Mom, Dottie and Richard

QUI  SUIS-JE?

Four kids came along; Monica. Alex, Tess and John. For the next 20 years, I was pretty busy taking care of them and our small family farm in Scarborough. Inspired in part by the rugs I saw in Cheticamp, I began to raise sheep and spin their wool.

During this time, my Grandmother Virginia passed away after suffering with Alzheimer’s disease for many years. My Grandfather still lived in Island Falls, and my Uncle retired and moved home.  My son Alex began to take violin lessons from Daniel Guillemette, of Sanford. His Grandfather, Ben, part of Maine French Fiddlers, had taught Daniel and his brothers to play traditional French tunes. At one point we went to visit my Grandfather as he was in now in a Nursing Home in Houlton. Alex brought his little ¼ size fiddle and played something for him, “That fella’s not too bad., replied my Grandfather.

When my Grampy passed on, my son received that violin and plays it to this day.

After my Grandfather passed away, it was becoming apparent that my Mother was exhibiting the first signs of Alzheimer’s, as well.

My Mother Ramona, a complicated person, had left home and gone to school in Boston at a branch of Tufts, Forsyth, a professional school for dental hygienists. Boston and Aroostook has been linked easily through the Bangor and Aroostook railroad

which made its way through Aroostook County with passenger cars and heated potato cars. From Bangor, a Maine Central Railroad car would take her to the Boston and Maine in Portland.  Trips like this were common to people in Island Falls, which had been one of the first stops on the B and A.  (Bangor Public Library Bangor Community: Digital Commons@bpl Books and Publications Special Collections 1-1-1900 A Brief History of the Bangor and Aroostook Railroad George F. Mulherin)

During one college summer break, my Mother worked at a resort in Rangeley Lake and became close friends with an intrepid soul named Dottie Alford. My Mother introduced my Uncle Richard to her and a whirlwind romance ensued. But Dottie and Richard parted ways and lived out their lives without one another.

                             

 1950s  B and A

“Flyer”

My parents and my Aunt Dottie all rode this train to Boston and beyond.

          

                                  A view of Rangeley Lake

In 2008, while on a trip to Island Falls. Dottie stopped just for fun at my Uncle’s home and knocked on the door. My Uncle answered.

 “Do you know who I am?” she asked.

 It has been over 50 years since they had seen one another.

“Of course I do! You're Dottie St. Onge!” The old flame was instantly rekindled and they were married six months from that meeting.

 My Mother was well enough to attend the wedding, but soon afterwards, she, too succumbed to Alzheimer’s.

I began visiting my Aunt and Uncle regularly in Island Falls. About a year after my Mother’s death, my Aunt Dottie lost her only remaining child, her daughter Anna, 53 years old. Dottie and I were suddenly thrown together in our grief. We began to develop a deep bond that sustained us both. My Uncle Richard, the last living representative of an era we both understood and loved, redefined our relationship.

My Uncle Richard, my “handsome Uncle” who once resembled Elvis Presley, also began to show signs of Alzheimer’s. Dottie cared for him as long as she could until it became too difficult for her to keep him at home.  He and I spent many hours together talking about his life and our family. He often did not know who I was, but he knew I was a relative and it was obvious that that was a comfort to him. He and Dottie had a love that is hard to define. The spark that ignited in the 1950s remained strong until he died in the fall of 2014, almost 4 years to the day of my Mother’s passing.

This precious relationship with Dottie and Richard included an understanding that I was “the keeper” of family information.  I am the holder of family albums and documents, including a genealogy of The Martin Family. From this genealogy, my Acadian journey began to have a discernable path.