Where The Fish Are Always Risin'

Five years ago today...

2010-02-14T09:08:00.006-05:00

Five years has a way of putting things in perspective. The anguish is gone. Good memories have taken its place. This is a day as much about celebrating as it is remembering.

In the last week or so I have been keenly focused on trying step inside of my brother's shoes, to fully walk in the place that he might have been before he took his life on Valentine's Day in 2005. It took a concerted and daily effort to look above my own selfish interests and worries, and put my head into the place that Jeff might have been, leading up to the evening of Valentine's Day in 2005.

Only the week before, we had expected Jeff to arrive for a couple days of skiing. I had his tele boots fixed at a local shop, and picked them up that very morning. I placed them in our entry-way, ready for a couple days out on the slopes. Our family, still settling from the loss of my dad three months before, and having moved from Massachusetts to our new home on Mount Surprise Road, were ready for THE MAN to pay a visit and lighten up the dark of winter.

Splitting wood in the driveway that day I heard a truck pulling up. And, in the way brothers or friends might do, I wielded the axe over my head and paced toward the truck pretending I was going to lay a chop over the windshield...imagine the surprise of the roofer pulling up to have a look at our roof.

In the five years that have passed since losing Jeff, I've come to understand that somewhere deep inside of him was a black loneliness, a loneliness that seemed so impossible to surmount that death seemed its only reprieve.

Try as I did, I found it impossible to step inside of his shoes. But, having tried so, I kept being brought back to the insignificance of my day-to-day worries about mortgages and children and work.

Happiness has risen up out of this...

I think of Jeff every time I hear the Carole King song, So Far Away. So much time passed between us, doing our own things, going after dreams and ambitions, going in different directions. We once mused that we'd be the two old men sitting on a porch, drinking beer and watching the world pass us by, after everyone else had died and gone.

Five years bro: It would be so fine to see your face at my door.

Your ski boots are right where I left 'em...

Funny, random things make you remember...

2008-07-22T12:27:00.008-04:00

It was kind of like driving around with someone who was about to die. You wanted that 'last drive' to be a memorable one, full of reflection and peacefulness. On Monday I drove Kristin's 1994 Toyota Carolla wagon up and over the Kancamagus Highway on its 'last drive'. We were trading it in for cash value on new rig, and I'd soon be returning back up and over the Kanc in a 2004 Volvo S60. There's a faster way to get where I was going. But, that nice little car deserved a beautiful last drive, where we could commune and reflect.

There were rainclouds about, but it was a beautiful day. The mountains were clouded in mist, and the setting perfect for that faithful and reliable little rig. I'd just cut the deployed air bags out, so it didn't look quite as pretty. Ascending up the winding roads I hear Roy P, the Skiing DJ on WMWV radio in North Conway, announce that he was going to play "The Cars!"

First song comes on, You're All I Got Tonight. Hmm, I think, Jeff and I loved that album. We played it a hundred times together. At least. Memories start to filter back in after a crazy week of work, family and summertimes. That song comes to its end and I sing to myself the opening sounds of the next song, which is one of my favorite ALL TIME SONGS: Bye Bye Love. Lo and behold, that song starts playing.

Okay now, the memories are really flying about Jeff and I. I can see us putting the album (yes, the album) on his turntable and making the tape of it for his car. Then that song starts, Jeff at the wheel, a six pack in a brown paper bag on my lap, I open the first beers with a bottle opener he keeps in the console between the seats. Listen to that Jeff, the way the words hammer out:

I can't feel this way much longer
expecting to survive
with all these hidden innuendos
just waiting to arrive
it's such a wavy midnight
and you slip into insane
electric angel rock and roller
I hear what you're playin'

Alright, I admit, the tears started to flow a bit. It's been a big few months for us in the Pollard homestead, busy times...so, that would explain the tears, right?

