Dawn view from the mountainside above San Martin de los Piramides, Mexico, 2006. Photo by author.

Each place is a step along the winding path that has brought me here to this hovel in the countryside, a widow twice over, the mother of grown children, step mother to those who would still have me after the last husband passed away. And grandmother to those I can still hug in person or across the miles through the miracle of FaceTime.

Each place still hangs with me, its whispering wisdom, magic, and spirit, for me to carry to the next stop along my way, though that path is still left to be charted.

I feel the intensity of my grandmother’s journey from Russia through Europe, to Cuba, waiting to get into the US, mourning her little’s brother’s death during their travels with her mother, yet trying to find her own identity as a youth in a foreign land, only to later learn their father was gone, too.

They betray the loss… of old ways, of deep knowledge.
Such Olmec wisdom of ancestors on full display,
yet we still think we’re so smart.

I feel the wind against my cheek on a cool Mexican morning, sunrise over the mountainside at 10,000 feet, shadowing my back, letting sun rays drift across the pyramids below. They betray the loss… of old ways, of deep knowledge. Such Olmec wisdom of ancestors on full display, yet we still think we’re so smart.

I feel the salt spray on my face as the boat takes the waves through the channel in the Fiji islands, the ripples and splashes concealing the beautiful corals and tropical fish that dance and sway in the currents below. I join their steely giant cohabitant as it slowly tilts its hammerhead eyes towards me. I let myself sink to the sandy bottom.

I feel the sun’s warmth on my cheeks on a cool Michigan fall day, the flickering lights making colorful autumn leaves shine like jewels against the stark blue skies, belying the hints of winter to come. The old post and beam workshop behind me is wrapped in grapevines, providing shade to my printing presses inside, awaiting my touch to create anew.

I carry all of these feels with me, their memories, the learned wisdom, worn around my heart like jeweled beads of wisdom. I carry it all, sharing with willing souls, and learning from beloved travelers who I meet along the way, as I remake this home anew.

– Mara Jevera Fulmer, February 10, 2026

Backyard view, Fall sunset in Michigan. Photo by author.

The above prose was expanded from a short writing exercise during a six-week workshop offered by @LauraLentzWriter and her Literati Academy. The writers participating in this series are exploring their way through grief and the hero’s journey.

Heavy leather belts begin to turn the wheels of the giant Columbia oscillating sander. Photo by author.

He was bobbing around laughing and smiling, his broad chested yet smallish stature accentuated by the 23,000 lbs of 19th century iron machinery that he was tweaking here and there to coax it back to life. It came from an era when the railroad industry was at its height, three drums of varying sandpaper oscillating to prepare the wood, and a fourth drum covered in brushes to clean it off and ready to use.

I sat there watching him, though surreptitiously as I was supposed to be doing my homework for my doctoral program. My books and iPad were perched upon the hand-built wooden table saw that the original owner of this post & beam furniture factory had built for himself complete with little victorian flourishes of details in the handles and guards.

But I just couldn’t help trying to keep track of my new beau Steve’s efforts as he climbed up on top of the giant Columbia sanding machine. Then he would hop down again to check the webbing of more large leather belts and their matching steel pulleys that would have made the machine turn its wheels back in the days of steam power.

I remembered when my husband Keith and I first bought this property, not even two years before. We bought it at first sight, a 20th Century post and beam building filled with many pieces of 19th and early 20th century heavy machinery all used to make furniture. An accomplished woodworker himself, Keith had planned to make it all his. Alas, the stars were aligned differently and he passed away from a very aggressive cancer barely a year after we purchased it leaving me, his widow, to sort out what to do with it all.

And then the stars sent Steve. I think KEITH sent Steve, perhaps after being horrified at my poor attempts to try and sell some of the tools I knew I would never use, but that had left me grifted by his own friend. Steve would become my protector. But perhaps in this case it was not that he had fallen in love only with me, I wondered sometimes. It was this place, where it seemed that many ghosts had congregated to protect the legacy of this old maker space.

I looked up and there was Steve, dancing around the machine grinning from ear to ear.

As I tried to go back to my homework on my table-saw desk, I heard the roar and rattle as the beast came to life. Keith had tried to do this before, but the belts were too loose and fell off within seconds. He never had the chance to go back and try again before his illness had progressed too far.

