much it made him appreciate his life here at home. Sometimes he would lament that he wished I could be there to see it with him and that he knew how much I would have loved it. When I was feeling melancholy and missing him, Canada Post would arrive with another missive from my wandering traveler and I’d feel reconnected again.
Apparently as long as there’s been paper and something to scribble with, male and female folks have been dropping each other a line, confessing love, ardour and their deepest feelings of affection for another. For hundreds of years mortals have been using letters to share the depths of their emotions and regard for their partners. During the Renaissance correspondences were frequently based on subtle compliments. By the 18th century they became much more personal full of fondness and allure.
When military leader Napoleon Bonaparte was away at war, he’d regularly send his wife Josephine dispatches from battlefronts. “A few days ago, I thought I loved you; but since I last saw you, I feel I love you a thousand times more.” Swoon!
The magnificent Beethoven not to be outdone, allegedly died having a secret love; his “Immortal Beloved.” Unopened letters were found amongst his personal effects. “What longing in tears for you- You- My Life – my All- farewell. Oh, go on loving me- never doubt the faithfullest heart, of your Beloved. -L. – Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours.” My goodness the man already had me enamoured by his music, but those words!