Yet again, my goal to post more often has not come to pass! It’s been many months since my last entry. One reason is that my father passed away in December 2023, and I have been preoccupied with grief and busy with being the co-executor of his estate. In preparing our family home for sale, I have had to go through so many mementos and photos. Some of them bring back memories of my childhood and youth, and others are from before I was even born. It is a strange feeling to look at snapshots of the life of relatives you never knew, or those you only knew when they were older.
One thing that has been really interesting for me is an album that my maternal great grandparents on my grandfather, John Farr’s, side put together. I love looking at old photos, and it’s been very special seeing shots of my grandfather and his siblings as babies, children, teens, and young adults. I’d seen some of the photos of my grandfather before, but many of these photos are new to me. There are people I recognize, and there are others who remain a mystery, as some of the photos are not labeled, and all who knew those pictured in the oldest photos are long gone. I already had some gems from my maternal great grandparents on my grandmother, Sally Davis Farr’s, side and have loved looking through them.
I recently shared a few photos on social media of my great grandparents on their wedding day and around the time they got married. Several people commented that they were surprised to see my great grandparents being affectionate in the photos–perhaps they had only seen photos in which everyone looked serious, or even dour. It is sweet and somehow comforting to see displays of affection or silliness in historic photos. I will share a few of my family favorites here.
Late 1800s/early 1900s: My maternal great grandparents, Wally Davis (top center) and Mattie Davis (on steps behind man with arm raised) goofing around with friends, probably in Wilkes-Barre, PA.Late 1800s/early 1900s: My maternal great grandparents, Wally Davis (top center) and Mattie Davis (on steps facing camera) goofing around with friends, probably in Wilkes-Barre, PA.
Late 1800s/early 1900s: My maternal great grandparents, Wally Davis (far right sitting in barrel) and Mattie Davis (front, center, facing camera) goofing around with friends, probably in Wilkes-Barre, PA.
Late 1800s: An unknown woman with a child who may be my great aunt Jean with a puppy, probably in Wilkes-Barre, PA.
1902: My great grandfather, Edward Farr, kisses his new wife, Sara Rae Morris Farr, on the cheek. They are probably on the Farr family farm in Forkston, PA.1902: My great grandfather, Edward Farr, and his new wife, Sara Rae Morris Farr, holding hands. They are probably on the Farr family farm in Forkston, PA.
1910: My grandmother Sally Davis (Farr) with dog, probably in Wilkes-Barre, PA.
Around 1912: My grandfather John Farr with friend Claire McKown. My grandfather looks pouty because he wanted a bicycle, not a tricycle! Tunkhannock, PA.
Around 1920: Grandmother Sally Davis (Farr) in a canoe on Lake Carey, PA.
I’ve been visiting the Morris Arboretum & Gardens in the bucolic Chestnut Hill neighborhood of Philadelphia pretty often, having bought an annual membership. Not only is is a beautiful and historic arboretum, but the brother and sister who founded it, John Thompson Morris (1847-1915) and Lydia Thompson Morris (1849-1932), were first cousins to my great great grandfather, James Wilson Morris, so I have a family connection. The Morris Arboretum is also the official arboretum of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.
My great great grandfather, James Morris, 1888
Lydia Morris on the porch of Compton (the Morris’ home) with dog, around 1890. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
John Morris, around 1880. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
The Morris Arboretum & Gardens began as Compton, the private estate of the siblings. John and Lydia had purchased farmland in the Chestnut Hill area of Philadelphia in 1887 and began planning a garden that would combine art and science and preserve various trees, flowers, and other flora.
Compton in the 1930s. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
The land was initially barren, with many steep slopes. From the beginning, John and Lydia shared a vision for Compton to become a public garden and educational institution one day. Over time, the siblings bought adjacent parcels, including the farm across the street, improved the land, and planted collections of exotic and native trees and shrubs from across the temperate world. They also had walls and other features built and added statuary. They traveled a lot and often were inspired by gardens they visited. John was interested in growing plants from China, including those collected by British plant collector E. H. Wilson around 1900, and many of the plants currently in the arboretum date to Morris’ original plantings.
John Morris in Flower Walk Trellis, late 1880s. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
John and Lydia Morris by the Love Temple on Swan Pond, 1908. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
Swan Pond with Love Temple, 2023. Photo by Blair Davis.
In addition to all the plants, John added some outbuildings and several distinctive structures to the grounds, including the fernery (now the only remaining freestanding Victorian fernery in North America), a log cabin built as a private retreat for Lydia, and the Mercury Loggia, constructed in 1913 to commemorate the Morrises’ 25th anniversary at Compton. There was also an old springhouse that was there when John and Lydia had purchased the property.
Log Cabin, 1911. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
The Log Cabin in 2023. Photo by Blair Davis.
Workmen laying rocks in Ravine Garden with the Loggia in the background, 1913. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
The Mercury Loggia in 2023. Photo by Blair Davis.
