A Son’s Remembrance

Above, Virginia on the Delta Queen steamboat where she was official naturalist. She used to get into her antebellum costume (which she made) and the boat’s owner EJ Quinbey would trade duets on the steam calliope, clearly audible for over five miles.

A remembrance of Virginia Eifert from her only son, Larry Eifert

2021

I’m in my mid-70’s now, but Virginia Eifert still haunts my existence. It’s now over 50 years since her death and I still get fan mail, publisher’s requests to use her material, piles of letters from people’s grandparents Virginia wrote to. Not a day passes that her influence doesn’t rear an enormous presence into my existence, like a great spiritual cloud that follows along and keeps me on my path. Good or not-so-good, it’s there and I certainly wouldn’t be the person, the artist and outspoken environmentalist I am today without her.

As an only child to Virginia, I, too, had to have been both a good and not-so-good presence. She had work to do, stories to write, paintings to paint, classes to teach and deadlines to make and sometimes infrequently even a house to keep. I remember as a young kid sitting on the living room fireplace hearth. This rug was my art studio, and Virginia would place a 2B pencil and paper gently in front of me – and let me go at it. No rules, no comments, just a nudge or two – and off I’d go into fantasy land. Dozens of sketchbooks filled up and the years went by. Occasionally, I’d gaze up into the sunbeams coming through the front windows and, with my pencil, swirl the dust clouds that filled the air. I don’t ever remember Virginia actually dusting anything. Why bother when there were books to write?

And that pencil was always there for me, the perfect babysitter. In the big Carnegie Lincoln Library downtown, or the stacks at the 5^th floor Centennial Building state museum where she did research, there it was, pulled from her purse like it just couldn’t wait to get out and play.

I was told later that Virginia probably shouldn’t have had a child because of her heart, but there I was and she survived to give me a simply amazing experience of growing up with someone who went with her on Mississippi work boats, got lost in the North Woods, made any excuse possible to get out there and experience nature – and she took me with her! How was that possible? I remember being gone so long during a Delta Queen trip that when I finally got back to school, I had no idea where my locker was with all my books. She fixed this, of course, by just coming over to the school and giving a talk (which embarrassed me to no end). Where’s Larry, oh, he’s hiding in the bathroom because his mom’s here again.

I vividly remember the two of us in the pine forests of Wisconsin, a place we came to often. She walked me out into a patch of forest and made me close my eyes, then count to 50 as she vanished.
I had to find my way back to the cabin. I was 8. I did it, and those skills have gotten me to Alaska in my own boat.

And then, with almost a divorce from my dad when I turned 15, the big one. A nice royalty check arrived for a book advance, and dad had his eye’s set on a new car. Instead, Virginia bought me a one-ton Star racing sailboat – and we named it after the book that bought it – Jolliett. There was a fleet on Lake Springfield with almost 20 of these types of racing boats, and they were way beyond a little kid’s level in many ways. All those boats were owned by guys over 30 who were rich, heck, our attorney had one, and now here I was with one as well. I couldn’t drive yet, so I TIED the trailer to the spare tire in the trunk, sat on it to hold it while Virginia drove us on back roads to the Yacht Club. I didn’t die, dad never knew about it.

 I painted this watercolor in 1963 when I was 17. I never own a race, but painted Jolliet crossing the finish line. I could dream!

I sailed that run-down old boat all through high school and it changed my life. Cars and girls? If they didn’t like to sail, forget it. If I needed money to fix it, start a rock band to pay the boat bills. Why was Larry never at any school events, he’s out sailing and learning to become an adventurer. That single indisputably questionable decision by Virginia has taken me on many paths of exploration, a path of sailing my own boats to Mexico and Alaska, the Inside Passage, up the California Coast (one of the worst ocean passages in the world). I’ve learned about exquisite wilderness and primal nature, sailing, climbing and backpacking some of the best nature North America has to offer. I’ve painted aboard these boats (floating studios) and on countless picnic tables, and made it possible for me to get to places few see. On the way down the outside of the Baja Peninsula, we stopped at many of the tiny ‘bights’ for the night, staying in Panga Camps without any people around, but with hundreds of dolphins and whales. Virginia! Pure and simple a cause and effect.

Like all authors, Virginia spent considerable time doing speaking engagements and public programs. While she was enthralling the patrons with stories and slides, readings and telling tales about walking down a wilderness path, I sat at the book table with the cash box. At 7, I was making change, making sure the checks were written correctly, bagging up the books and generally in training to become a gallery owner in the future. Sometimes the buyers would ask ME to sign the books, too. I opened my first gallery at 21 and I’m sure it was easy, a simple extension of these evening events where she showed me how to do a little of this.

What my parents didn’t do, however, was to teach me how to make a good living as an artist – and that would come later and was a twisty course. Sure, I could draw and sort of paint, but that’s not the full-on making a living with your art. But, Virginia had the same path, with almost no formal training (me, neither) and with many course changes we both succeeded. We have much in common, Virginia and I, a dislike for formal training because it just would have made us like everyone else. The joy of finding wilderness without being with a group. I learned to forge a singular path for myself and say yes as doors open. And, most important, how to use past experiences to make the next steps. This applies to everything I’ve done and hopefully will continue to do. All the thousands of paintings I’ve made for National Parks from coast to coast, the stories and articles, books and giant wall murals, outdoor trail wayside panels, all of it are because of one woman who is still here guiding me after her death over 50 years ago. Thanks, Virginia!

Larry and Nancy Cherry Eifert live in Port Townsend, Washington where, at 75, he still paints more than he should. Photo taken at the reception of new wayside art at Fort Worden State Park, 2020.

larryeifert.com for more on Larry Eifert