Wade

These poems were written by Wade for my mother, Judith Oates Pennell. They were inscribed by Wade in the flyleaf of his first book, Far Lake, published in 1930 by Coward-McCann, Inc., New York. Only a few of these books were printed, and my mother's poems were never published. The book was not archivally produced, and the copy that I have is yellowed and brittle.

Two Poems the Little Indian Boy Said

The Young Leaves

The sap has run to feed the tiny buds.
Each bud is drinking like a little baby.
One by one they kick their blankets off.
Uncurling in the warmth, come little leaves.
Grow quickly, little leaves, but hold tightyly to your twigs.
The wind will steal you if you don't.

Little birds

I like the little singing birds.
Big birds fly over mountains
And speck the deep blue sky.
But little birds stay near the ground,
And fly from bush to bush, singing
To one another, or to me.
Little birds must know the flowers well.

for Judith from Wade
December 1930

Wade Van Dore was born in Detroit in 1899. Wade passed away in Clearwater, Florida in April, 1989. His wife Erma told me that as they were eating dinner in a restaurant, he made a small sound, then fell to the floor. We think it was a heart attack, as he had been having problems with his heart for quite a while. The last time I saw Wade, we walked together to the beach. He let out a cry of pain, then turned to me and said, "Did you hear that? It was nothing." He did not let anything, not even physical difficulties, interfere with his love for life and for nature.

He wanted to be remembered as an environmentalist, but he will best be remembered for his friendship with Robert Frost. Wade's last work was a book titled "The Life of the Hired Man", an autobiography which describes his life and friendship/mentorship with Frost. The original manuscript was full of references to our idyls at Grand Marais, and descriptions of my mother, my sister, and myself, but the publisher did not include many of those in the book.

It was nice that Wade had a friendship with Robert Frost, but sad that he will not be remembered for the wonderful person he was but instead for being the friend of someone more famous.

We lost Erma Van Dore a few years later. Sadly, as these things go, I do not know what became of their papers and momentos; perhaps her son from a previous marriage got them.

Erma was the perfect love for Wade, and their marriage was strong throughout their years together. She told me that as a young girl, she fell for him immediately. Who would not be smitten by a handsome, passionate poet standing shyly on the doorstep holding a nosegay of wildflowers? Poets are not the best of breadwinners, she discovered early, and she set herself to earning a living for the two of them. They were good for each other. She told me she was a flapper in the twenties, and Wade added, "And boy, did she flap!" with a wink and a nod.

I recall a visit with them in Florida when one of their beloved cats came to sit in the room with us, and calmly lifted its leg and began to wash. Wade said, "My, what a clean kitty." Then he looked at us and said, "I wish Erma was that clean". Then we all laughed and laughed.

Wade and Erma had a lot of cats, always taking in strays. They tried to limit themselves, but it was difficult. We shared a passion for cats all of our lives. I wonder what happened to their cats when they died? I hate the way life takes us so far from the people we love.