Then, that song ends, and we know the next song by heart. It starts playing, Moving In Stereo:

Its so easy to blow up your problems
Its so easy to play up your breakdown
Its so easy to fly through a window
Its so easy to fool with the sound

Its so tough to get up
Its so tough
Its so tough to live up
Its so tough on you

Alright now, an occasional sob breaks through the clouds. My hands grip the wheel tightly. The drive is sublime, because I'm with Jeff. The higher up I go on the Kanc the radio station starts to static. I'm losing the signal right during Moving In Stereo...

That's the way I've felt about Jeff for the last few months...like I can't quite hear him. I've been trying to listen real hard. I need that male-peer-brother-mentor-bestfriend-soulmate aspect back in my life. We're moving in stereo, but every time I crook my head to listen closely all I can hear is static.

Jeff, listen, you know the next song? All Mixed Up, the last song on the album. I can barely drive when I hear it (I'm changing the 'she' to'he'):

it's all mixed up
it's all mixed up
it's all mixed up

he says to leave it to me
everything'll be alright
(be alright)

he says to leave it to me, yeah
everything'll be alright
(be alright)

if you leave it to me
everything'll be alright
(be alright)

yeah, if you leave it to me
(leave it to me)
(be alright)
(be alright)
(be alright)
(be alright)

To wrap this all up, I hearken to the beginning of that same Cars album. Let The Good Times Roll starts it off. But, herein, I end it with that song. The visceral response to hearing those Cars songs in the car was the closest contact I've felt with Jeff in over a year. Driving in the car, listening to The Cars with Jeff, for the one-hundred-and-first time. At least...

Let The Good Times Roll:

Let the stories be told
They can say what they want
Let the photos be old
Let them show what they want

Let them leave you up in the air
Let them brush your rock and roll hair
Let the good times roll
Let the good times roll-oll
Wont you let the good times roll

3rd Anniversary

2008-02-15T13:27:00.004-05:00

Uncle Jeff with Will, Dec '97

On the anniversary of learning about Jeff's passing, February 15, here is a note from Carrie and Sal, written on Valentine's Day:

CARRIE:
This morning during yoga I shed some tears of sorrow for Jeff that he wasn’t able to find total contentment in this life. I also offered my morning prayer to him:

May you feel protected and safe.
May you feel contented and pleased.
May your soul protect you in strength.
May your life unfold smoothly and with ease.

I know that he is in a better place right now. I hope we all are able to find ways to feel protected and contented, to build strength, and to cultivate a smoother, easier life.
-Carrie

SAL:
I kept two messages from cards that were sent

May I dwell in the heart.
May I be free from suffering.
May I be healed.
May I be at peace.

Hold onto what is good,
even if it is a handful of earth.
Hold onto what you believe,
even if it is a tree that stands by itself.
Hold onto life,
even if it is easier letting go.
Hold onto my hand,
even when I have gone away from you.
Pueblo Benediction.

It's hard to add to that. Be well Jeff and Dad. May you find peace and contentment.

Thom, Carrie and Sal

September 15th, 2007 - Wood Monsters!

2007-09-15T13:51:00.000-04:00

A few mornings ago Sam (6 years old) awoke to recall a dream where everything had turned to wood. Two wood monsters were coming to 'get him'. Before the wood monsters got too close "Dad's brother" came and fought them away, saving Sam from irreparable harm. The substance of dream or some kind of astral travel, Jeff made his presence known to a little boy with precious few - if any - memories of him. When Jeff died Sam was not even four years old. Now, this fresh memory of Uncle Jeff came just at the right time.

Thanks Jeff for saving Sam from the wood monsters. We're thankful that you've found the time to vanquish the real or imagined enemies of your nephew's dreams.

To recognize the anniversay of what would be Jeff's 53rd birthday today, I wanted to post one of his poems. To Jeff and Dad, we love you and miss you more than words can express.

