"Some people come into our lives,
leave footprints on our hearts,
and we are never the same."
- Unknown

This is a piece of writing I did a couple of years ago. It is a bit long to post on my blog but the above quote states so clearly why I wrote this piece and how we often feel about the effect some people have on our lives. Although I did not know Wildy very long and certainly not really well, I find myself thinking of him often. As I look out over the pond and field at the distant house he and Antoinette once lived in, it is a constant reminder of him. The house he built, the land he worked, the life he led still plays a silent movie in my head as I imagine events that will never be known to me but that somehow dance before me day by day in the view I enjoy.



Wildy
By Cheryl Mousseau

It must have been 90 degrees the day I first saw Wildy. It was August and we had just bought this old house that abuts his property. He was dressed in a flannel shirt with long pants held up by suspenders. I watched in amazement from the kitchen window as he worked tirelessly cutting the brush and saplings from along the stream bank that separates our land from his. I wondered why he chose to do this project on such a hot day. It was as though he was marking his territory, quietly letting the new owners know that this was his land. He was old, weathered by time, but his energy was ageless.
That was 4 years ago. I didn't meet him that day. It wasn't until that following Spring, that I first chatted with him along that same stream bank. I could see him walking slowly across the field toward me. So did my labs and they bounded toward him, nearly knocking him over. He laughed and gently bent to pet them. His faded blue eyes had a sparkle to them and he raised his hand to gesture a greeting. I apologized about the dogs but he didn't seem bothered. His French Canadian accent made it hard to catch all he was saying. I remember him complimenting us on how nice the property was looking and how much work we had been doing. I asked if he minded the dogs occasionally swimming in the pond. It was just a polite conversation between neighbors. He told me about how he used to have weekend cookouts on his land to the opposite side of the stream when his children were younger. He built the stone fireplace that stood overgrown with time. Huge blocks of granite lay in a tumbled stack along the pond edge. He said he thought maybe he would move them someday and use them for something. Maybe he would plant strawberries there. Our streamside chat had turned to fond memories of his past. He had lived in our house when he had first moved from Quebec, renting a room from the farmer who owned the house. That was when the house sat along the road. There was a barn, now gone, and additions that no longer exist. Now the house sits high on the hill, facing the pond, after having been moved to this new location about 15 years ago. He and the house had shared a lifetime together, all those years ago. It was a chilly day but he showed no signs of moving on. He seemed to be enjoying the company. I wondered about the pond. He said proudly that he had dug it himself, as he turned and pointed to the large L shape. He talked of stocking it with trout and charging people a dollar to come and fish, but Antoinette never liked getting up at 5 in, the morning to collect the money. He told me that I must come and meet Antoinette. Over the years, he had raised chickens but when the price of eggs became too cheap it wasn't worth it. Mostly he had driven a truck back and forth from Quebec. He was the only brother from his large family that stayed in the states. Most of his family still lived in Quebec.
I learned a lot about Wildy that first meeting. After that I would see him from the hill, out across his field, sometimes standing and watching, sometimes working on his tractor, and I would wave until he spotted my long distance greeting and he would wave back. He seemed to love his tractor. He told me he had bought it brand new in 1951. It was as old as me. It still worked great. Nothing seemed to slow him down. He trimmed back all the brush from around the pond's edge regularly and would drag the piles away with the tractor to the back field near the woods. Those first months I wondered why I never saw Antoinette out in the yard. I kept thinking that I must stop by to meet her but somehow there were always other things that seemed to take priority. I don't remember just when I did finally stop by the house. I brought something, scones, I think, and maybe flowers. Wildy came to the door and seemed so surprised that I had stopped. It was near lunch time and they were eating their white bread and bologna sandwiches with some soup. Antoinette was the sweetest woman. I could understand her better than Wildy. She didn't have the accent that he had. They wanted me to stay and chat. I had the dogs in the car and hadn't planned on staying for a visit but I sat for a bit while she told me about her children and grandchildren. She was interested that I was a teacher like her granddaughter. We talked about the land and the pond. I offered my husbands help with the upkeep of the pond. Wildy seemed not to hear.
