For Evelyn Boyd, no mountain was too high | Letters | Mlaly 30

Published 3:02 pm Friday, May 28, 2010

When I think of Evelyn Boyd, who died recently, I think of Mount Rainier. She scaled many mountains in her life, including the concrete Mount Rainier.

I suspect she was well into her late 60s when she scaled that behemoth. Her guide said that she was the oldest woman who had ever reached the peak.

I knew her through painting and drawing. She and Sue Christianson had begun a figure-drawing studio still going strong after 40 years.

We met twice a week as I recall, and, if Evelyn was not away on her mountainous trips, she would be standing behind her easel as I was standing behind mine unlocking the secrets of the human figure.

That relationship developed during numerous workshops, then trips to the ocean and mountains continuing our search for elusive works of art.

I grew to admire her determination, her wit and her persistence.

For example, when I joined a hiking group, being accustomed to walking around the block on a good sunny day, we would invariably run into Evelyn’s hiking group.

What troupers they were! What a wimp I was!

I recall one hike that led 10 miles into the wilderness. Oh, how I suffered! Oh, how I suffered aloud!

One suggested that I wait for them to return. Wait to return in the midst of the wilderness! With all those bears lurking behind trees? Rabid animals ready to attack! I kept going.

That hike taught me Evelyn’s true fiber; she kept going.

She met her husband, Dan, at a Woolworth store. Dan stood before the counter aglow in his U. S. Marine Corps uniform. Evelyn was the clerk.

Only when she moved to Bainbridge Island did she get her high school equivalency. Another mountain.

Joining the Seattle Art Museum as a docent was another mountain. Drawing and painting, self taught, was another mountain.

Whatever she started she finished in a blaze of success.

I loved being with her because of her humor, her ever-present good cheer, and her tolerance of a whimpering hiker.

Sue Christianson and I went to her house for mushroom soup one cold fall day.

“These are chanterelles I picked yesterday,” Evelyn said, and for one brief moment I thought, I hope they are chanterelles.

Why did I wonder? If Evelyn said they were chanterelles, they were chanterelles.

Everyone trusted Evelyn.

Sally Robison

Bainbridge Island