LETTING GO

I have been told, and I believe, that humanity is an assertion of character
so I struggle to stay true
to who I am

I was once hurt
it was winter, it seemed endless
never in my life had I felt so near
to that porous line where my
own body was done with

I will swear that spring saved me
the sun, the leaping winds
each day as I walked
the earth remembered me

whispering waterfalls of change
the slow pouring of rainbows
the fragrance of prairie spring
long delicious moments of light

this is a poem about the world
that is ours – or could be
about how you travel inward
how you learn to kneel down
how you learn to pray

what I want in my life
is to be willing to be awed
to be able cast aside the past
to be fully in the present

to be in love with what is
and maybe, maybe, even
to rise above the difficulties
and believe I am looking
into a wonderful mystery

I want to love again
the mystery, the rivers, mountains
to love what is mortal
to hold it

against all reason knowing
that life depends on it
and when the time comes to let go
only then, to let it go.

-Jeff Pollard

Above photo: The Moose's Tooth, above the Ruth Gorge, Alaska
Taken by Thom Pollard in 2001

Fish On! - Discovery Rangers of Bath, Maine

2007-03-28T11:43:00.000-04:00

The Jeff Pollard Memorial Fund would like to announce our support to the Ranger Kids (5-8 years of age) and Discovery Rangers (8-18 yrs) of Bath, Maine. This small community program helps each child grow physically, spiritually, mentally and socially. This opportunity, of course, wouldn't be possible if not for the leadership and dedication of volunteers in the community. Learning that some of the boys have never fished before, Sal suggested to a group leader that we'd like to make a donation for the purchase of fishing equipment and supplies.

We believe that Jeff would wholeheartedly support such a great endeavor, (even if it isn't flyfishing!). To the Ranger Kids and Discovery Rangers, we wish you the best of luck and hope that you get a nibble on the first cast! We also wish you the very best in all of your endeavors.

Additionally, the Jeff Pollard Memorial Fund is currently developing a mentoring program in the Mount Washington Valley of New Hampshire to teach children how to fly-fish. Working with individuals and organizations in the area, we hope to bring together a variety of youths from different social backgrounds and needs. Our goal isn't so much landing a lunker as it is that they will discover the peacefulness of a rushing stream, the pull of a brook trout, the overall calming nature of fly-fishing. In the process, we hope to offer the kids positive social activities in a safe and supportive atmosphere. If you have any suggestions or would like to make a donation to this program, please contact me at: panguich.flyfish@yahoo.com.

In the last few months we've received some very generous donations to the fund, and reconnected with some of Jeff's old friends at the same time. Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, to Jeff's close friends from Parson's School of Design. You're keeping his memory alive. And, your contributions are going to a good cause.

With many thanks,
Sal, Carrie and Thom

Bench Dedication in Montana

2006-08-28T12:06:00.000-04:00

On Saturday August 19, 2006 a small gathering of family and friends dedicated a granite bench to the memory of Jeff Pollard at the Mallard's Rest put-in, along the Yellowstone River just south of Livingston, Montana. It would be an understatement to say Jeff loved flyfishing. This put-in, within sight of Jeff's property, was one of his favorites, and is used by hundreds of fisherman and boaters as a place to launch their boats. It's fitting that we place this bench at Mallard's Rest. Last year we sprinkled some of Jeff's ashes - along with some of my dad's - a mile from the view of this bench, at one of Jeff's best fishing spots.

DEDICATED IN MEMORY OF JEFFREY D. POLLARD
Sept. 15, 1954 - Feb. 15, 2005

HE LOVED THE YELLOWSTONE
ITS PEACE
ITS SIMPLE BEAUTY

"I HAVE FAR TO GO BUT I HAVE STOPPED FOR NOW TO RECONSIDER MY DIRECTION" JDP

None of this would have been possible without the cooperation and kindness of Montana Fisheries, Wildlife and Parks, notably the tireless assistance of Tom Greason, the Maintenance & Fishing Access Manager of MTFWP. Additionally, using generous contributions of friends and family to the Jeff Pollard Memorial Fund, we were able to contribute $2,500 to the betterment of Mallard's Rest with the purchase of ten new picnic tables.

