EARLY SEPTEMBER 2018

ROCKWELL KENT WILDERNESS CENTENNIAL JOURNAL
100 YEARS LATER
by Doug Capra © 2018

Early Sept., 2018

"How the contemplation of nature as a whole does take the conceit out of us! How we dwindle to mere specks and our little lives to the span of a moment in the presence of the cosmic bodies and the interstellar spaces! How we hurry! How we husband our time. A year, a month, a day, an hour may man so much to us. Behold the infinite leisure of nature."
John Burroughs, "The Gospel of Nature," Century 84 (1912) 195-204.

On Sept. 4th 100 years ago Kent wrote to his wife, “It has rained incessantly… and Olson has not yet ventured to shore” and that weather continued throughout the month according to the old Swede’s journal. Olson did leave for Seward later that day, spent the night and returned the next day. Throughout the winter, Olson would leave off and on – once for several weeks – and Kent would be in charge of the animals, a job he hated.

Kathleen had received some of Kent’s letters -- written from the train, the ship or from Yakutat. On Sept. 5 she wrote and thanked him for the postcards he had sent. By now, the artist had received a few letters from his wife with snapshots of the children. “Tell my dear little son that I will surely write him a letter all by himself very soon,” she writes. Kent’s mother had urged her daughter-in-law to move in with her. “I very nearly consented to the plan,” Kathleen wrote, “but on thinking it over, I think it an unwise thing to do. You know I would be miserable up there…” Social life kept folks busy on Monhegan Island, and Kathleen was planning a dance for her friend, Bernice who recently had a baby. “We have had the most gorgeous surf for several days. It is pounding on the rocks and shaking the house now,” she ends.

On Sept. 9^th she wrote a letter to Rockie: “Dear Sonny-boy -- How do you like Alaska? Is it nicer than Monhegan? I asked Minnie tonight what she thought Rockwell and Father were doing at this time, and she said; ‘Feeding their bears.’ We all believe that you have tamed bears already and shall be greatly disappointed if you don’t come home with at least two. {NOTE – “Minnie” sounds like a nickname for one of the children, but I don’t know which one.} Kent’s mother was making Rockie some pajamas. “Is it cold there, and have you got enough warm clothes? What kind of a house are you living in, and what kind of furniture have you? I want to know all about it. I want Father to teach you how to write so you can write me all about things. Bushels of love and kisses from your own mother.” Kent had already told Kathleen about their living conditions in his Sept. 1^st letter, but she hadn’t received it as yet. In that same envelope postmarked Sept. 9^th Kathleen enclosed a letter to her husband. She was pressured by the “island girls” to cancel her special dance because a patrol boat had arrived with all the coast guard men. The island girls wanted a public dance. Kathleen reluctantly agreed, but it was a lesson in Monhegan Island culture. “I am learning on my own hook about many of the island people.”

From one island to another, the letters flew back and forth. Actual communication was difficult. It wasn’t like email, texting or telephone calls. Both parties would often receive batches of letters covering weeks. It was impossible to have a real discussion. Kent wrote about his life on Fox Island, clearing the land and chopping firewood, fixing up the cabin, reading to and playing with Rockie, and his admiration for Olson. He almost always pleaded with Kathleen to remain faithful and keep loving him. Kent has sent negatives of photos he has taken to Hildegarde to develop, he tells Kathleen. Since she is in New York City, he figured it would just be easier to have her develop them and send copies to Kathleen.

From his wife’s letters, it’s easy to see his concern. For in return, Kathleen related troubles with money and bills, the weather, and interesting events on Monhegan: “Yesterday morning one of the fishing boats towed a dead whale into the harbor,” she wrote on Sept. 12^th. “He had been dead some time and didn’t smell very nice but I took five snaps of him. If they are any good I will send you some. The whales are worth thousands of dollars particularly if they can get them on shore while fresh so the meat can be used. After eating the shark meat I’m anxious to try whale meat…” She complained about the rheumatism in her right shoulder and related cute stories about the children: “The children have just been talking about Rockie and wishing he were here and Clara says she loves him even if he does tease her.” And then, no doubt knowing she would raise Kent’s ire and anxiety, she’d describe provocative anecdotes designed to remind her husband that she wasn’t going to just sit in the house and sew clothing for him in Alaska. There were frequent dances on her island, especially when the patrol boat was in with all those handsome coast guard men. Reading some of her letters, one can almost taste the irony:

