Death of a Sibling

Dipping Our Toes into the Bouquet River With a Juvenile Great Blue Heron

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Last September (2024), we were hot and sticky after putting in a rather large perineal flower bed around two sides of our little 1889 farmhouse.  It was too late to go for a paddle on the lake, so Kevin suggested we drive up the road to Jersey Street and wade and sit in the Boquet river.  This stretch of the river is ideal for wading or sitting in chest high water as it flows and cascades over layer upon layer of granite slabs and shelves. You can be in 3 inches or 3 feet simply by choosing which slab or pool you wish to enjoy. The water is clean: the Boquet River Association says, it’s the cleanest river in New York state.

According to the Nature Conservancy, New York’s 47-mile Boquet River is a major tributary to Lake Champlain, which provides world-class recreational fishing and supports verdant land for farming. It’s also the state’s steepest river, with a vertical drop of over 2,700 feet from its source on Dix Mountain to where it empties into Lake Champlain in Willsboro. The river is thought to have been re-named Boquet by the 17th century French interpreter and explorer, Charles Boquet. Sadly, the native name has been lost to history.

We were the only ones there when suddenly and quietly; a young Great Blue Heron landed just 8 feet from where we are sitting. We froze. Herons are shy birds and do not get close to humans. She was about 2 feet high, very thin and thinly feathered as if she hadn’t quite grown into her adult splendor. Her feathers were light blueish grey, her legs also greyish. Her medieval/renaissance sword-like beak about 6 – 8 inches long.

The great blue heron is my totem/talisman. Whenever something important or especially meaningful has happened or is happening in my life, a great blue heron always seems to show up – flying overhead or standing nearby. I always think of these sightings as positive, a kind of supporting affirmation and connection for whatever experience I am facing. I call them my Great Blue Heron days.

We were sitting on a shelf with overflowing water, our legs and feet over the edge, enjoying the feel of cascading water flowing over them.  The heron stood there looking up and down stream and then she looked directly at each of us – one at a time. She did not blink or appear to be frightened in any way. It was as if she were our pet, along for a cool – down herself. A day by the river side, a lazy swim in the riffles.

She did not move about as if to hunt: Great Blue herons eat fish. But she did do something so marvelously unexpected, we had to hold our breath, so we didn’t gasp or laugh and frighten her away. She picked up her left foot, squeezed her toes together and dangled them over the edge of our little waterfall. She dipped in and out of the water, touching it lightly, then holding her foot in the water for seconds at a time. She seemed delighted with the feel of the flowing water cascading over her toes and foot. She turned her foot this way and that, testing which way the water felt best. Every so often, she would gaze at us (her eyes are on the side of her head). She did this for several minutes.

Then just as suddenly and quietly as she’d arrived, she flew up and left for better fishing in the deeper pools farther downstream. We could see her, but she completely ignored us as she busily concentrated on the flow in front of her. She stayed there until we left 10 minutes later. And she was still there as we drove our car over the bridge back towards our home.

It is 17 months since my sister, Evie’s death, and I am still very much in mourning. Sitting and wading in the Bouquet brought back memories of Evie and her family playing with us in the Bouquet river at Split Rock Falls and up on the Bouquet’s north branch at Shoe Box Falls. Both of our families whooped and jumped and splashed together on two perfect blue sky Adirondack summer days. The joy of water and laughter and sliding down rock slabs – so cooling after our trudge into Shoe Box. The exhilaratingly ice-cold water at the base of Split Rock made for squeals of delight and blue chattering lips. My sister so young and full of energy. I could not imagine that several years later she would become sick and then die of metastatic breast cancer. She was a super active positive woman who like the steep, fleeting Bouquet river covered a lot of ground in her brief time here. I deeply miss her and think about her every single day.

So, on this Great Blue heron day, I wanted to believe that this young heron’s visit was a sign from Evie, an unexpected visit in a place that I love – the watery Adirondacks. I think of Evie and me sitting side by side on other rivers and streams enjoying the tactile pleasure of water flowing over rocks and over us. We both loved that. Then I think about how this river water journeys on and on: different water but the same journey – just like my sense of my sister. She is here just not the same kind of here as before.

