photography from the Chesapeake Bay watershed by Bill Emory
My first time in life in the presence of RSO players without Emma Gray nearby. Violin concerto written by a human from Richmond, Mason Bates, and performed by a violinist
from another planet, Anne Akiko Meyers. Amazing music. One is reminded, not much time on stage, use it.
dew do due Dewberry
My grandfather, mom and grandmother returning to Pamlico Sound via Oregon Inlet. This the day where Pappy
taunted the fish. Inveighed against the fish, as ambassadors of the Sound, for failing to offer him up a real catch.
Shortly thereafter, trolling, he hooked into an Ursus americanus.
EG’s tribe gathered, from Rhode Island, Pennsylvania, Washington State, Florida, Mexico, Massachusetts, Kentucky, Illinois,
from Fredericksburg, Charlottesville, Richmond, Warrenton, Marshall, Brooklyn, from the other side. Very sweet couple of days.
Train whistles, crows, a bluff over the James River, special grave dirt, wonderful clergy,
cellist from the Richmond Symphony.
Emma read a poem. Gary and Sam spoke to EG’s character, Ned, Weezie and Scott read from the Bible.
A MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTER
What will you take from me
For your wayfaring?
What shall I have to give
You would be sharing?
When you are lonely,
Travelling long,
When your feet falter
You will need song.
Music to march by,
Silver and gold,
Fire for warming you
If it be cold;
These things will comfort you,
Carry you far
On the road you are going.
But if a star
Tempt you to follow,
Wings will be needed,
Wings for your flying,
Strong, unimpeded.
These I have fashioned
From pinions of light,
Caught as they fell
From a swift bird in flight.
I give you for courage
A light heart that sings,
And I who have never flown,
Give you my wings.–Emma Gray Trigg
Jim Orr edits images for Emma Gray Trigg Emory’s slideshow
one of the chromes. 1968.
EMMA GRAY TRIGG
RlCHMOND, VIRGINIA
Twelve Years
Christmas Play, ’37; Posture Committee, ’38;
The Piper, ’38; Board of Publications, ’38, ’39,
’40; Library Tea, ’39; Arcade Committee, ’39;
Library Committee, ’40; Head of George Washington
Ball, ’40; Senior Play, ’40; Glee Club, ’40;
Enjoys punning at its best
Musician
Must have tennis
And she “swims with a vim”
Great amount of common sense
Regards life in proportion
Alert
Yarns galore
Tries harmony to any tune
Rarely perturbed
Interested in the arts
Gracious
Generally going to Casanova
Deep Snow
The dead might wake into a world like this,
And know its white lost ecstasy their own.
I am a stranger wearing flesh and bone,
Peering beyond my dusty chrysalis.
No scent or sound invades the integrity
Of peace beneath the ermined thatch of pine.
Nor whir of wing, nor quick heart-beat of mine
Shall spill the cradled silence from a tree.
No God of Sinai shatters the timeless pause
With “Thou shalt not.”
But from each holy bush
Love speaks, articulate in this white hush.
Here life and death may meet, obeying new laws,
And mingling as easily as flake with flake.
Into a world like this the dead might wake.–Emma Gray Trigg
HISTORICAL BACKGROUND
The congregation of St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church was officially organized in 1911
under the guidance of Rev. Zebulon S. Farland. That same year a simple brick chapel was
erected near the end of Grove Avenue to house the group. As the neighborhood near the
church grew, so did the congregation; thus in 1921 planning for a larger structure was
underway. A lot west of the chapel, at the corner of Grove Avenue and Three Chopt Road,
was purchased. The same year Rev. Giles B. Palmer assumed the duties of rector , which
included overseeing the construction of a new building.–VADHR
This the place where my mother’s memorial service will be held February 22, 2014.