“The silence of a falling star lights up a purple sky…” sang Hank Williams in I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry. Although the leaves fell and the evenings were chilly, the Autumn of my life was rich and bountiful.
Was it because I was born in October that it’s my favorite time of year? I’ve always lived where there are four seasons. Autumn is the reward.
In 1988 I was a struggling single mom with a low-income job, a bagful of regrets, and not much hope for myself. I scraped together enough money to travel alone to Scotland to visit my sister. At Duart Castle, the McLean family seat, I rescued a little lamb who was separated from its mother.
And there the magic happened. Was it the spirit of my ancestors saying "Get a grip, Lass" that empowered me to stop being depressed and get on with my life? Something catapulted me out of the sad vortex I’d been in for far too long.
Several years later, a trip to Eastern Europe somehow resulted in my hooking up with an old boyfriend, John. I moved to Rochester NY, finished college and graduate school, got married, and began a career as a speech-language pathologist and special educator.
Why speech-language? My name rhymes--”Jane” rhymes with “McLean.” And as my mother always said “If you’ve got the name, why not play the game?”
We had six grandchildren in ten years and moved near Albany NY to be closer to our expanding family. We bought an 1830s farmhouse, Beebe Farm--the first house I ever owned. It had a marvelous pantry that engendered pantry envy in many.
We lived in a little village in the beautiful Helderberg Mountains of Albany County, where we became very involved in the community, in some ways re-creating my life on Butterfield Farm.
By the way, if you think the Celtic gift of second sight is a bunch of baloney, well… take a look at Jane McLean's Grenade Story
Was it because I was born in October that it’s my favorite time of year? I’ve always lived where there are four seasons. Autumn is the reward.
In 1988 I was a struggling single mom with a low-income job, a bagful of regrets, and not much hope for myself. I scraped together enough money to travel alone to Scotland to visit my sister. At Duart Castle, the McLean family seat, I rescued a little lamb who was separated from its mother.
And there the magic happened. Was it the spirit of my ancestors saying "Get a grip, Lass" that empowered me to stop being depressed and get on with my life? Something catapulted me out of the sad vortex I’d been in for far too long.
Several years later, a trip to Eastern Europe somehow resulted in my hooking up with an old boyfriend, John. I moved to Rochester NY, finished college and graduate school, got married, and began a career as a speech-language pathologist and special educator.
Why speech-language? My name rhymes--”Jane” rhymes with “McLean.” And as my mother always said “If you’ve got the name, why not play the game?”
We had six grandchildren in ten years and moved near Albany NY to be closer to our expanding family. We bought an 1830s farmhouse, Beebe Farm--the first house I ever owned. It had a marvelous pantry that engendered pantry envy in many.
We lived in a little village in the beautiful Helderberg Mountains of Albany County, where we became very involved in the community, in some ways re-creating my life on Butterfield Farm.
By the way, if you think the Celtic gift of second sight is a bunch of baloney, well… take a look at Jane McLean's Grenade Story
Construction Details::
This panel is one of four depicting the seasons at an imaginary cabin in the woods. The story is told in the central scene which I constructed and then tacked onto the background. Two rows of Folded Stars give way to woodlands in Pine Burr. I made the pine cone buttons at a fiber event at Searsport Shores.
This panel is one of four depicting the seasons at an imaginary cabin in the woods. The story is told in the central scene which I constructed and then tacked onto the background. Two rows of Folded Stars give way to woodlands in Pine Burr. I made the pine cone buttons at a fiber event at Searsport Shores.
Copyright Jane McLean, 2023