Inside the fernery, 2023. Photo by Blair Davis.
John died in 1915, leaving the estate in trust to Lydia. The plan was for Compton to eventually become a botanical garden and school for horticulturists. Lydia continued to cultivate the grounds until her death in 1932, when she bequeathed the property to the University of Pennsylvania. From then on, it was known as the Morris Arboretum of the University of Pennsylvania. The Compton house was used as a research center for many years, but after it began to deteriorate, it was demolished in 1968.
The Morris contains more than 11,000 labeled plants from temperate regions of North America, Asia, and Europe, with a primary focus on Asia. The Morris has identified 17 trees in its collection as outstanding specimens, including a massive katsura tree and a grove of redwoods. Newer additions include a miniature railroad and the Tree Adventure exhibit, which includes the Tree Canopy Walk, a giant bird nest, and a net platform. In 2023, the arboretum changed its name to the Morris Arboretum & Gardens to honor its renewed focus on colorful flower gardens as well as trees. If you haven’t visited, you should!
My parents with a statue of Lydia Morris, 1990.
Me with statues of Lydia and John Morris, 2021.
John Tonkin (head gardener from 1913-1975), with his daughter, Margaret Tonkin Medlar, and wife, Margaret Williams Tonkin, by the Love Temple, 1919. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
Swan seen through Love Temple, 2023. Photo by Blair Davis.
A week or two ago, one of my therapy clients was talking about regrets related to her late mother, which of course stirred up memories and feelings for me about my mom, who died from complications of cancer in 2020. After that therapy session and a few other coincidental things that were bringing up grief for me, I suddenly realized that I may have old voicemails from my mother in my phone. I am not sure what prevented me from realizing that prior to recently, but I immediately started searching in my phone, and sure enough, there were a few messages from her in my “Deleted Messages” folder.
Because I hadn’t realized the voicemails were still there (I regularly delete messages and didn’t know they were still stored in “Deleted Messages”), I hadn’t heard them since my mother left them in 2018, 2019, and 2020. I listened to a couple and was flooded by sadness, grief, and longing to talk to my mom again. One message in particular, from New Year’s Eve 2019, was so painful to hear, as in it my mom said “2020 sounds pretty good.” She had said similar things a few times around the end of 2019 and the beginning of 2020, as the prior year had been challenging due to her declining health, contentious U.S. politics, and other things, and she was optimistic that 2020 would be better. Little did she know that 2020 would bring the COVID pandemic and her further decline and death from multiple myeloma. It was one of the worst years ever for our family.
My mother, Penny Davis, at the bed and breakfast where she and my father spent every New Year’s Eve. This was taken on December 31, 2019, my mother’s last New Year’s. It was also the day she left me a voicemail expressing her optimism for 2020.
I often think of my mother and wish I could call her, but hearing her voice in those messages was so powerful. It took me right back to the moments when she left the voicemails, bringing up memories of small day-to-day things and “bigger” events, both good and bad. It got me thinking about how profoundly sound can trigger emotions.
A Little Science
There are a few reasons auditory stimuli are emotionally evocative. One is that the human brainstem is hardwired to respond to certain sounds for survival reasons–think of the jolt of fear you get when you hear a crash in the middle of the night that wakes you from a sound sleep. So, sounds can trigger fear, anger, love, and other strong feelings that can help us react.
Another reason is that we have “mirror neurons,” brain cells that are activated both when we perform a task (e.g., talking about something personal while tearing up) and when we observe someone else performing the same task (e.g., seeing someone else cry while telling us something). Mirror neurons allow us to feel emotionally connected to others.
Additionally, the ways in which our brain stores memories create this strong connection between sound and feeling. We are conditioned to associate certain sounds with certain times in our lives. Also, one type of memory called “episodic memory,” which has to do with long-term memories about specific experiences we’ve had, is often vivid and emotional, allowing us to re-experience things we’ve done. The hippocampus, a part of the brain, is involved in storing, processing, and retrieving long-term factual and spatial memories, and it is also a part of the limbic system, which controls our emotions and our fight-flight-freeze reactions.
Reflecting on Sound and Grief
It’s so interesting–and sometimes very difficult–how sounds and other stimuli can trigger strong feelings and grief. Anyone who has lost a loved one knows that a seemingly innocuous or trivial activity, like watching a rerun of a TV show that has nothing overtly to do with the person we’ve lost, can cause us to be flooded with emotion: We suddenly remember watching the show with our lost loved one, or someone in the show is wearing a sweater that reminds us of the person. Given that unrelated stimuli can bring strong feelings, I guess it should be no surprise that hearing my mother’s voice and particularly listening to messages she left in the last 8 months of her life would stir up a ton.
So, I’m sitting tenderly with my emotions and memories and have tried to give myself time to listen to the messages again when I was feeling more prepared. Be kind and gentle with yourself if you are also experiencing grief and missing someone close to you. My heart is with you if you are holding grief, too.
