Scott’s dad passed away January 31st. My father-in-law was a formidable man just shy of 98 years old. Jerry Morgan was known as a titan in the furniture industry. His wife Elaine had gone four months ahead of him, also 97. Sadly, Scott’s sister Lindy and mother Ginny also departed within the ten years since Scott did. During our year in Goa, Jerry stood by us making sure that Scott and I would not have to worry about how the hotel bills would be paid for. He showered me with his fatherly love and gifts when I returned home from India. And, Jerry was the primary benefactor of the Scott Morgan Design Scholarship. For all of that generosity I will remain forever grateful to him. He will be missed.

The Scott & Katy love story began 18 years ago, half a year before we found this farm in Maine together. One of the things that drew Scott and I to this place was the magnificent ancient pine tree that has stood guard over the art studio and farmhouse for many decades. I found out this big ol’ pine tree was dying a few days before my father-in-law passed away. To me this was significant partly because when my own dad died we lost his favorite birch tree that he’d planted 18 years before. I’ve been taught that the Iroquois First Nations people say “Our great tree has fallen” when a venerable person dies. This resonates for me: two Dads gone, two trees have fallen.

In January we had several severe wind and ice storms resulting in large fallen limbs smashing onto the Art By Katy Gallery roof. One branch actually punctured a big hole in the roof, others hit the ground and pierced it so hard they stood upright like spears. I knew the tree was a danger and hoped it could be saved. Three different tree guys gave me the same diagnosis: the evidence under the bark at the base of the tree proved the tree was dying and must come down. So, tears flowed this morning before Meadowsweet Tree & Landscaping arrived to remove my grandfather pine. Scott’s birthday came and went last week as I prepared for letting go of this tree. I’m not sure I’m doing it right, but, upon inspection of the sawed trunk I counted 62 rings. One ring for every year of Scott’s life. Our great tree has fallen.