We worried about what would happen to the property when they were gone. We knew they must both be near 90. It seemed that he thought he would live forever. The Allen estate on New Boston Rd had sold much of their property and other surrounding farms had done the same. I could tell that this bothered them. The land was so important to him. The geese nested in the pond each Spring. I watched as the goslings followed their mother. Near the end of each day, Wildy would walk to the edge and feed them. I stood on the hill, the labs with me and waved. That was the Spring that my Bounty had her first litter of pups. I didn't leave the puppies alone for very long those first weeks and it was on one of my short errands to the town grocery store that I saw Wildy out in his yard. I slowed the car and pulled over, rolling the window down to say a brief hello. I told him that we had the 8 puppies and he said he thought he would like to see them. They were not quite 10 days yet and their eyes were still closed. I said he was welcome to come up anytime. I was surprised when he accepted my invitation, saying that he and Antoinette don't get out very much. He told me he would be there around 1 pm. I had not been letting anyone in to see the puppies yet. But I had offered so I said that I would be there.
The next day was pouring rain. My sister had come up from MA to see the puppies and we were having lunch in the kitchen when there was a knock at the door. I had completely forgotten about Wildy and the accepted invitation. I never dreamed that he and Antoinette would venture out in the bad weather. But there they were. Standing at my kitchen door anxious to come in. Antoinette clutched a handbag that seemed half as big as her. I offered to take their coats and her bag but they refused. They just wanted to see the puppies. The puppies were on the opposite side of the house in the front room and as they made their way through the dining room to the front hallway they commented on what a wonderful view of the pond we have from our windows. 'It looks so pretty from up here; from our house you can barely see it,' Antoinette said. They both stood quietly for a long time looking at the tiny puppies, marveling at how their eyes were still closed. Bounty was very patient, such a good mom, accepting that they were no threat to her babies. I offered tea but they thought that they would be going. That was the only time they ever came to see the pups. It was the only time they ever came to the house. He continued to wave from across the field when he saw me out standing up on the hill, while he worked or just walked the land.
Through the next winter, each night when I let the dogs out for the last time before bed, I would look over at the farmhouse and see one light on. Early in the morning, when it was still dark, I would often see a light in the basement on. I wondered what he would be doing so early in the morning. Maybe that was where his woodstove was. There was always a thin line of smoke curling up from the chimney. The pond froze over that winter and skaters showed up regularly to enjoy the ice. I later learned that they were Wildy's grandchildren. I stopped by to check in on them over February vacation and brought them something, I don't remember what.
He was going in for cataract surgery. He was still driving.
That summer I stopped with blueberries I had picked. They were having lunch again. I stayed and chatted. I told them that we were going to be putting up a fence to keep the dogs safe. Years before we moved in, Wildy had put up some sort of heavy chain held up by heavy iron pins pounded into the ground at 10 ft intervals. That was all that separated our yard from the field. It was not secure for the dogs and we had finally decided on a split rail with wire fencing nailed to it. I asked him if he wanted us to take down the tractor chain and he said no. He could do it. I knew he wouldn't. It is still there. He was funny like that. He didn't ever ask for help. I never saw his children come to help with the house or yard. He always mowed his lawn with his ride on tractor. But then he would rake the mowed grass into little piles across his front yard and pick them up in his yard cart. I can't imagine doing that in my own yard.
I watched for the lights again that winter. After Christmas, it seemed dark all the time. I thought maybe they were away visiting. It was dark for weeks. I began to get worried that something was wrong. I finally decided that I would stop and see if someone was home. After school, I stopped and bought flowers. I knocked, anticipating that no one would answer, and Wildy came to the door. It was around 4 0' clock and they were eating supper. I always seemed to time my visits around their meals. They both insisted I come in. Antoinette said it was their first day back in the house in two months. My instincts were right. They had been away. But it hadn't been a vacation. Wildy had been very ill, hospitalized and then in short term nursing care. Antoinette ended up getting sick too and had joined him. She kept saying he needed to take it easy, slow down. She was scolding him for doing too much. He had been out chopping wood around the holidays and had started with a cough that progressed to pneumonia. He was still coughing and he looked tired but his fading blue eyes continued to have that twinkle.
I didn't see him out much that summer. In the Fall, the house was very quiet. I never saw Wildy out in the yard, or around the pond. He always loved walking down to the pond, through the field. I knew I should stop to check in but someone time passed and I didn't. February vacation we skied in Canada. When we returned I was reading the last two weeks of the community paper and noticed Wildy's obituary. It was such a sad feeling to know that he was gone. Antoinette had gone to live with one of their sons. I still kept looking for the light at night, but there was nothing but darkness, cold and still. Except for one night, there was a light on in the basement. I was sure I wasn't imagining it. Just the single light in the basement. I smiled a little and nodded to myself knowing that Wildy would always be there.