Last spring while in New York City, I found a draft of a novel my mother had written about a young woman who emigrated from Ireland to New York. It was hidden in a closet in a brown cloth bag like potatoes in the soft ground full of compost. I knew the book existed and have been vaguely searching for it for the last few years. In reading the first few chapters I could feel her genetic connection to Ireland--the wet weather, and green landscape as well as the adventurous spirit of a young woman willing to let go of known territory and explore the mystery of a new country. Returning home again from a Thanksgiving trip to New York, I was aware of the brilliance of the moon and that I still have a few treasured potatoes in the ground.
"In winter, light sources are reversed. Snow-covered earth is a torch and the sky is a blotter that soaks up everything visible. There is no sun, but the moon lives on borrowed time and borrowed light."
--Gretel Ehrlich from This Cold Heaven: Seven Seasons in Greenland
"In winter, light sources are reversed. Snow-covered earth is a torch and the sky is a blotter that soaks up everything visible. There is no sun, but the moon lives on borrowed time and borrowed light." --Gretel Ehrlich from This Cold Heaven: Seven Seasons in Greenland
beautiful picture and eerie quote... i can't imagine what it would be like to find a novel written by a parent, how exciting it must be