(HOST) The freezing and thawing of the ground as winter settles in has reminded commentator Chris Wren of an old cat, and a timeless sentiment.
(WREN) To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.
I was thinking about Ecclesiastes the other day as I was stacking firewood and looked across our meadow to an apple tree where our old cat Eliza was recently buried. She reminded me that in Vermont, there is also a time to freeze and a time to thaw.
She died one chilly day last April, when the ground refused to thaw. So my wife wrapped Eliza in a black garbage bag and lovingly tucked her away in the freezer in a corner of our garage. We meant no disrespect for a family pet, but there wasn’t much choice with last spring coming so late. And we had a precedent. When I was a foreign correspondent in Moscow, one of my colleagues owned a massive Saint Bernard named Loretta. Jim’s next posting was London, where the British put Loretta in mandatory quarantine for six months. A day after Loretta was released, she died. Jim and his wife were bereft, of course, and wanted to bury Loretta back home in America. So Loretta filled their freezer, the entire freezer, for more than a year, before they could take her home on their vacation.
So when spring finally came to Vermont, it was time to find our cat a proper grave. My wife picked a spot in the meadow. I took a shovel and slogged up through the mud. It was a sloppy task, with rocks and tree roots resisting my shovel and rain trickling into the hole I dug. I came back drenched and pronounced the grave ready.
Jaqueline put on her slicker and went out to look. She returned to our kitchen looking unhappy. “I don’t think Eliza will like it,” my wife said. “It’s awfully wet.” “Like it?” I protested. “Eliza’s gone to meet her maker. She’s joined the choir invisible. Our cat is an ex-cat!”
Jacqueline shook her head. “She still won’t like it.” So our cat stayed in our freezer for a few more weeks. Okay, six more months while life’s other distractions kept us busy.
Then one sunny Saturday in October, I took my shovel, and hiked up to an apple tree on higher ground. For more than an hour, I dug Eliza’s grave, wide and deep and dry. “She’ll like this one,” I told Jaqueline. “It’s time to let her go.” My wife fetched our cat from the freezer and we wheeled her up in the garden cart to the apple tree, with a view of the valley and rolling hills beyond. Jaqueline opened her Episcopal hymnal, and we sang:
“All things bright and beautiful.
“All creatures great and small,
“All things wise and wonderful,
“The Lord God made them all.”
The next day was Sunday, and when we went to St. Martin’s, the organist struck up the same hymn. Sheer coincidence. Or maybe not. But my wife and I smiled at one another. When you suffer a loss, even of a family pet, there must be a time to mourn. For everything there is a season. A time to freeze. And eventually a time to thaw – to move on.
Christopher Wren is a retired foreign correspondent for the New York Times and author who lives in Thetford.