My Sister, Evie

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Evie and I at Big Bass Lake, PA Summer 2008

My name is Katie Hearn, and I’m Evie’s older sister. We were born 11 years apart, so she was like my first real-life baby.

Erik has spoken about Evie as a grown woman, wife, mother, entrepreneur, and world traveler. I’m going to talk about Evie as a child and a young adult.

As I mentioned, I thought of Evie as my baby. I took care of her, played with her and sometimes took her to the grocery store. One day, our mother asked me to pick up some groceries and would I take Evie along. I was 16, and she was 5.

Evie sat in the grocery cart’s child seat, which was right up front. As we went up and down the aisles, Evie and I chatted. Evie loved to go to the grocery store.

When we got to the check-out lines which were very crowded, she noticed candy bars on the shelf nearby and immediately asked for one. I said, no.  I would have gotten in trouble with my mom for that purchase. My mother was a 1960’s health food fanatic.

As I began putting the lettuce, tomatoes, string beans and carrots on the counter, Evie, said distinctly and loudly, “Mommy, can we get some milk? We never have milk. Please.”

I turned and scowled at her, saying, I’m not your mother.” And she retorted again more loudly, “Yes, you are, Mommy. You always say that. You are my mother.”

The check-out woman looked at me with total disgust; the other women in lines all around us were giving me looks of great disapproval. I could feel them thinking – ‘Another teenage mother who doesn’t know how to take care of her child.

And – even denies being her mother.’

I hustled out of the grocery as quickly as I could, taking Evie by the hand and scolding her as we walked across the parking lot to our car. When we arrived home a few minutes later, I stormed into the house, a furious, embarrassed teenager, calling “Mom, Mom, Evie called me mommy in the grocery store check-out line, and everyone stared and gave me dirty looks. And then when I said, I’m not your mother, she called out louder that I always say I’m not her mother when I really am. I’m never taking her to the store again!! Never! But I did — a few weeks later. And she didn’t call me Mommy, and I bought her a chocolate bar. We didn’t tell our mother.

As you all know, Evie is/was a beautiful strong, joyful person who loved life and people. She was funny, she was kind, generous, brave, and an amazing problem solver. She was also charming and resolute when faced with challenges.

When we were on a sisters-only trip to Tuscany and Umbria in the 1990’s, we got lost everywhere we tried to go in our rental car. We often stopped to ask for directions in our few horrific words of Italian. The person always smiled and answered in fast paced Italian using their arms and pointing this way or that. And we looked back at them with faces of complete comprehension. We were great actors. As we drove off, we’d turned to one another and asked, “Did you understand what they said?’’ Then we’d burst out laughing, saying at the same time, “NO, not one word.”

One day, we ended up at the entrance to a toll road, a row of toll booths straight ahead. Oh no, we knew this was very wrong. I was driving.

Evie, said, “Make a U turn.” I said, “But there’s a police officer in the middle. I can’t do that.”  “Sure, you can,” Evie said, “Just go.”

 So, I did. And immediately the policeman stopped us. He walked over to the car and told us quite forcefully in Italian that we may NOT turn around.  Evie leaned over me. I was afraid. In the US, you don’t confront the police.

Evie looked straight into the policeman’s face and said very assertively, ‘We must turn around. We must.”

 The policeman kept saying ‘No”, and many other words besides. And Evie leaning across me kept saying over and over, “We must turn around!”

 After 4 or 5 back and forths, the policeman suddenly changed his tone, smiled and waved us on to make the U turn. I was shocked. This would never happen at home. Evie looked at me and said, “You can’t give up. If you keep saying it long enough, they give in.”

So here we are today, celebrating dear Evie’s glorious life. She was my baby, my friend, my confidante, my sister, my model of courage and perseverance, and my partner in laughter. She has flown, and we are here saying, we will miss you sorely.