Norfolk’s Own Hyla Brook

The recent warm spell allowed us to get out on the town in the datemobile. After going up to Maple Avenue, over to the Yale Summer School property, then through the center of town, our last stop was at the little stream at the end of our street. We call this stream Hyla Brook, after the poem by Robert Frost.

Hyla Brook is one of my five favorite poems by Frost, which is to say it is one of my five favorite poems. I love the last line of the poem: “We love the things we love for what they are.” Frost loved his own Hyla Brook, though small and insignificant, for no other reason than it runs through his property. If only we all could heed such a message of unconditional love.

I feel the same way about our Hyla Brook, an intermittent stream that disappears into a storm drain at the end of our street. I’ve taken our kids on expeditions down that storm drain to where it exits at the opposite end of a five-way intersection. They still reminisce fondly about those expeditions. We are not alone in our appreciation of Norfolk’s Hyla Brook. A former neighbor used to plant flowers each spring on the lawn that covers the culvert where the stream disappears.

The chance to get outside after months of seclusion added to what has been a good week. Monday, February 19, was Cindy’s birthday. Last year we held a small birthday party for Cindy at the pub. The year before we held a large party at our church, with people coming from out of state to attend. We held a big party then because at the time I did not know whether we had months or years left.

Well, we had years left after all; I like to think my care for Cindy has something to do with that. Unfortunately, we are now at a stage where a party for Cindy would be meaningless, at least for her. Charissa came down for a visit and we revived a tradition instead, watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

This time around I noticed the poignancy of the last 30 minutes of the last movie in the trilogy, a real tear fest for saps. The poignancy begins when there is a reunion of a fellowship that journeyed on an epic mission. This occurs when they enter, one at a time, the room where the central figure in the fellowship is getting bed rest. They each had their roles in the journey; they each had their special connection with the main character Frodo as they entered. Yet a special moment occurs when Sam, the person who was with Frodo for the entire dangerous journey, comes in last. Their eyes meet and share a volume of experiences through their glance that only the two could understand.

As we came to our Hyla Brook I could tell immediately she wanted to break here. I put my head down close to hers and knew we were on the same wavelength as we watched the brook together, experiencing my own Samwise moment as we near the close of Cindy’s own epic journey. Many have shared in Cindy’s journey and cherish their experiences with her. Yet only I, who shared over 10,000 miles of long distance hiking with this Expedition Woman, could fathom how she was feeling as she soaked in the scene of the cascading brook on a pleasant day.

The last poignant moment of the trilogy is when Frodo sails off to the west, a metaphor for passing from one life to another, leaving Sam and other fellow sojourners behind. Frodo moves on to a blessed place while the other sojourners go back to a contented life in a pastoral land, a humble land much like our Hyla Brook. As we left the joyfully singing stream behind us on our way home, I ardently wished our own parting should follow a similar script.