![]()
14.00 USD
It was while traveling through Saxony by train, that my grandfather, while stretching his legs when his train was stopped, glimpsed a rare species of butterfly. He was still a young man then, only just out of college, and became so distracted by this insect's meanderings through the woodland meadow bordering the track, that he completely forgot himself, wandered a little too far afield, and his train, which had only stopped briefly to take on water, left him behind.
Well, finding himself afoot and without his luggage, he looked for some sign of a cottage where he might find welcome as it was growing late in the day, but the only sign of human life about, was beyond a dark forest at whose border he now found himself. It was the spire of a church behind a far hill all wreathed in mist.
As he tells it, with no other prospects in view, he saw nothing for it but to make for that spire, reasoning that where there stood a church, he would likely find a village, and shelter for the night. So off he went, stopping now and then to scoop up a little water from a brook, or nibble at some currants he found growing along his way.
The forest seemed to go on and on, it was thick with brambles, and the going was slow. So with the day rapidly turning to night, grandfather decided to make camp beside an ancient spring whose water was sweet. It was a lovely place, as he described it once in a letter to me, shaded by the spreading boughs of a large black walnut tree, and it was there he met my grandmother, Hedwig.
This is a true story! The proof of it is in this very photograph, taken by my grandfather that next morning as grandmother was examining a leaf that had fallen from the very tree under which he'd passed the night. Odd that the tree was gone, and in its place was the fair Hedwig, no? Well, it was a lucky thing indeed, that grandfather was never without his camera.
Coincidentally, that wood, a dark-some place, shunned by locals as being haunted by spirits, is where my own father was born, beneath that very tree, just nine months later. Family legend has it that he was nursed on the green milk of young black walnuts, til he was old enough to forage for his food like other woodland creatures.
My grandmother, who had fallen hopelessly in love with grandfather just as he had with her, at the very moment they'd met, was a dryad of sorts, who by the laws of the forgotten gods ruling those tangled woods, was granted a mostly human existence on the rising of the sun, exactly seven years later. Of course, grandfather had been required to remain with her for those entire seven years, never speaking to another human being save his firstborn son, who was not, after all, entirely human.
They must have made an interesting picture, when they emerged from those woods, my father and his parents. She was wearing, so I've been told, a costume much like that which you see here, but the old gods are not in the habit of giving away outfits to every stray human who happens by, and my father and grandfather had to make due with tunics woven by grandmother out of lichen, moss, and soft green leaves.
Once they'd escaped the village authorities, who for some reason wanted to place them on trial for violations of certain long out of date church laws, my forbears managed to find shelter among a friendly band of Gypsies, with whom they traveled for as long as my father's skin maintained its greenish tint, and were thus able to save enough money for some ordinary clothing, and to pay their way back home.
I don't think I need to tell you how unhappy they were when, years after my grandfather had noticed his camera had been lost while traveling with the Gypsies, they found at a local mercantile, a copy of this postcard, made from the original plate of grandmother's portrait. We still have that postcard in a family album, of course, but it was only after a great deal of soul searching that I finally decided to offer this one up for sale in the shop.
A very nice card in nice condition, posted in France, in 1909. If you decide to buy this one, please treat grandmother Hedwig's image with respect. Grandfather passed away long ago, and Grandmother too, left us, not dying in the ordinary way, mind, but simply being there one day, and gone the next. My children play under her spreading boughs in that lot behind the tool shed. The neighbors stay away from the place though, because the tree, you see, is clearly older than our house, and everyone knows that when the house was built, there was no such tree on our land.
Please examine our high res scans for detail.
Postage is for first class shipping in a secure photo mailer, and we happily combine shipping on all paper goods. If you purchase two cards, we will refund the postage on the second card, and when you purchase three or more cards from us at the same time, your shipping will be entirely free, except for international orders which, because of sudden increases in international shipping rates will still be charged one card's shipping fees on orders of three or more.
And please come visit our blog at:
redpoulaine.blogspot.com
where we post biographical and historical tidbits, images of cards and photographs for sale, some already sold but remembered fondly, related images of historical interest and sometimes even images of items that have not yet arrived in the shop, but that are expected to arrive soon, as well as coupon codes, links to other related sites, and more!
