For Pat
Pat Hitchcock recently passed away at age 89. It would be difficult to list the endless adventures Pat has had during her long life. Nor would it be possible to relay the hardships endured, or the accomplishments achieved by this woman.
I will always remember Pat with her sleeves rolled up. She was a dreamer, but was one willing to act on her dreams to build a better world.
Her life's trail took her cross country on an Indian Motorcycle and likewise on bicycle. She put in a stint building and promoting hostels throughout the country. She was a caregiver for soldiers in world war II. She attended the Nuremberg trials. She worked alongside her husband in Nepal, studying and recording local culture.
But for many of us, her legacy endures with her local ties to the Mt. Horeb area. In 1996 Pat sold her Springdale farm to the county, which is now part of Donald County Park. The Dane County Parks Department got much more than land in the purchase. Pat would remain the driving force behind the successes of the park until her death. Her tireless work for the park's behalf has established Donald Park as a premier area resource for foot, fin and feather.
Pat Hitchcock also was a Robert Service fan. She requested that I recite the following poem at her service The Wonderer, was one of her favorite Service pieces. It spoke to her sense of curiosity and awe at the world around her. It also spoke of her love of humanity, and the respect she showed to all. I was honored to recite "The Wonderer" for this special person. Pat will be missed!
A video of "The Wonderer" and a few thoughts on Pat is available at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=buRLrkBq4R4
The Wonderer
I wish that I could understand
The moving marvel of my Hand;
I watch my fingers turn and twist,
The supple bending of my wrist,
The dainty touch of finger-tip,
The steel intensity of grip;
A tool of exquisite design,
With pride I think: "It's mine! It's mine!"
Then there's the wonder of my Eyes,
Where hills and houses, seas and skies,
In waves of light converge and pass,
And print themselves as on a glass.
Line, form and color live in me;
I am the Beauty that I see;
Ah! I could write a book of size
About the wonder of my Eyes.
What of the wonder of my Heart,
That plays so faithfully its part?
I hear it running sound and sweet;
It does not seem to miss a beat;
Between the cradle and the grave
It never falters, stanch and brave.
Alas! I wish I had the art
To tell the wonder of my Heart.
Then oh! but how can I explain
The wondrous wonder of my Brain?
That marvelous machine that brings
All consciousness of wonderings;
That lets me from myself leap out
And watch my body walk about;
It's hopeless -- all my words are vain
To tell the wonder of my Brain.
But do not think, O patient friend,
Who reads these stanzas to the end,
That I myself would glorify. . . .
You're just as wonderful as I,
And all Creation in our view
Is quite as marvelous as you.
Come, let us on the sea-shore stand
And wonder at a grain of sand;
And then into the meadow pass
And marvel at a blade of grass;
Or cast our vision high and far
And thrill with wonder at a star;
A host of stars -- night's holy tent
Huge-glittering with wonderment.
If wonder is in great and small,
Then what of Him who made it all?
In eyes and brain and heart and limb
Let's see the wondrous work of Him.
In house and hill and sward and sea,
In bird and beast and flower and tree,
In everything from sun to sod,
The wonder and the awe of God.
--- Robert Service
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