[Editor’s note: this love letter went to our email list on Valentine’s Day and it seemed good enough to give it a permanent home on our blog. We hope you enjoy it.]

Hi there, Molly here, Ellyn’s daughter. Instead of wishing you a pithy Valentine’s day cliche, I asked my dad, “do you think you could write yours and mom’s origin story? Tell the tale of how you fell in love in the Louisiana swamps??”

He came back about 39 minutes later with this masterpiece. And so, I present to you the never before seen story of how Ellyn and Pete met and fell in love…

Dear Boots (that’s my nickname for Ellyn),

I want to reflect on the first domino of our life together. The event that changed the course of our lives. The story of how we met in the swamps…

People had been telling me about you for a long time before I ever met you. “There’s a therapist you need to know,” they said. “Her name is Ellyn.”

I didn’t yet understand that some names are not information. They are foreshadowing.

Then one day, there we were, in the hot muggy swamps of Louisiana. A group of therapists gathered at a church camp surrounded by heat, humidity, and the kind of muggy air that sticks to you like a sweatshirt in a sauna. We were there to run a workshop for acting out adolescents and their families.

That first night, we sat in a circle doing introductions. One by one, people spoke.

And then there was you.

You didn’t turn your head to look at each person as they talked. You kept it perfectly still. You moved only your eyes as you took each person in. I had never seen anything like it. I was intrigued.

During the days, we worked together. Trainings, breakouts, conversations. I learned you were from California, and that you were unimpressed by the fried food that defined Louisiana hospitality. I thought, Well, if I’m going to make an impression, it won’t be with hush puppies.

So I went to the store. I bought what I thought counted as healthy. Snacks that might make you feel at home.

Late one night, I walked into the kitchen.

You were sitting on the floor in front of the open refrigerator, the door wide, letting the cool air spill over you. It was “hotter’n Hades” and that refrigerator air was the only relief in the whole building.

I joined you on the floor.

We sat there together, lit by that pale fridge light, talking quietly while the rest of the place slept. I brought out the snacks. I fed you celery sticks and pimento cheese like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That was the beginning.

What followed was a long-distance love story. Phone calls and visits, longing stretched across states. A year of choosing each other from afar. And then, finally, I moved to California. Toward you. Toward the life that had begun the night we sat in front of an improvised air conditioner in the swamps of Louisiana.

That was forty-four years ago.

I am still drawn to the way you look at the world. Grateful that you introduced me to the idea that a vacation is more than getting in a broken station wagon and visiting family 5 hours away. Grateful that we raised our daughter Molly with consistency (your influence), humor (my influence), and acceptance as she forged her own path (our influence). And I am still amazed that something so enduring began with celery, spreadable cheese, and an open refrigerator door.

Happy Valentine’s Day, you make me a better person.

Love,
Pete