Somewhere I have a black and white photo of my mother’s purse, hanging off a tree limb, on the edge of a beach in Maine. It’s not a particularly great photo. But I still remember the moment I took it, thinking it looked odd and a bit lonesome.
We’d been at my cousin’s wedding in New Hampshire. The day after the wedding was overcast and rainy. Instead of driving south to head home, Mom first drove north. Just so we could stop for a while at a beach. She needed to see the ocean; walk in the sand. Like the photograph, there’s not much to the story. It was just a very “Mom” thing to do. Like hanging her purse on the tree.