I looked up and there was Steve, dancing around the machine grinning from ear to ear. As I watched this elfish man jump around this iron giant, he went to one end of the machine where large wood panels would come out, fully sanded and brushed off, ready to use for railroad cars. I snapped a picture of him with the light behind him.

The ghosts that haunt me now. Photo by author.

Later that day I would look again at this photo only to catch my breath. There it was, a ghostly shadow of a slim man leaning over just behind Steve. Keith was there, cheering for the success of this rebirth of this giant, perhaps the last operational Columbia belt-driven panel sander left in the country I’d discovered after further research. I took this rebirthing as a sign that I should never take for granted that I am ever alone on this path. And to accept that my angels are never very far from me, despite the temptation to succumb to sadness. That death of my loved one is not an ending. But a new beginning.

– Mara Jevera Fulmer, February 18, 2026


The “K” at the end of the line. Photo by author.

The above prose was expanded from a 13-minute writing exercise during a six-week workshop offered by @LauraLentzWriter and her Literati Academy. The writers participating in this series are exploring their way through grief and the hero’s journey.

Written on Tuesday, 7/31/18

I try to focus on the work at hand as we prepare the old house for sale. Even though lots of memories are evoked as we go, and Steven tackles the difficult challenges of finishing Keith’s unfinished house projects, going through collections of “stuff” inside the house, the workshop, the basement, and all around outside, I feel incredibly blessed. Although it’s taken longer, Steve’s workmanship shows and I know it’s a matter of pride – and love – in his mind, and I am forever grateful to this wonderful man who has taken on so much. To live in the shadow of Keith’s spirit can be a challenge. But today I think I found a sign that Keith was pleased.

Dane and I moved a very large 10-drawer flat file into the garage today. Drawer by drawer. Most were empty already but several were full and it was kind of a pain. But we got all the drawers moved and prepared to move the cabinet that held them. I looked back to the empty steel cabinet and there was some stuff still there, curled up against the back. A few pieces of Stassia’s, a few pieces of mine. But there was this one big piece still curled up against the back wall. I pulled it out and there it was – an impromptu angel made from overspray from a project Keith did many years ago. And in the corner, he’d painted his initials “KF” to ensure there was no doubt. Among the last pieces of family “art” to get moved out of the house. Finding it today felt like a special sign, a message of love from the spirit of Keith.

 

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Spraypaint art made by Keith when he was working with Stassia on a costume. He liked the angel he recognized and signed it in the corner. I’d completely forgotten about this until my daughter reminded me.

Friday, 7/27/18

Woke up at 4:52 am to a blazing light shining upon me. It was a huge full moon low on the horizon so that its light reached inside my bedroom. I smiled and said Happy 60th Birthday, Keith! We miss you here on this life’s plane. Hope you’re enjoying all our shenanigans from your view on the other side. ❤️

Keith taking his solo pilot flight test, upstate NY. Instructor decided we should all go to dinner in Keene, NH.

Postscript: When I awoke later in the morning daylight, I looked out the window and saw the trees and wondered how I could have seen the moon so clearly earlier. And yet, there it had been! When he passed, it was a huge blue moon (a second full moon in the month) and I always associate the strong light of the full moon as his embrace from beyond.

Traveling has a way of creating magic and expanding our vision here and beyond.

Threads of energy and connection

On a steamy hot July 4th, we floated in the waters of Sacandaga Lake in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. Disembodied heads peeked above the waters – me, Steve, Larry, Jean, John, Patty, Brian plus other old friends. As the waters sparkled in the sunlight, my vision shifted, seeing tendrils, threads connecting each of us, our heads, 7th chakras, energy paths from one to another, and then above. It was surreal and yet very real… I shook my head several times to try and dispel the vision, yet it persisted. The vision began to fade so I sketched it quickly in order to bring it back to further enhance in art.

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My quick sketch of the vision I had looking at my friends bobbing in the waters of Sacandaga Lake, Adirondack Mountains, upstate New York, July 4, 2018. 

Conversations while in the water, heads bobbing, voices laughing, planning, life beyond work, the family by heart and blood, community of friends planning to care for each other in a life of continued adventures, but recognizing the pains of aging… Plans began for those couples without children, then those who did have children who would not be willing/able to care for aging parents… Duties were assigned: John P as our travel planner, Jean our financial/taxes person, Larry our sommelier and meal planner, me and Brian on branding development and space design, Steve our inventor and fixer-upper…should Michael join us he would be our gardener… Patty would pave the way into retirement. We could move between locations to allow time at each place and take advantage of weather… Several months in Michigan, travel to Europe, possibly a month in Fiji in April… where else?

