The lights in Harvard dimmed on March 30. That was the day Irene Mannix died. A talented, determined, proud, independent woman, the wife of Jack and the mother to Siobhan and Iain, Irene taught hundreds of Harvard Elementary School students with passion, gusto, and theater. Did you know she once stood upside down in the classroom basket to make a point?
At farmers’ markets and fall festivals, loyal customers lined up to buy her homemade jams, jellies, and shortbread and enjoy her Scottish accent and plaid attire.
Irene sailed the Harvard Pond, skied the local mountains, raised perennial gardens, fed the songbirds, and spoke to her dogs and cats with words of endearment. She won gold medals in swimming competitions and rode her lawn tractor like a cowgirl, cutting figure eights around the apple trees in her front yard.
Irene and I met 37 years ago at Mrs. Hildreth’s Barn School, where her son Iain and my son Jack attended preschool. Years later she taught them in third grade. Our friendships remain strong after all these years.
Last week I wrote to Irene about the daffodils blooming along her stone wall and the tulips pushing up by her mailbox. I had planned to send her photos of the flowers, hoping they would bring her peace and comfort. Before she moved to Scotland, she told me to dig up some of her plants for my home. I never did. But now I will dig up a lily or two, watch them grow every year, and remember the way Irene bloomed in my life.
Suzanne Mahoney
West Bare Hill Road
