South Deerfield, Massachusetts
Congratulations Linda!
Linda’s Bio:
Linda Rhinehart Neas self published her first written work at the age of seven on the cardboard she gathered from her Dad's shirts after they came back from the laundry. Since then, she has written extensively in various venues. Her work has been published and performed throughout New England. Gaining inspiration from her four daughters and three granddaughters, she has calculated that she will run dry of ideas for writing sometime in the next millennium. Her first full collection of poems, Winter of the Soul, was published in 2008. Next to writing, teaching is her second passion. Presently, she is working on her second book of poetry, essays and memoirs on teaching and two children’s books.
Linda lives in an enchanted cottage surrounded by trees, bushes and perennials which she and her beloved, Roger, planted. Their dog Molly keeps track of all the other critters who call the enchanted cottage home.
Enchanted Cottage
"Anyone can build a house, but it takes love to make a home," my mother said as I pulled my things from the pillowcase. We had just moved into the projects of South Boston. It was the last place in the world anyone would want to call home. Brick and macadam, chain link and cement gave little hope to "home building." Yet, my mother, in the face of alcoholism, illness and poverty made us a home.
As the years went by, I became increasingly aware of just how few of my friends had libraries, art or music at home, because any chance they got, they would come to my Momma, borrow books, listen to classical music, jazz or big bands or sit contemplating an oil painting of the seashore at sunset. Of course, at the time, none of us were aware of what drew us to be in such space as Momma's. Only after years of life experience do such wondrous answers appear to our unasked questions.
It all makes me wonder if Momma had heard Churchill say, "We create our dwelling and afterwards our dwellings create us." Surely, the cement and clay boxes of the projects were not effective dwellings to create resilient, resourceful and respected citizens, or were they?
The federal government in the wisdom of the time utilized Bauhaus architecture to create as many homes as possible for the returning veterans of the Second World War. Large three story units of brick, steel, concrete and glass were erected in the corner of a city where only poverty found a resting place. Like huge index boxes, the apartment buildings featured center courtyards. Clotheslines hung within chain-link fences where the clothes often came back dirtier than before they were hung if the wind was so cruel as to whip the freshly laundered artifacts with black soot from the incinerators. In the center of the four blocks of buildings, was a playground big enough for two baseball diamonds, two basketball courts and yards of asphalt and tar. No sand lots here. Sliding into home base was left only to the truly tough kids.
Forty years later, I sit in the corner of my kitchen surrounded by sunlight and warmth. Two large windows form the corner into which my desk has been built. Looking outside, I am continually inspired by the beauty of my meditation garden. Soft shadows fall on the lattice from the overhanging wisteria. Pray flags move gently in the breeze. Feathered friends peck at the window when I have been negligent in filling their feeders. The contrast from this oasis of contentment and my childhood home do not go unnoticed, nor do the similarities.
How does a kid from the projects grow to own a home, complete a master's degree and publish a book of poetry? I believe it all started in that third floor apartment with steel and concrete walls and asphalt tile floors.
While my home now is made of wood, surrounded by almost an acre of trees, bushes, and perennials, like the home Momma created, it is also filled with art, literature and music. It too is a haven filled with houseplants, animals and people. Momma's home was the mold for my life as a poet/writer and educator. We didn't need a fancy Mc Mansion. We didn't need all the latest household gidgets and gadgets. We had love; no matter how bad the times were, and they got mighty bad back then, we had love.
Several weeks ago, friends came to visit to see the new floor in our kitchen. Our house is a work in progress, which they had visited only once before. As we sat in the living room listening to a beautiful recording by Rasa, surrounded by a wall full of books, windows green with pothos, violets, and bamboo, the dog at our feet, they began to whisper. They nodded their heads in agreement, smiling like Cheshire cats. Seconds later, the ultimate compliment wrapped around me.
"We love coming here," they said. "Your house is magical, like an enchanted cottage. The work you both have done makes it feel so warm. We felt at home the moment we entered."
I smiled, too, sharing Momma's words, "Anyone can build a house; it takes love to build a home!"
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