In Closing.....

This show was a labor of love for me, keeping alive the story of the many people who lost their homes.  Working from black and white archived photos I have attempted to recreate life as it was there 70 years ago.  Please take a moment to experience the anonymous poem, “Quabbin.”  It will  give you a minute sense of the gravity of this historic loss. 

QUABBIN
Once long ago, it seems so far,
I lived where now a reservoir
With dikes and dams and waters blue
Conceals a world that once I knew

A lovely world, it seemed to be,
Where people lived with spirits free
Blessed by the hand of nature there
Within a valley green and fair

Contented were the valley folk
Until the day that they awoke
To learn, at last, of man’s decree
That meant their world would cease to be

The River Swift was to be dammed
To overflow the valley land
To form a water-storage space
For people in a distant place

Ancestral roots were torn and frayed
As many left their homes dismayed
To seek another place to dwell
And to their land they bade farewell

Oft when I visit Quabbin’s side
And view the waters vast and wide
I dream of towns that used to be
Now immersed in an inland sea

Within my mind I now behold
Greenwich and Enfield, as of old,
Dana and Prescott do I see
Ever fresh in my memory

The scenic isles that dot the blue
Are tops of Mounts that once I knew
Pomeroy and Prescott, bold and free,
With rugged Liz as company

On Quabbin’s banks I sometimes spy
The saddened face and wistful eye
Of aged folk who, long ago,
Lived in the valley down below

Neath the waters that overlay
The remnants of another day
Four little towns that stood with pride
Victims, all, of a man-made tide.

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