For years, I have lived with a story that followed me everywhere - into libraries, archives, museums, and countless notebooks. What began as a curiosity about a forgotten woman of the Gilded Age eventually became a mission. Now, after years of research and writing, I find myself approaching the completion of the first draft of my novel about Ida Alice Flagler.
For someone who loves research as much as I do, this is no small accomplishment. Give me a dusty archive, a box of old letters, or a forgotten newspaper clipping, and I am perfectly content. I have spent years chasing down fragments of Alice's life, traveling to places she lived, walking streets she once walked, and searching for the truth hidden beneath more than a century of myth and misinformation.
Recently, while visiting New York's Hudson Valley, I found myself reflecting on that journey. Looking out at the Hudson River, visiting the historic homes and landscapes that shaped so many remarkable Americans, I was reminded of how deeply history continues to influence us. The Hudson Valley is rich with the stories of people who dared to challenge convention and leave their mark on the world. Women like Sojourner Truth, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Elizabeth Cady Stanton transformed their convictions into action. Their courage changed history.
As a retired history teacher, I have spent much of my life telling the stories of those who came before us. What I didn't fully appreciate until recently was that preserving history is also a way of participating in it. Every generation has its role to play. Some march, some protest, some invent, some lead. Others tell stories that might otherwise be forgotten.
Ida Alice Flagler was a woman whose voice was largely lost to history. Like many women of her era, her story was overshadowed by the powerful men around her. The more I learned about her life, the more determined I became to tell her story. Not simply because it happened, but because it still resonates today.
Retirement has given me the gift of time, but it has also reminded me that time is precious. Dreams deferred do not fulfill themselves. Books do not write themselves. Gardens do not plant themselves. At some point, we have to decide that the thing calling to us is worth the effort.
As July arrives and another South Florida summer settles in, I find myself grateful for both the progress I've made, as well as the journey itself. The research, the writing, the setbacks, the discoveries, and the unexpected friendships along the way have all been part of the story.
And perhaps that is the lesson. Whether we are writing a book, starting a new chapter, or simply pursuing a long-held dream, the goal is not merely to finish. It is to keep moving forward, one page at a time.
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