Attending the dedication was Tom Greason, Maryanne Vollers, Jenn Williams, Sal Pollard, myself and my son Will Pollard, and Carrie and Eliza Donoghue. We ate a wonderful lunch afterward, using one of 'Jeff's' new picnic tables. Will sampled the chill of the Yellowstone waters, and we wondered if maybe Jeff might be taking in the scene with us in spirit, as it was a perfect bluebird day to be flyfishing.

View of Mallard's Rest

The next day four of us rented tubes and floated down a mile or two section of the river above Mallard's Rest. We stopped right at the site of Jeff's bench. Walking up the embankment it was heartstopping to witness an unknowing fisherman stop to read the inscription on Jeff's bench, then to see him sit and contemplatively take in the awesome view around him. It seemed like the bench was already fulfilling our intentions.

Sal takes in the view.

The Jeff Pollard Memorial Fund is just getting started. We hope next year to continue doing work in Jeff's name, particularly those programs that will have a lasting impact. Along with continuing our support of the MTFWP, we're looking into developing a program aimed at getting at-risk kids into the outdoors, by bringing them out onto the river for flyfishing and adventure excursions. Most of us understand the importance of getting in touch with nature. We'd like to bring that experience to some young people who haven't had these opportunities. Most likely our program would take place in Montana. This dream will take dedication, resources and time. Some of my fly-fishing, river-guiding friends will soon have an opportunity to take part! But, most importantly, we hope to raise the necessary funds to make it happen. If you'd like to be a part of this please give again to the Jeff Pollard Memorial Fund.

Will and Sal

Sal, Eliza, Carrie and Jenn

From Sal, Carrie and myself, thank you to all who have donated so generously to keeping the memory of Jeff Pollard alive. Without your love and support none of this would have been possible. We feel that Jeff, wherever he may be, is looking over us and nodding his approval. Thank you again, and please don't hesitate to contact me at any time.

With kindest regards,
Thom Pollard

Jeff Pollard Memorial Fund Dedication

2006-08-17T17:14:00.000-04:00

MEMORIAL PLANNED AT MALLARD’S REST FISHING ACCESS SITE FOR JEFFREY POLLARD

BOZEMAN— The family and friends of Jeffrey Pollard and Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks have installed a memorial bench at the Mallard’s Rest Fishing Access Site on the Yellowstone River to honor his memory. In addition, the family contributed $2500 for site improvements including new picnic tables and grills.

An award-winning designer and illustrator, Pollard traveled extensively, combining his deep love of the outdoors and adventure with his illustration and graphic design work.

Pollard was an avid fly-fisherman with a particular love of the Paradise Valley, Yellowstone River, and Mallard’s Rest Fishing Access Site. “It is not an understatement to say that he had a magical gift for pulling in the biggest and best fish,” said his brother Thom Pollard. “He talked endlessly about the Paradise Valley and how the fly-fishing was the best in the world.”

Jeffrey Pollard passed away in February of 2005. The engraved granite bench has been installed near the boat ramp overlooking the river. Family and friends will gather for a memorial service and dedication ceremony at Mallard’s Rest on Saturday, August 19, 2006 at 10 a.m. The public is welcome to attend.

Waiting In The Myst

2006-05-31T13:03:00.000-04:00

It's all a mystery...the whole damn thing. I took this picture in 1988 on Mt. Katahdin in Maine. It was one of the best days of my life, ascending the remote peak in the austere extremes of winter, along with my brother and five other of our good friends. On this particular day a handful of us ascended a steep trail to the summit ridge that spans Pamola Peak with Katahdin's main summit, called The Knife Edge. If I could only have known then that it would be the way I best remember
my brother, now that nearly a year has passed since losing him.

The sun hanged sharply, low to the horizon in the north. A strong breeze blew from the south, blasting a haze of snow particles up into our faces, then angling over our heads into the deep blue sky. We walked literally on the edge of a vertical horizon between clear blue sky on our right, and sparkling shroud of myst and snow to our left.