“Last evening I spent at the dance hall, dancing the whole evening with one man; a fellow by the name of Walker, whom I think I spoke of before, from one of the patrol boats. He came down to the house about seven; he’s crazy about the kiddies, particularly with Kathleen who entertained him for a half an hour while I put the others to bed. He seems to feel that I am the only person on the island fit to speak to. It pleases me to think that he knows the difference, which most of them don’t know, and don’t care about. Have as yet heard of nothing from Hildegarde {about the photographs}.You’d much better send them to Bernice to have developed and printed. Loads of love to you both from Mother and Wife.” On Sept. 15^th, Mr. Walker appears again in another of her letters: “My friend Mr. Walker has just left. His boat is in again tonight, but it being Sunday there was no dance. We took a walk then came back here and lit a fire, dried our feet and toasted marshmallows. We have just discovered that we are twins, born on the same day in the same year. Isn’t that romantic! Goodnight hugs and kisses for you both.”

Mr. Walker and Kathleen were 27 years old in 1918. Kent was 36. Here was a man who seemed to be moving in on him who was quite younger than the artist, who admired his wife and who was “crazy” about his children. They seemed to have much in common, including the same birthdays. “Isn’t that romantic!"

The beauty of Wilderness: A Journal of Quiet Adventure in Alaska is that it can be read and enjoyed without any of this information. But for those who want to study an artist’s journey through the agony and ecstasy of life, the understory of Kent’s Alaska book may be useful. And reading Kathleen’s letters was agony for Kent, as he admits 36 years later in his autobiography. His separation from her and the children and the solitude he had for reflection, perhaps put his affair with Hildegard into perspective – even though through the fall and early winter of 1918, he was still writing the follies girl passionate letters urging her to join him in Alaska. Kent was also urging Kathleen to make that long journey as well. He wanted it all – his wife, his children and his lover – and the dilemma was devouring him. At the end of his “Alaska” chapter in It’s Me O Lord, Kent tells of reading Robinson Crusoe to Rockie at bedtime. They sometimes both sang the song “Daddy” from a songbook, but not often, for it brought tears to their eyes.

To some what follows may seem over the top, dramatic even bathetic. But there’s also an honesty and admission of guilt. I wrote earlier, Kent’s third wife, Sally, said he was a romantic at heart.

DADDY

Words by Mary Mark Lemon. Music by A. H. Behrend.

Take my head on your shoulder. Daddy, turn your face to the west,

It is just the hour when the sky turns gold, the hour that mother loves best.

The day has been long without you, Daddy, you've been such a while away;

And now you're as tired of your work, Daddy, as I am tired of my play.

But I've got you, and you've got me, so ev'rything seems right;

I wonder if mother is thinking of us, because it is my birthday night.

I'm sometimes afraid to think, Daddy, when I am big like you,

And you are old and gray, Daddy, what you and I would do

If, when we got up to Heaven and mother was waiting there,

She shouldn't remember the two she left, so sad and so lonely here;

But year by year still sees no change, and so 'twill all be right,

We shall always meet her in our dreams; Daddy, good-night,

Daddy, good-night; dear Daddy, dear Daddy, good-night, good-night.

Why do your big tears fall, Daddy? Mother's not far away;

I often seem to near her voice falling across my play;

And it sometimes makes me cry, Daddy, to think it's none of it true,

Till I fall asleep, to dream, Daddy, of home and mother and you;

For I've got you, and you've got me, so ev'ry thing may go,

We're all the world to each other, Daddy, for mother,

Dear mother, once told me so.

“I cannot bear it, even now,” Kent ends the chapter. “Of this song, of my despairing loneliness and homesickness to which it gave utterance, I have never before spoken. Yet that loneliness was too present in my otherwise so happy life to be concealed. It was far too poignant to have been occasioned by the mere fact of separation from loved ones at home – even allowing for the deeper realization of my love for Kathleen and of her place in my life which our separation, and hours and weeks of solitary reflection, had brought me. That realization on my part was but the fact of which Kathleen, the power of retribution in her hands, took full and merciless advantage. And the knowledge that by any standard of untampered justice I deserved it could only deepen my agony."

PHOTOS

A lone Steller’s Jay sits atop a snag near the site of Olson’s cabin on Fox Island. In 1918, Black Billed Magpies were abundant on the island. Today, the Steller’s Jay is more common. One also finds a variety of other birds. Capra photo.