The time came this weekend to divide up my parents’ cremains among the four children. After my dad died in 2018, I put his ashes in a campaign chest until we could decide what to do with them. Then my mother died unexpectedly in May, and I had two sizable boxes of ash to watch over.
The process is essentially like dispensing flour or (I suspect) selling narcotics. You scoop some out from the plastic bag and weigh it so we all get equal parts mom and dad. I wasn’t squeamish or emotional about the event. For me, at least, I carry my parents in my heart and genetic code. But I wanted some way to humanize this odd, plastic-bag process.
So I walked down to my workshop and quickly found my favorite wooden spoon, which was carved by Peter Follansbee.
My dad loved Peter’s work, and my mom always loved every wooden spoon that came into her kitchen. So it somehow seemed right.
The spoon is short, so it was easy to control its motion without shaking off the contents. The narrow neck up by the bowl was perfect for gripping it and keeping everything steady. It was like Peter had carved this spoon for this very operation.
I sealed up the eight bags and took the spoon back to the shop to be cleaned.
It still has a lot of life left in it. And some more joyful tasks ahead.
Thanks, Peter.
— Christopher Schwarz
❤
Chris – your post is inspiring for several reasons. Timely too, the subject of a future cremation was on the table last night. I look forward to seeing you in the fall, we’ll have a lot of ground to cover.
Love and loss, intertwined.
I’ve asked that my ashes be mixed with Portland cement and cast as a garden gnome. My hope is that eventually someone I dislike will kick it and break a toe.
La cuillère de Peter + I carry my parents in my heart and genetic code = Chris, vous êtes quelqu’un de bien.
Merci, Maurice!
A thoughtful and respectful solution.
Thank you for sharing this. Poignant, inspiring and thoughtful.
My eyes are leaking
This is most excellent.
There is an end to our earthly trails but…we live on in the hearts of those whose trails continue. My sister and I scattered my Dad in the shade of a prominent tree on the dogleg of his favorite golf hole and ten years later my mother in her happy place in her backyard to nourish her beloved wisterias.
Sending you a hug, Chris. 💕
My Brother and I cleaned out mom’s house in Butte, MT this past week. We spent most of the time telling stories and laughing.
Having that beautiful spoon from Peter F to do that task wasPerfect. Thanks for sharing. Stay healthy.
Bill
That may well be the most succinct and powerful thing you’ve ever posted here
that certainly touched a heart string Chris.
And now the spoon is special not only because of who made it, but also what you’ve done with it.
This ties wonderfully with the June 24th blog on how old oaks acquire their history and why we mourn their passing.
As an obsessive spoon carver and human person who has lost a parent, I can’t think of a better use for such an already meaningful object.
Very touching. Just curious; why eight bags, two for each sibling?
Yup.
My condolences. Beautifully written, as always.
Thanks for the post – Niagara Falls, for sure!
My condolences. As an aside, I thought a little humor might serve.
There was a particular episode of “Rescue Me” where one of the main characters dies and is subsequently cremated. The remaining core of the original crew is delivering said ashes to the coast where the plan is to drink themselves silly and dispense with the remains into the ocean at sunset. They had to make a detour to pick up one of their ne’er-do-well teenage sons. They continue on unfazed till one of them lets out a fart to end all farts which forces them to roll down the windows. Just then the bored teenager asks, “What’s in the bag,” and pulls open the bag to the others screaming in unison, “NO!” You didn’t have to see it happen to know what happened next.
So sorry, man…but is that title a reference to Wussy’s “Little Miami”?