"The John Henry House”, as it's known, is a one-story “saltbox” style cottage that was built in 1869 using local redwood, single-wall construction and square nails. It originally belonged to a man named John Henry, an engineer at the Saratoga Paper Mill. It’s the second-oldest house in Saratoga. Before it was closed up and now scheduled for demolition, it was being used as a business office by an architect for decades. And, my ex-wife and I ventured into it one day during the first years of our marriage so she could look around at what was her father’s childhood home.
In between its original construction and the current state, her father, Thomas Patterson, was a child during the years his father, also Thomas Patterson, and his mother, lived there. He went to school nearby. He played in Wildwood creek as a boy. And as I understand it, he painted, by hand, the white fence that still stands there today, albeit in shambles and missing pickets, including a few that were taken in isolated thefts and are now in the backyard of the home I still own with my ex in Los Gatos. They serve as legacy mementos and heirlooms. There is a sort of “Tom Sawyer” aspect to him having painted those pieces in a bygone era, times long past. Soon, those pieces may be all that remains of this piece of their history.
We stood outside that home and that fence this morning, taking a moment to recall its history, something we were both proxy to through our mutual relationships with two of Tom’s children. The house now has a large “Project Description” sign strung between two of the patio beams supporting the ramshackle overhang modestly sheltering the entryway porch. The sign details the new construction plans, an expansive development encompassing a restaurant, wine tasting cellar, and offices.
The town of Saratoga appears to be through with the past.
Following this stop, we walked up and along Charles St, and then back towards Madronia Cemetery, the resting place of Thomas Patterson Jr, just two spots away form his own Father and Mother who's graves are side by side. Several spots to the right of those you'll find Thomas's ex-wife, my ex-wife’s Mother, Nicole, as well. And, as of late last year, the resting place of his son, my ex-wife’s brother, Jay, is in the same plot with his father. The empty plot to the immediate left of Thomas Jr. is owned by his daughter, my ex-wife, for her eventual burial as well, right beside her father and brother. (The acquisition of that space took several years of my recursive and persistent attempts negotiating with the cemetery office, successfully, but that’s another story for another time.)
I didn’t go into to Saratoga today intending to revisit these locations. I hesitated entering the cemetery due in part to both of our implicit banning. Having left our respective spouses, and our having come together in our own relationship has left a stigma on our presence. When James passed away I shared my condolence to Linda, but did not even consider asking or attempting to attend his burial. It was clearly not appropriate. I get that, and I would not have wanted to distract or muddle the focus and grieving process they were going through in any manner.
Today, though, I felt justified in venturing in and visiting their graves. My having been very close to Nicole, and Jen having been close to both of them for the years prior to my marrying into that family, was not suddenly erased from our pasts, our experiences, even our hearts, by the ending of our marriages. I dearly loved Nicole, she was a wonderful mother-in-law, and I know that Jen had strong feelings about both of them as well. Jay was a constant presence in Jen's life and for a good part of my own too. Although I might understand them not liking our presence there, in the end, it’s simply not about them. We had relationships with them that mattered to them and to us.
When we approached the open entry gate, a sign on a post read “Dogs are not allowed”.
I hesitated at the entrance, Jen said she’d let me go ahead while she stayed back with the dog. So, I walked down the long path towards the very spots I had stood some 22 years ago, lingering after the service to ensure her father was positioned in accordance with her wishes when he was lowered into his grave. And again 8 years later, 14 years ago last month, we buried Nicole only a few yards away from Tom.
I’ve been back to their graves since, prior to today. This same cemetery is also, coincidentally, the resting place of my friend Matt's father, and of his mother as well. I attended both of those burials, once as a guest and once at a distance in support of my friend. Each time, I made a point to visit Thomas and Nicole's graves as well.
I like to think that, if there is something beyond this mortal coil, that there is a higher consciousness in which we might gain far more presence and awareness. A level of insight encompassing far more than just the siloed perspectives of our singular experience. I also like to imagine, hope even, that at that same level of awareness, one might also be aware of their value and impacts on others, and the value that is part of the legacy living on in their absence.
As I walked back towards Jennifer and Scottie, waiting patiently at the gate to continue our journey throughout our morning, and our lives, I recalled a poignent line from the wonderfully rich, deep, powerfully human and densely emotional movie “Magnolia”, repeated several times by several characters. And how, as for “The John Henry House” and its pending demolition, the banner hung outside the front patio includes a mention that the historic house itself will be reconstructed onsite, in its original architecture, as a meeting space open to the public.
“The book says,
we might be through with the past,
but the past ain't through with us.”