I’ve always loved this painting.
It was in my grandfather’s house; my father remembered it hanging in his bedroom when he was growing up. At some point, my father inherited it from his parents, and I from him.
It’s on the west wall of my guest bedroom; the light yellow walls pick up the soft greens and yellows and browns of the grasses and fall leaves; the mountains rise high in the background—strong gray and blue under a pale sky.
I’m pretty sure it’s someplace in New Hampshire—the mountains look right to me (for those of you who don’t know, the mountains in New Hampshire have a particular shape and heft, a sense of self that’s unmistakable).
Elizabeth Della Richardson was born in (English) Canada in 1887; by 1910, she was a naturalized citizen, married to my great-great uncle Melvin W. Gould, Jr. living in Manchester, NH, first in a rented house, but soon in a house they owned on Maple Street. Elizabeth’s mother, a widow, lived with them.
Melvin was a foreman in a shoe factory—a good job for a man who had only one year of high school education; Elizabeth, a college graduate, was “at home.”
And while “at home,” she painted.