Eric Leber wrote this memoir of Cassie's birth:
The farm was 113 acres of fields and forest, our house a stocky, faded-red clapboard with attached shed and barn, all perched on top of Tory Hill, Phillips, Maine (pop. 493). We called it The Red House and there we lived, an extended family of six grownups, six children, four cats, two horses, one dog, a Jersey cow and a flock of chickens of dubious parentage.
Ginny had two girls and I two boys from our former marriages, all living with us at that time. Our desire to partner a child had ripened slowly during our first six years together; now Ginny was pregnant. One decision had long been made: we would have the baby at home.
I hadn't attended my sons' births, for they had been born in hospitals where fathers were regarded as non-participants, to be herded into waiting rooms and only given permission to view mother and child after the event. My sons are now grown men with children of their own, yet I still feel a deep wave of regret that I wasn't present to greet them on their arrivals.
Though we lived in the backwoods, we were fortunate to have the care and guidance of Dr. Gretl Hoch, an Austrian dumpling of a woman who had given up a very lucrative Big City practice to come to Philips, where she offered her stern, compassionate services to all who came, whether they could pay or not.
Our bedroom was a late addition that had been built into the attached shed next to the kitchen. Small, to conserve heat, it was shaped like a fat "L", the short side being an alcove just large enough to house the platform bed I made for us. The long leg had a picture window that gave us a gracious view of field, forest and nearby mountains. Under the window was a long desk where I sat and wrote, just as I am doing now, three thousand miles and twenty seven years distant from then.
During the last month while Ginny's belly swelled, I constructed a half-reclining birthing bed which left just enough room for Dr. Gretl to move around. We were ready.
Ten days after false labor, Ginny again experienced contractions, and when they became strong, regular and short-spaced, she said, "I think we'd better go see Gretl." We boarded the International pickup and headed down Tory Hill into Philips. After a brief examination Gretl said, "The baby is on its way. Is everything prepared at the house? ("Yes.") Then we go now."
Tory Hill is a sheet of ice in the winter and a quagmire during spring. In summer it becomes a rutted, dusty washboard, requiring drivers to slow down radically or risk having their vehicles summarily dismembered. On June 17th, 1975, it was already a jarring ride even at 10 mph, excruciating for Ginny at each clench of her womb, so we had to make haste very slowly, stopping during each contraction. Would we make it back to the house before the baby came?
But a dozen contractions later, we eased into the driveway and disembarked. Arm around her bulging waist, I supported Ginny, breathing with her as she groaned and wobbled toward the shed door. Just as we crossed the threshold her water broke, moistening house and ground. Hearing car sounds, I looked over my shoulder to see an apparently distracted Dr. Gretl overshoot the mark and boil on down the road, trailing a fat plume of red dust. And I heard a tremulous voice inside my skull stammering, "B-b-but I've never delivered a baby!"
Fortunately by the time Ginny climbed onto the delivery bed, Gretl reappeared, having found her way back to The Red House. I left briefly to alert the family that it was time: someone was about to make his or her appearance. Grownups and children trooped in quietly to sit on the alcove bed, and as they did I felt a great stillness envelope us.
Now mind: as the child of avowed atheists I had lived largely armored against feeling the Mystery, the Feeling of feelings or the Godness of absolutely everything. And so a great "OH!" of wonder and awe surged through me as I saw the room become luminous and each of those present giving off a soft, golden glow. Minutes later, the birthing climaxed.
As Ginny began pushing more strongly, I saw-felt a column of loving Light streaming down into her belly. The surrounding world dimmed and we became a circle of celebrants tending the Divine Fire now burning ardently in Ginny's womb. The Light swelled and we all bore down as Ginny gave three determined pushes; on the third, Cassie gently tobogganed into our midst.
Her birth was an ecstasy of wonder and joy that drew me to the Mystery as never before. I saw that Cassie had lived a lifetime in warm womb-waters, continually bathed, breathed and fed as she slept and swam and danced in the dark. I felt the tidal waves generated as Ginny's womb-walls closed lovingly around her and she was guided into a dark tunnel with a light at its end, finally to be strongly, gently squeezed out into a great, glowing world of sights, sounds, smells, tastes and touches of innumerable beings and things new to her and newly wondrous to me.
I saw that Cassie had died from one realm to be born in the next and with her birth, my fear of death began to die. I saw that fear of death is fear of Life. I saw Life is a continuous dancing in which the dancers appear and disappear while the Dance goes on forever. And gratitude fountained forth to spill everywhere, washing all words away but thank You...and you.....and you.......and especially you,