THE LOST PAINTING [M, 6-2-25]

BEYOND WINTER: The Irrelevant Searchings of An Old Man—THE LOST PAINTING [M, 6-2-25]

 

We could not find that framed picture. Anywhere.

It was Kathy’s fault, really. She was the one who swapped out our T.C.Steele  winterscape over my sofa for the similar summer painting.

Kathy makes the 45 minute drive to our house from the woods of Brown County with delightful and frequent irregularity, bringing not only her gentle enthusiasm, but food. Enough that we can feast together but have some left over for a second meal. This time it was chicken legs and potato salad and kohl slaw, as befits the advent of a summer painting.

Although she did not know that we would be changing that painting when she came. But, yes, it was she who did the actual swapping of the paintings. She is still young and nimble [under 80] and able to climb ladders and sofas.

After she left--planning to stop at two stores on her way home, since she refuses to leave the woods unless she has three places to go, to justify the gasoline and time—Helen said that it was too bad we did not have more paintings, since it would be nice to get a change of scenery more often. [Since her sofa is across the room from mine, she is the one who might get bored with the same painting over my sofa for too long.]

The problem, she noted, is that we don’t have other framed paintings. Well, I said, what about that red barn painting I bought for you? She had no memory of it, until I gave the details of its provenance, as I am wont to do.

When we lived in Sterling, IL, I frequented a coffee shop that was formerly a funeral home, in a big old house. It doubled as an art gallery, paintings for sale by local artists. Helen had a birthday coming up, and I was much taken with a painting of an old red barn in snow. It reminded me of the barn I grew up with—although ours had never known paint, red or otherwise—and, besides, it was just quite pretty.

Helen loved it. It became a favorite for our wall, not just in Sterling, but also for our eight years in Iron Mountain. Then we became Bloomerangs. Ten years ago.

She finally remembered it. “That’s my favorite,” she said. “We need to have it out.”

So we looked. For two days. Behind all the furniture pieces large enough to store an out-of-season painting. In the garage, since I display all my baseball pictures there. In all the closets. Under the beds. No red barn.

Until one morning, as I reclined on my sofa, underneath the painting that is not changed often enough, my laptop computer appropriately enough on my lap, when I heard Helen giggling in the kitchen. “Come here,” she said.

There, on the wall, was the red barn painting, where it has been for ten years, because we like it so much that we wanted it to be in a place where we could see it every day.

It is so easy to let the things—and people—that we love become so familiar that we forget them. But it’s good news, any time we can say, it once was lost but now is found. 

John Robert McFarland