Jeff walked up ahead of me as we neared the sharpest section of the knife edge. He looked back at me with this confident grin on his face, the way he often did, as if to signal our common bond and brotherhood. I couldn't let this moment go, and snapped a shot with the instant camera stashed in my front pocket. It captured the moment, and the meaning of that day, perfectly.

A few minutes later, five of us stood on the two-foot wide knife edge, looking down into the abyss in front of us. Peering south, into the blush and nothingness of glistening snow particles, we could see our long shadows, cast into the haze by the bright sun behind us. I suddenly became aware of a circular rainbow around my shadow, but could not see it around the shadows of the others. Each of us had his own individual rainbow, fading like a ghost into the swirling myst of snow and haze. I later came to understand this phenomena as a brochen spectre. It made us laugh like children. We waved our arms and jumped up and down.

The rainbow revealed to me the mystery of life within each of us. I stood at once jubilant and silent, marveling at the wonder of experience, impressed by nothing but my own infinitesimal insignificance to the cold, indifferent sky. The rainbow we individually witnessed signified the Grace of existence itself, the uniqueness of our personal journey, and of the mystery that will be revealed to us at the end of our journey.

Often, when I think of my brother, I remember this day. I gaze back into the photograph, and imagine him somewhere up in the heavens, waiting, shrouded in a similar myst of rapture and beauty. When I see him again perhaps he'll be waiting for me again, smiling, as he did when I snapped this picture. Then, he'll step beside me on the knife edge, look down with me into the abyss of glistening snow, place his hand on my shoulder, and reveal to me the wonders of the mystery.

Panguich!

2006-02-15T20:46:00.000-05:00

Jeffrey D. Pollard: he loved to laugh, being outdoors and fly-fishing. He broke a million hearts the day he died. Jeff, your spirit will live on in our hearts and souls forever.

"Panguich" means "big fish" in a western Native American tongue. That's what it reads in big letters on the side of Jeff's camper. Jeff had a gift for pulling in big fish, finding the right pools and dropping a fly on the exact spot necessary to coax the fussiest trout out of its hiding place.

Not far away from Jeff's favorite fishing haunts on the Yellowstone River you could often find his Tundra, tricked out with his camper "Panguich". And, had you been fortunate enough to stumble upon him, he'd be at the ready with a warm hug, a pot of hot coffee, good times and tall tales. For him, there was nothing like being with friends out in nature's wonder...

Jeff's family has set up the Jeff Pollard Memorial Fund to help preserve the memory of this immensely talented and passionate person who graced our lives. Dozens of friends, cohorts and family have lovingly donated to this living fund, in order that we can carry on Jeff's legacy. The JPMF has made an arrangment with Montana Fisheries, Wildlife and Parks to donate funds each year for the betterment of his favorite Yellowstone River put-in, Mallard's Rest, just south of Livingston, Montana. This year we plan to have several picnic tables replaced. Sometime during the summer of 2006 we'll have a dedication ceremony, and unveil a granite bench with a plaque.

I recently wrote a poem about (to) Jeff on the first anniversary of his death, posting it the same day. I logged on recently to delete it, and thought instead that first I'd include a poem of Jeff's. He was a true poet, a dreamer, a romantic.

LOVE POEM:
My greatest fear
Is not loss
Not loneliness
Reckless promises
Postponed plans
Spilled hope
Or a broken heart

My greatest fear
Is complete safety
Feeling under control
Everything in order
Graced with understanding
Slow, loyal, dependable
Perfectly straight rows
Of my rhythmical habits

I want there to be bears
In the woods where I walk
The night to be dark
Starless and cold

I want known pathways
To disappear like
The final smallness of hope
I want the bears to be real

I have far to go but
I have stopped for now
To reconsider my direction

-Jeff Pollard/2004

Please share your greetings, thoughts or pictures of Jeff on the Comments button below this post. It would be so nice to hear from you!

Thanks for visiting. Panguich!
- Thom Pollard

JDP, September 15, 1954- February 14, 2005.