Aging into new adventures means making the most of life with family by blood and family by heart.

Shifting to sooner plans, travel to Newfoundland, Canada, Kelly’s home country. When could we all visit, and how? Have passports, will travel.

The view from here

As we wandered the countryside, our views throughout our week were stunning… New York Adirondacks, Vermont hills, Middlebury, countryside antique shops, farmlands… peaceful, tranquil, even energizing… Saratoga, revisiting old memories.

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A roadside antique shop in the Adirondacks.

We were watching fireworks from the baseball field across from Larry and Jean’s… the same field with the same chain link fence at home base where Keith and I hung out together with Michael, Larry, Brian and others. Standing there… Steven, Larry, Brian, Jean, me… surreal… forward, back…time seemed to cross oceans, decades, and reconnect…creating new connections. It felt powerful.

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Watching fireworks in the park with friends.

Revisiting a new friend in person

I finally caught up with Nan O’Brien-Webb in New Haven, VT. Steve was filled with trepidation; it brought up feelings of a past bad encounter with a marriage counselor. Not what I intended at all. It was exploratory for me just to see what was up with Nan’s workshops. And it was very emotional for her, too, to meet her former best friend’s wife after finding his obituary.

I no longer feel the need to have an intermediary. I see/feel connections to the spirits feeling their messages when it is important, seeing signs and recognizing them for what they are most of the time. I recognize that I have become my own intuit. Still, it was interesting to discover how others with longer experience work with this…this gift.

I sent Nan a photo of Steven with the shadow of another we saw as a hint of Keith hovering over Steve after he’d gotten the great sanding machine running back in May 2013. But then, as I scrolled through the photos, I also came across another photo that I’d taken but had ignored for my aesthetic preference of another. The non-filtered photo, however, had a clear message, one that I’d completely missed before. Taken the same day as the one with the shadow of Keith… this one showed a large “K” made from the shape of the stairs leading up to the loft.

To Nan, I wrote:

… I could feel the emotion in the room, the healing that was being accomplished, even as the doors cracked open a bit to understanding of the different lives we lead in physical and spiritual form. You’ve certainly helped me to better articulate what I always felt to be true.

…Funny thing… as I went to look for [the photo I promised], I discovered a second one – taken the same day – that had a message I’d completely missed.

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Keith oversees a sewer connection we’d been trying to get at Perry Road, only about 5-6 weeks before he passed. So I’m guessing this picture was taken around mid July 2012.

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Large flat-belted gears drive a giant 4-drum oscillating sander that Keith had  fallen in love with in the large  woodworking shop on the property at Perry Road. When he tried to get it started, the belts fell off only a few seconds after it began to run. This photo was taken in May 2013 when Steven came into my life. He too fell in love with this old machine and immediately set about to get it running, which he did!

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Another view of the  old woodworking shop taken the same day Steven got the old sander running. I noticed the sun shining in the far windows, setting off a glowing light. But I used a different camera setting for the above photo. I almost missed the real message.

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This photo was take seconds before the first one just above. In looking for the picture I’d mentioned in VT, I found this one. Notice the giant “K” at the center, formed by the structure of a stairway in front of the glowing windows. SMH! I was dumbfounded when I came across this picture last night. How could I have missed it?!

Finally, this is the image I mentioned to Nan. Intellectually, I know how it was made. But it gave us all goosebumps when we first saw it. I was sitting at an old handmade table saw, working on homework for my doctorate. Steve was literally scurrying around working on making the giant sander operational (it extends from where he’s climbing to the round wheels you see in front of the windows to the right behind the posts).

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I looked up from my studies when I heard it come to life and grabbed my phone to take this photo. The message was clear to me at that moment. Keith was VERY pleased!

As I wrote to Nan, I feel that sometimes places can hold the energy of those who came before us there. Or they at least provide us a place to connect. Sometimes I feel old Maurice Reid here, as well. He was the original owner of this woodworking shop and I feel his occasional approval (or annoyance as the case may be at the time) as we try and make improvements to the old homestead.

These are just some of the most profound memories I have from the week’s travels and the memories those moments inspired me to revisit.