Every so often (more now that I am getting older), I feel a twinge of …. something … when I think of the past. Maybe it’s when I’m thinking of an old flame, remembering an experience from childhood, or reminiscing about a carefree moment in my 20s: Along with the memory comes a feeling that is akin to emotional pain. Yet, it’s not altogether unpleasant–there is happiness mixed with the sadness. This is nostalgia.
My dad and me, 1968.
What Is Nostalgia?
According to Wikipedia, the word nostalgia comes from a Greek compound of nóstos (homecoming) and álgos (pain or ache) and was coined by a 17th-century medical student to describe a psychological disorder displayed by Swiss mercenaries at war away from home. At that time, nostalgia was considered a serious and even possibly fatal (due to suicide) form of extreme homesickness. It was seen as a form of melancholy, a term used to define what we now call clinical depression.
Family holiday gathering, 1973.
Nostalgia is not just the act of remembering the past, it also involves yearning for it. The yearning can feel both “positive” and “negative,” although I don’t like to label emotions in this way.
As I said, I have noticed that I experience nostalgia more often now that I am in my 50s than I did when I was younger. It seems that nostalgia is a condition more common in older age–it’s rarer for children, teens, and young adults to wish to go back to an earlier time in their lives than it is for older people. This makes sense, as we begin to experience the physical decline of aging and often must take on more responsibility (e.g., career, family) as we age so may look back on our younger, stronger, healthier, and perhaps more carefree selves.
What Is Nostalgia For?
One of the aspects of nostalgia I have noticed is that it has a physical sensation to it–it’s not just emotional or cognitive. I feel it most in my chest and stomach. It’s hard to define specifically, but it’s similar to a sad feeling one might get watching an emotional movie. So, it definitely has a flavor of sorrow, but it also feels sort of good. And, in fact, the current view on nostalgia is that it has some emotional and cognitive benefits: some psychological experts feel that experiencing nostalgia can improve mood, increase social connectedness, enhance positive self-regard, promote self-growth, and provide existential meaning.
Decorating the tree on Christmas Eve, 1989, with my mom.
However, some nostalgia can be personally or socially harmful. A negative form of nostalgia is having an overly romantic and idealized view of the past; for example, some Americans consider the 40s and 50s “the good old days” because the economy was strong and many middle-class white families were doing well. However, this sort of nostalgia is a form of denial, overlooking the fact that this time in U.S. history also involved the social oppression of and barriers to people of color, women, and many others. It can also be a form of privilege or insular thinking–only looking at one’s own past in a bubble and not in the context of larger society.
Being blind to the layers of the past hinders us from moving forward and improving our social systems. And using denial and avoidance of our own difficult past experiences or emotions can result in unresolved feelings and emotional numbing or stunting.
NostalgiaTriggers
I felt some nostalgia this holiday season, the first since my mother’s death and the first I have not spent back East with family, due to COVID making travel risky. I’ve also had some strong nostalgic feelings when looking at old photos, hearing old songs, or thinking about past fun times and trips. It’s such a strange mix of feelings.
Tahiti vacation with BFFs Laurie and Cathy in 1996.
Certain smells and songs can be powerful nostalgia triggers. One reason smell is so evocative is that it’s the sense with the most direct path into the brain. Also, the region of the brain that processes smell is closely connected to the regions that are involved with memory and emotion, the hippocampus and amygdala.
And I’m sure we’ve all had the experience of music waking up strong, vivid memories. Various studies in the late 2000s and early 2010s found that listening to music engages broad neural networks in the brain, including brain regions responsible for motor movement, emotions, and creativity. Like the brain regions responsible for smell, those processing music are connected to the areas involved with feelings and memory.
Summer fun with friends Rachel, Mia, and Vanessa, 2001, in Philadelphia.
Looking Ahead
Today is New Year’s Day 2021, the start of a (hopefully) better year after a very painful, challenging, and anxiety-provoking 2020. It’s a natural time to reflect on the past as well as look to the future. Today, I’ve been feeling a little nostalgic about my mom, about all the things I used to enjoy doing that were not possible or had to be seriously altered in 2020 (e.g., getting together with friends or family, going to restaurants or bars, seeing live performances, visiting museums and galleries, traveling), and about other memories. Allowing ourselves to feel nostalgia and to reflect is important. In addition to the benefits nostalgia can bring our minds and hearts, reflection gives us the chance to take stock and decide what we want to carry with us into a new year and what we want to let go of or alter.
In San Diego with cousins Jill and Elizabeth, 2010.
Wishing all a happy New Year and a better year ahead!
‘Tis a fearful thing to love what death can touch. A fearful thing to love, to hope, to dream, to be– to be, And oh, to lose. A thing for fools, this, And a holy thing, a holy thing to love. For your life has lived in me, your laugh once lifted me, your word was gift to me. To remember this brings painful joy. ‘Tis a human thing, love, a holy thing, to love what death has touched.
In memory of my mother, Martha “Penny” Davis, born September 1940 and died September 2020.
